While I try to reconstruct The Lost Post, I am cheering myself up with my swift and violent weekend crush on Timothy B. Schmit, sexy bass player for the Eagles. Uhm, yes, I understand that it’s Tuesday, but the weekend crush just applied for an extension and has — hooray! — been approved.
If you find yourself alone, spouse out of town, I highly recommend the weekend crush on famous people you will never actually encounter.
MB will roll his eyes over this whole dealio. He’s not threatened by Timothy B. Schmit, sexy bass player for the Eagles. I told him over the phone about my emerging tsunami of swoon and he remained unruffled.
Pffft to that, peaches. You know, I need me some ruffling. I mean, what? I ain’t worth no ruffling??
Okay. Just wait, babe. Someday Timothy B. Schmit show up at our door crooning “I Can’t Tell You Why” to me in his feathery tenor and I will go weak at the knees and be completely undone. He’ll want to whisk me away — naturally, because this is my little fantasy here — and then, my friend, well, you’re going to have to decide, aren’t you?
You will be in a pretty pickle.
A pretty pickle, I say.
Actually, I can see it now. The more likely scenario: MB literally begging Timothy B. Schmit, “Take her, man! Take her away, for the love of God!” And Timothy B. Schmit taking my hand, pulling me away with a whatevs shrug.
I engage in random obsessive behaviors, I guess, when I’m by myself. Like eating Cheerios all weekend and trampolining all willy-nilly and watching Eagles videos on YouTube and watching Eagles videos on YouTube while trampolining all willy-nilly. So, yeah, that was my weekend. That, and planning “romantic weekends in Oregon” with SarahK.
Here’s the truth: Growing up, I never knew what Timothy B. Schmit looked like. Nope. Never laid eyes on him until this weekend. When it comes to popular music — rock, pop, whatever — I came to everything late. Oh, so very latelatelate. We didn’t grow up being allowed to listen to “that kind of music.” When Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life” is one of the few acceptable listening choices, well, you get a little skewed in the head. It messes you up. You become slightly nutso — and, as a bonus, you forever hate that song. We had a stereo in the hall closet controlled solely by my parents. They listened to Perry Como or The Ray Coniff Singers or Robert Goulet. Basically, my parents listened to the music of their parents which means I grew up on the music of my grandparents. I was a real swinger. We didn’t buy albums or cassettes or whatever. We weren’t given them as presents. Asking for them was out of the question. I simply didn’t have these things in my possession. Things that other kids might have had. Things like albums with photos of sexy bass players, for instance. I mean, sure, a few things trickled down through my friends, but my pop/rock musical knowledge was completely stunted.
Things changed when I went away to college. Oh, did they change. I had a lot of musical catching up to do.
And let’s just say I married the man who introduced me to Aerosmith. So there you go.
But this weekend, I finally realized the upside to all the compulsory Robert Goulet listening: It saved me from becoming Timothy B. Schmit’s crazed stalker which is what I surely would have become had I ever had the slightest idea of what he looked like. Or the slightest idea of his dead sexy fingers. Or the slightest idea of his glorious mane of hair. I may have been force-fed Perry Como, but things were definitely a’brewin’ inside. I mean, I wasn’t dead.
Well, only in your basic repressive soul-crushing way, not in an I-am-unaware-of-my-fancy-place kind of way. Oh, no. I was a secretly fiery little Baptist minx.
And, come on. “I Can’t Tell You Why”? Even I, the Baptist Nun, was aware that things happened when people heard that song. I didn’t know what kind of things they were. Maybe people heard it and baked banana bread or re-tiled the tub. I’m a complete innocent on every issue, as we all know. All I’d heard was it caused people to do these things. I’ve watched this video repeatedly now this weekend and I can vouch for its effect. I have both baked banana bread and re-tiled the tub. Because of this song and the things it makes you do.
Please watch and fall in love with Timothy B. Schmit and his dead sexy fingers and his gorgeous mane of hair and his perfect feathery tenor and don’t blame me if you bake banana bread. I am not responsible.
Furthermore: Completely ignore Glenn Frey. I do.
Furthermore: Please watch Don Felder’s guitar solo and imagine that you are that guitar. No, wait. I didn’t say that. Don’t do that. Re-tile the tub instead.
Furthermore: At 4:53, Don Felder does a little “chucka” move on his gorgeous guitar. (Cullen, please help me. Tell me what that’s called. Save me from myself and this post.) Anyhoo. Watch him right after he does that. His impish little grin. He’s very pleased with himself. Frankly, I’m a little twitterpated over him, too. His guitar is like honey. You heard me. Put THAT on your banana bread, pippa.
Okay. Calm down, Trace. “Got to keep your head little girl.”
You’re all thinking “too late,” aren’t you?
I just myself developed a little weekend crush on Helio Castroneves, winner of the Indy 500. Never been a racecar fan at all, at ALL, until I happened to catch his post-race interview while my dad was flipping channels this weekend. Oh, what a cutie. I’m sold. It’s all over.
Katie — He won “Dancing With The Stars” a few seasons ago as I recall. Quite the little dancer. It was all …. very mesmerizing. He’s got an adorable goofy tooth, doesn’t he?
Your attention to detail it to be admired – I speak of 4:53 – subtle, yet cool. I’ll leave the T.B.S. crush to you and your lady readers – I’ll stick with Kimberly Dahme as my bass player crush.
I don’t know that there’s a particular name for it. He’s striking the strings with a palm mute. In hard rock/metal, guys will rest their palms on the strings while they “gallop” on the low E or A sting, this gives a “chunk” sound. When you strike a chord with both the pick and lightly with your palm, you partially mute the sound giving that “chucka” sound you hear. The more pressure you apply with your palm, the more you distort the sound. The cool thing is how quickly and effortlessly he does it. Really neat. If you want to see a master of technique, look up some Pink Floyd videos and watch David Gilmour play. Just amazing.
Alternately on the muting, 70s-style guitarists would often mute with their fretting (left hand for the majority of guitarists) hand – placing it across the strings where you won’t produce a harmonic. Striking the strings here gives you that “wakka wakka” sound (especially when used with certain effects). Another famous instance of this technique is at the end of Freebird when you have that JUHN-JUHN, wakka-wakka, JUHN-JUHN, wakka-wakka. Anyway, I could go on.
I’ll just add KIM DEAL and let that be all.
Brian — You know, I have played that little moment over and over. What he does and how he reacts to what he does. It just gives me JOY, I guess. I love seeing people using their talents and doing it with such passion. I mean, it’s obvious he LOVES what he’s doing, so it’s infectious. Little moments like that always get me.
CULLEN!! — Thank you! Seriously, thank you for that detailed explanation. I don’t play guitar, but I think I get the idea of what you’re saying. You’re awesome. Obviously, this is your passion, too.
Oh, I just love that, you guys!
There are days when I just feel the imperative of making The Sudden Yurt Commune a reality. Just to hang out with you all. You’re all a true blessing.
I now have two windows up: the video and Cullen’s explanation, referencing one while watching the other. Yes, I am just that big of a dork.
I just love how Felder’s like a little kid about what he just did. Again, just makes me happy.
Felder’s always been a favorite of mine. Thanks for posting.
You’re welcome, trace. I wish I could do it as well as I can talk about it … but don’t we all in some facet of our lives?
Cullen — So true. Good thing that’s not what the definition of a passion is, right? I’d love to hear you play.
Whenever I think of that wakka chakka guitar sound, I think of two things:
1. Terry Kath’s guitar solo in Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4”
2. The line from the “Mitchell” episode of MST3K: “Anything with wakka chakka in it is all right by me,” immediately followed by Tom Servo singing the opening lines of “Papa Was a Rolling Stone” to the opening credits of the movie.
Glad to hear I’m not the only one who gets weak in the knees watching 70’s rockers. Fortunatly, my parents listened to Perry Como too, but let me jam with the headphones on in my room to whatever. And you had to mention my personal “weak in the knees band.” Aerosmith. Oh man, oh man, did my friend Margret and I swoon (lust) over Steven Tyler and Joe Perry. Early nineties, I actually had a chance to meet them in person…….a friend I met had been their road manager……and you know what? I passed. Couldn’t see myself in that moment. Wanted to keep them in the “abstract” so to speak. Thanks for sharing your violent weekend crush, Tracey.
CV — You raise a good point, keeping them in the “abstract” is key, I think.
I sometimes wish I could keep everyone I know just in the “abstract.”