COLUMN: Swiftie

If you close your eyes and listen closely, you can probably STILL hear the internet talking about Taylor Swift this week.   

As you likely know, in an attempt to regain control of her master recordings, the world's most popular songstress has been painstakingly re-recording and reissuing her entire back catalog, album by album. These recreations have come with an arsenal of unreleased and bonus material that's proving to be a treasure trove for Swifties worldwide. 

This week, Taylor released the re-recorded version of her mega-selling album "Red," and the centerpiece is a new version of "All Too Well," perhaps the most biting of her famous break-up songs. Some call it the "You're So Vain" of the millennial generation. The original was already an emotional powerhouse, but this new version is a next-level gut-punch of seething vitriol that's been sending fans to their Kleenex boxes faster than anyone could possibly shake it off. Last weekend, she performed the entire ten-minute opus on Saturday Night Live.

Me? I'm just sad. Not for Taylor Swift. Not even for actor Jake Gyllenhall, long purported to be the villain of the song. No, I'm sad because that song could have been about ME. You see, Taylor and I once had a moment.

I've told this story before, but I don't care. I'll trod it out until my last day. It just gets better with time. I have but few great stories in my arsenal, and none shine so bright as The Time Taylor Swift And I Almost Became An Item. At least, that's the way I tell the story. Taylor might tell it differently.

Once upon a time, Taylor Swift played a concert in the Quad Cities, and yours truly was assigned by this very paper to review the gig. When I got to the arena and grabbed my review tickets, I was astonished to see a second ticket attached -- for a post-show meet-&-greet. From that point on, nothing else mattered. I don't remember a word I wrote about the show. It might not have even been in English. All I cared about was both meeting and greeting Taylor Swift.

Record company meet-and-greets aren't exactly the ideal settings to make a great first impression. They're less cozy and personal, and more akin to a cattle processional. You're lined up and paraded by the artist in quick succession. At best, you've usually got just enough time for a photo, an autograph, and about twenty seconds of small talk before you're shoved out the door. If I wanted Taylor Swift to fall in love with me, these were the most important twenty seconds of my life.

Now, I know what you're thinking. She's a celebrity music icon. I'm a fat, unkempt newspaper columnist twice her age. Don't worry, I was thinking the same thing. But after long analysis, I decided that maybe just this ONCE, I would be willing to lower my standards enough to date an international pop superstar half my age. These are the sacrifices I make in life.

We may seem like opposites, but I reckon Taylor Swift and I have plenty in common. She likes music. I like music. She likes performing concerts. I like attending concerts. Two-for-two so far. Let's see... she likes cats. I like SOME of my cats. She appears to breathe air. I, too, require air to function. Clearly, we are soulmates.

I had just had to convince her of this in twenty seconds. No problem. When it was finally my turn in line, I approached, looked up (she is TALL), said hi, and she said hi back. Got a quick pic and an autograph and I opened my mouth to commence the suave and charming small talk that would make her mine forever.

That was the precise moment when the little kid in line behind me passed out cold to the ground, in what could only be described as the most fortuitous loss of consciousness I've ever witnessed. Before I could even say, "I...," she pushed me aside and raced to his aid. The last thing I saw as I was being shoved out the door was Taylor Swift cradling this kid's head in her lap. I hate that kid.

If it hadn't been for him, I'm sure she would have been fallen for my eloquent charm and we would be together today, her wowing millions of fans and me DJing the afterparties. Or maybe we would break up and never ever get back together, in which case she'd be on Saturday Night Live singing ten-minute hate songs about ME and I could at least be the dude walking around going, "Why yes, the song 'Get Away From Me, Creepy Fat Newspaper Guy' IS about me, care for an autograph?"  

But alas, we will never know -- unless Taylor comes BACK to town for another concert and I am somehow able to score another meet-and-greet pass. Don't worry, if that happens, I've learned my lesson: I will DEFINITELY make sure that I'm first one to pass out.

 

COLUMN: Astroworld

As a lifelong music nerd and frequent concert-goer, I feel like we need to talk about Astroworld a little.

The tragedy that happened this weekend in Houston was horrific, appalling, and worst of all, entirely avoidable. A crowd surge during headliner Travis Scott's set left at least 8 dead and scores injured. It's an absolute nightmare. As such, people are eager to point blame. We naturally want someone to hate and accuse and focus our outrage towards. The answers might not be so simple.

I wasn't at the Astroworld festival. Neither were you, most likely. All we can do is watch the video footage and speculate from our armchairs. Investigators are trying to piece together how such a tragedy could've occurred. We may never have the complete answers. But let's look at how things unfolded from a few different perspectives.

Many folks are laying the blame squarely on Travis Scott himself. They're saying he ignored the obvious signs of trouble in the crowd. That he should have stopped the show early. A respected news site seriously ran a headline the other day that said, "THE DEVIL MADE HIM DO IT? BLOOD SACRIFICE."

Gimme a break. I'm not saying Travis Scott is completely without fault here. After all, this was HIS festival. He shares culpability for sure. But I don't think he was ignoring the pleas of the dying or hosting a Satanic ritual at an suburban theme park.

Travis Scott has all the subtlety of an MMA fighter. His shows and his crowds can get rough. He encourages his audience to "rage out" and he's gotten in trouble before for egging crowds to get unruly. He's not beyond being an occasional moron.

That said, from the clips I've seen, I don't think he knew how bad things were getting. There's an awful video someone shot of Scott on a riser, kicking off another song while EMTs below him are performing CPR on hapless victims and the crowd chants "stop the show." It's horrible to watch, and definitely makes it look like Scott couldn't care less about the crowd.

But if you watch that video closely (and you shouldn't, it's stomach-wrenching,) you can see Scott wearing noise-cancelling ear monitors - it's doubtful he could hear those chants at all. He also had a stage spotlight in his face, so he probably couldn't see much, either. That crowd was 50,000 deep - it'd be tough to make out events in there even without a blinding light in your eyes.

On three occasions that night, he DID stop the show and signalled for security when he saw someone in distress. And what if he HAD stopped the show altogether? Would that have fixed things? Just because an artist walks offstage doesn't mean 50,000 idiots will peacefully disperse. When Guns n' Roses famously cut a show short in St. Louis, it ended up causing a riot and millions in property damage. Idiots sardined together are still going to be idiots, music or no.

Was the staff to blame? After all, there's a video of a girl pleading with a cameraman to stop the show while he seemingly ignores her. But that cameraman isn't a concert organizer. He probably works for Apple Music, who were there filming the event. At best, the only person he reports to is a TV producer in a van somewhere with no control over the concert flow. Being mad that he didn't stop the show would be like blaming a hot dog vendor. 

That leaves the organizers, and you'd better believe they're going to be held responsible. Despite having over 500 police and 700 security guards onsite, there was an utter lack of crowd control at Astroworld. Fences were breached and hundreds of people snuck in. It was over-capacity, over-crowded, and there was nothing to stop the crowd from surging. 

But if you're truly looking for someone to blame, it's the crowd themselves. People are, by and large, idiots. In this case, many were DRUNKEN idiots desperately and pointessly trying to shove their way to the front when there was simply no room. When EMTs and ambulances tried to respond, people started dancing on top of them. Sometimes people just suck.

Maybe festival concerts with general admission need to go the way of the dodo. They can get really scary. I've never been in an incident like Astroworld, but I've been in a couple crowd surges and they're terrifying. At the very first Lollapalooza, I got into a surge when Jane's Addiction took the stage and I travelled about forty yards without my feet touching the ground. I've been front row at shows where I've worn criss-cross bruising on my chest for the next week from the fence I was shoved against.

Open festivals like Astroworld need to be quadranted into different sections where crowd control and capacity can be better policed. You can't trust people to NOT be stupid. Sure, Travis Scott's aggression didn't help matters, but he's far from the only artist who incites their crowds to freak out. Aggressive bands play live all the time without incident.

I love concerts. There's nothing like the excitement and passion of live music. But you shouldn't be putting your life in jeopardy just by attending. Instead of throwing around blame before the investigation concludes, maybe we should instead mourn the victims and focus on ways to improve safety to ensure live concerts are the magical and transformative experiences I've known them to be.

We owe it to ourselves. Life can occasionally be terrible, but it always needs a good soundtrack. 

COLUMN: Ewarto

Some of you probably think I applied to be a columnist out of a lifelong passion for writing and/or a desire to uplift our community.

Nope.

There's obviously two reasons why I wanted to be a columnist: (1) To score a hot babe, and (2) make gobs and gobs of money. I think I just did both.

If, that is, a certain message I just received on Facebook is true. And who can we trust if not a complete stranger on the internet? I've read it five times now, and it seems super legitimate:

"HI SEXY!"

(Already we're off to a rollicking and completely accurate start.)

"My name is Ewarto Sawadogo."

(Umm. Okay, I'll never fault anyone for the name they were given. That said, this is NOT the sexiest array of vowels and consonants I have ever come across.)

"And I believes you is my SOULMATE. I am 26 years old woman --"

(Folks, Ewarto is HOT. Based on her profile photo, she's a dead ringer for pop songstress Ariana Grande. In fact, I'm pretty sure the photo she provided IS Ariana Grande, especially given the fact that's she's standing on the red carpet at the Grammy Awards. Or perhaps this simply proves Ewarto is a fan of music like myself. Who am I to question my soulmate?) 

"-- from Moldova."

(Wait, is that a real place? Or is that the fake country from Dynasty where they shot up the royal wedding in that big cliffhanger finale? Hang on, I need to check... Okay, Moldova IS a real place. Moldavia is the one from Dynasty. Whew.)

"I have searched the internets for my one true love, and I have finally founded you."

(Took you long enough.)

"I can see from your recent posts that you are good handsome man of high virtue worthy of my affections."

(My last three Facebook posts: 1. a picture of my cat. 2. a review of the movie "Dune." 3. a post that says, and I quote, "I'm sooo bored. Anyone wanna hang out?")

"My father runs powerful candy company."

(Wait, IS YOUR DAD WILLY WONKA? Or Willy, umm, Sawadogo?)

"But he has been accused of crime he did not commit"

(Umm, just what kind of saga am I stepping into here? I'm down for the soulmate stuff, but I'm not looking to reenact "The Fugitive" here. Just my luck that I find my soulmate and she's, like, a member of the A-Team.)

"I am coming to America to escape jurisdiction of the World Police"

(Oh dear! Not the dreaded "World Police!" So wait, you're being chased by GLOBAL authorities? My soulmate is an international fugitive? And you want to come HERE? What about Candy Dad? Is he coming, too? There's only so much room in my house. I want to chew gum in peace without a dozen Oompa-Loompas popping out to sing me a lecture. We need to discuss logistics.)

"Please if you has love for me like I has love for you, help me. I need to protect father's 3.4 US MILLION DOLLARS in United States bank account where World Police cannot steal."

(I think I see where this is going. You look exactly like Ariana Grande, you're inexplicably in love with me despite having never met me, AND you're vastly wealthy with unlimited access to European candy? I'M THE LUCKIEST MAN ALIVE.)

"Do you has a bank account where we can put money and begin new life together?"

(Sure. In full disclosure, last week someone hacked my debit card and used it to rack up $124 in Amazon charges, but I'm pretty sure it's safe. We can probably fit an extra 3.4 US MILLION DOLLARS in there. No problem.)

"I am devoted to you and cannot wait to hold you in my arm."

(Note: Singular. "Arm.")

So, if you don't hear from me for awhile, please assume that I'm securing my future with my one-armed soulmate who may or may not be pop sensation Ariana Grande and possibly her fugitive candy baron father. So far, this is turning out to be a decent week. 

I tried writing her back, but her profile had strangely been deactivated (curse you, World Police!) But I trust that my sweet Ewarto and our 3.4 US MILLION DOLLARS are en route. You're all invited to the wedding. There will be candy.