Sing it with me…

I always feel like somebody’s waaaaatching meeeeee….there ain’t no privacy…oh whoa oh…

–Photo by Ray Van Horn, Jr.

Hi hi, friends! It’s another Friday, and another round of FTF for ya. I got a few private messages encouraging me to keep this segment going and I appreciate your support. So, without further ado, here’s another batch of mixed genre tunes I hope you have fun digging into. Cheers, y’all…

Classics IV – “Stormy”

The British Invasion of the 1960s brought some of the most creative, psychedelic, at times bombastic (looking at you, Ray Davies and The Kinks) vibes in music history. Eventually UK artists stopped trying to emulate The Fab Four and sought their own butterscotch and peppermint happy pills. Classics IV had a handful a hits, some low-key and melancholic like “Sunny” and “Traces.” For me, their foot-tapping, note swinging ditties “Spooky” and “Stormy” are where it’s at.

The Clash – “Magnificent Seven,” live, the Tom Snyder Show, 1981

The greatest punk band that ever lived, The Beatles of the genre. Fearless pioneers who pushed all boundaries of what they helped build. Punk bands in their wake chased after reggae, dub and ska elements after The Clash, Madness and The Specials broke the doors wide open. The funk and jive studio cut of “Magnificent Seven” from The Clash’s Sandinista album was an example of their transitional noodling. It was a street-savvy shuck out of the gutters and thrusting their will into the bleeding eyesore that was New York City during the 1970s and early Eighties. When The Clash came on The Tom Snyder Show in 1981, they peeled the paint off the studio with this blistering version screaming of urgency. Their curtain call of “Radio Clash” on the same program did likewise. One of the greatest live performances I’ve ever seen from anyone, bar none.

The Jackson 5 – “I Wanna Be Where You Are”

My son is a huge Michael Jackson fan, considering modern gangsta rap is his primary jam. I eventually surrendered my Jackson 5 greatest hits package to him after he repeatedly asked me as a younger lad to leave it playing in his stereo at bedtime. Some people forget how Michael and his brothers first took the world by storm as a family before he and his sister, Janet, became pop icons. The J5 were everywhere in the Seventies, and my mom did the same for me as a child as I did for my kid. Almost everyone beneath the age 50 has no clue a Jackson 5 cartoon existed, but TJ and I always talk whimsically about that over Sunday morning tea, since that’s when it aired, at least in our neck of the woods. The J5 had one monster hit after another as a unified, funky dancing machine. Yet I think my son and I see eye-to-eye with “I Wanna Be Where You Are” as our mutual favorite Jackson 5 jam.

The Dining Rooms – “Pure and Easy”

Staying stuck in the theme of Six Feet Under the show, this electro chill gem corralled onto the first soundtrack is aural yumminess decked with a slick bossa nova groove turned upside down. It carries a shuffle-slide prompting gentle neck bobbing and a twangy guitar reverb that smacks of sheer coolness. Only one song in the land can outdo the sublime bravado of The Dining Rooms’ “Pure and Easy.” That would be Primal Scream’s “Trainspotting.” Cue either as my official entrance theme.

Anthrax – “Indians”

Thrash icons Anthrax shy from no one when they have something to say. In 1987, they stood tall for our aggrieved Native American brothers and sisters with this speed metal fist in the air against racism, persecution and gross thievery of an entire culture’s right to subsist. The video for “Indians” shook things up and made, at least the heavy metal community, more aware of the tucked-away atrocities befallen of the descendants of proud tribes shoved into quiet pockets of poverty. It also has some of the best moshing footage of the times.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

With the waning weeks of summer into fall now upon us, I deliberately waited on doing this post so as not to cause trepidation or dampening spirits for thrill seekers like myself, a veteran rollercoaster rider.

You see all these articles and photos about “dead malls.” These are more or less shelled-out indoor commerce centers left for dead by vacated brick and mortar retailers opting to relocate to strip centers or reimagined “Town Centers” or “Avenues.” Expansive hubs where food vendors, grocers, clothiers, movieplexes and specialty shops create an industrialized open-air marketplace planted inside a bustling office and residential community. In other words, a traditional mall turned inside out. For a Gen X rat like myself, the demise of the mall has been a bitter pill to swallow.

Now we’re not yet in any kind of danger in the death of theme parks. Can anyone possibly fathom the closure of Cedar Park in Sandusky, Ohio, the Mecca of rollercoasters? Hardly. Yet in an economically crunched period like we’re living in, not everyone has the duckets these days to the shell out for day tripping along the steel rails and wooden brackets. Don’t even get me started on the Fast Pass or Lightning Pass. Theme parks are taking it on the chin somewhat lately, though you’d never tell on a weekend, in particular a Father’s Day or Fourth of July.

My love of rollercoasters goes back to my virgin pop in 1982 at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Virginia on the Loch Ness Monster, one of the first American loop coasters along with Hersheypark’s immortal SooperDooperLooper. Granted, I’d been too chicken in 1980 at age 10 to have a go on Hershey’s old school wooden classic, The Comet. Funny to think about that now.

Even for rollercoaster fiends, you can’t deny the subliminal fear of one day possibly meeting your maker at a hundred plus speed. The windier the ride, the more corkscrews you face, the screechier the rails are, the ricketier those train car chains are, it’s hard not to imagine possible death. That’s the bragging rights aspect to it all, surviving the experience and going back for more!

I mean, every coaster addict must make the pilgrimage to Coney Island, New York to face the all-time beast of wooden coasters, the Cyclone. You will find yourself making sure your life insurance premium is paid current before take the plunge and you will come off it hip-bruised and back sore, but that’s the whole daggone point of the thing. When could New York possibly retire the Cyclone as a mere monument? Cringeworthy, but possible. That old man’s been scaring the hell out of riders since 1927!

Retiring a rollercoaster ride is one thing. Often a reputable theme park still operating summer-to-summer strips down and repurposes when deciding a coaster is too dangerous, too much liability or not enough bang for the buck. Other parks going belly-up outright, however….

I’m a horror guy and there are times when even horror can be beautiful and majestic. Such is the case here, where abandoned rollercoasters have been reclaimed by Mother Earth. Neglect becomes gloom becomes fantastical wonderment. It’s damned depressing yet compelling, nonetheless. Perhaps you’ll find the same mysticism in these dead coaster photos.

–Photos by Michelle Johnsen, Shane Thoms and others from the public domain

What compels you more to say yes or no…

the heart

the spirit

the mind

adventurism

pragmatism

fear

respect

trespass

concrete evidence

uncertain variables

an unchecked bucket list

a triple-dog-dare-you

past experience

a raw edge

a gambler’s will

blind faith in the unknown

convservatism

a smile of reassurance

a lack of trust

the implied threat of having missed out

whether goodbye and hello holds significance

or if a seemingly endless road knows no bounds

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

So this time I thought I would mash up my “Five Friday” themes and offer up a quintet of songs plowing through my head and from my stereo this week. The genres are varied, ditto for the vibes. The mind of Van Horn is a wild place to be, and I hop music styles on a dime at all times. With that caveat, I do hope you have a go and listen through.

The (International) Noise Conspiracy – “The Reproduction of Death”

Punk met ’60s Swinging London with political fang from Sweden’s The (International) Noise Conspiracy. They had something powerful and energetic to say before they toned their sound down over time. The raw exuberance of their few first albums is exactly what I’d hoped to have in a band of my own. Never happened, but when I’ve had a hard day, The (International) Noise Conspiracy is one of my go-tos. “Capitalism Stole My Virginity,” just sayin’

The Weeknd & Kendrick Lamar – “Pray for Me”

The Weeknd may be an upper strata R&B-hip hop megastar nobody saw coming until a few years ago, and a few of his more controversial songs push my tolerance. Overall, I dig the guy a lot and play his entire catalog in a full push whenever I dive into him. What did he for Avatar: The Way of Water is majestic, but nothing compares to his theme for Black Panther. No doubt Chadwick is shucking and jiving on the great delta beyond to this one.

The Church – “Reptile”

One of the singular masterpieces of classic alternative rock (going double for the album it’s found on, Starfish), Australia’s The Church dropped a piece you can’t help but studying for the dual melodies swimming overtop an already highly textured track. Every single instrument employed on “Reptile” counts, is mixed to the fore and that beat…Jesus wept.

Sia – “Breathe Me”

One of a bare handful of songs that’s ever pushed me to the brink of tears upon first contact. I may not be a fan of Sia’s pop stuff nor her mondo coif image, but “Breathe Me” is one of the most emotive songs I’ve ever heard from anyone in recording history. I’m not sure what impresses me more how this song has been used in visual media, the Polaroid parade of this video or its usage in the finale of the HBO series, Six Feet Under (my second favorite show of all-time), scoring what fates become of each of the show’s principal characters.

Tool – “Stinkfist”

Prog metal wizards Tool aren’t for everyone, though they are a former boss’ favorite band ever, to this chagrin of his wife, who used to complain to me in private how often she’s subjected to their music. Tool can go on and on in their heady music, but nobody engages their audience in multimedia fashion the way these guys have. Sink in with this one if you dare for its garish imagery and grinding rhythm. When the song climaxes, it climaxes, crikey. I hit my Tool section only when the mood really hits, mostly the Aenima album and this glorious intro song, my personal favorite from the band.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

–Photos by Ray Van Horn, Jr.

So this post got all inspired by a gnarly piece my new friend Maryanne Christiana-Mistretto wrote on a New Jersey-based gent named Jonathan Rossi who custom builds Star Wars lightsabers, even drawing A-lister clientele like Jack Black and Post Malone. Have a read at this link:

How one man created an empire living out his childhood dreams

After reading Maryanne’s article, I got to staring at my vintage 1978 Death Star playset sitting like a trophy next to my desk and I poked around my original Star Wars action figures, still safely tucked into another relic from the day, an original figure carrying case. Not the famous Darth Vader helmet case, but a standard two tray carrying case with a Star Wars diorama plastered across the front. My mom got it for me that glorious year in 1977 when the original film came out, and it came loaded with the original line of action figures she’d meticulously collected for me. Still there today. Moms just rule that way.

Looking at my old Hammerhead and Bossk figures still in prime condition, I got to thinking about grossly forgotten Star Wars characters over the years, and by God, there are a ton! How can anyone who is not actually writing about Star Wars possibly keep up with every single, solitary character in the universe? Old school Star Wars fans stuck in the original trilogy only will nod with glee at the name R5D4, as in the rustbucket, dome-blowing astromech droid, an ugly kissing cousin to everyone’s favorite bucket ‘bot, R2D2. As it turns out, blown motivators notwithstanding, R5D4 got his comeuppance in the third season of The Mandolorian on Disney Plus.

Now, you have to really be into Star Wars to know who Doctor Aphra is, a runaway sensation brewed up by Marvel Comics for one of their many offshoot series in a galaxy far, far away. With nine feature films strung together as “The Skywalker Saga,” that’s more than enough brain pain trying to keep up with everyone getting screen time, especially with each third done in and speaking to a different generation each.

Add the Solo and Rogue One cinema tie-ins, the Clone Wars, Rebels, Bad Batch CGI series, all of the Disney Plus shows…you’re in it to win it in the name of The Force, or you’re tapping out. Need I mention the countless Star Wars spinoff novels and comics over the same 46 year course of the institution? I’m looking at my first print run of Splinter of the Mind’s Eye from 1978 by Alan Dean Foster and am preparing to read Shadow of the Sith by Adam Christopher and Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil by Timothy Zahn, widely considered the master Jedi of Star Wars novels. This after recently finishing Mike Chen’s early years tale of Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi, Brotherhood.

You get my point and if you’ve gotten to this point in my post, thank you. I’ll get the point of this whole exercise right now.

All these characters in a cosmos so grand it’s a wonder that other “Star” enterprise (cough cough, sorry, I’ll see my way out after that one) hasn’t collided on Kashyyk or Vulcan. It’s easy to forget so many names, yet for their creators, the actors or voices, it’s no doubt very personal to them. Captain Raymus Antilles, here’s to you, brother, for being the first of many on Darth Vader’s onscreen kill count. Finis Valorum, well, you botched it all up being played like a chump by Emperor Palpatine, forever turning the tide of the entire storyline. Someone forgot to kneel before Zod, since the illustrious Terrence Stamp delivers a pivotal, if tiny blip in the Star Wars mythos.

For me, the prime “forgotten” Star Wars character of all-time has to be Kit mother-flippin’ Fisto!

This is one of the elite Jedi Masters who had a seat on the daggone council on Coruscant, this before some “chosen one” elitist with the dumb nickname “Ani” allowed himself to be pawned into a murderous machine of mayhem. Order 66, shudder…

Kit Fisto is that squid-head of supreme badassness George Lucas struck gold with, but like Darth Maul, one of the entire saga’s greatest villains, Fisto was introduced, allowed to shine in spurts, then…poof…gone in a foiled attempt to bring the Chancellor, I mean the Emperor, the darkest of the Sith incognito, to justice. George, we love you, but goddamn.

Introduced in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones and dispatched in the subsequent film, Kit Fisto became a quiet icon amongst children and old schoolers from 2002 to 2005. A part of the amphibian Nautolan species, I tended to consider Kit a green-skinned rasta of the blade who might have a galactic tweak of Peter Tosh spooling inside his Force-addled mind. Fierce, quick, and there’s that ridiculously cool smile. I’m saying it again. Kit mother-flippin’ Fisto!

Back then, Kit Fisto was hot merchandise. His action figure sold out routinely, and once future generations caught on, Kit became a cult hero yet again. Almost all of these youngsters started their Star Wars journey with the prequels and following in chronological order versus us dinosaurs who were there first to see chapters four through six in a state of confusion as to Lucas’ master plan.

I should know, since my own son became a monster Kit Fisto fan, along with Mace Windu. I mean, the kid has great taste, of course. The aches and pains of trying to find the kid a Kit Fisto back then, oy… Then once he got into Legos, the quest began all over again to amass a block styled Star Wars universe. Yes, I joined the kid in brick building, and yes, it took me another bit of hunting to find a Lego Kit Fisto. God, the memories of all those dinky plastic lightsabers and trying in vain to keep them all with their respective Lego Sith or Jedi.

Kit Fisto may have been criminally underused in the prequel films, but his legend only grew in animated form. One might say The Clone Wars shows did nearly as much for Kit’s legacy as Ahsoka Tano, who gets her own spinoff show on Disney Plus starting next week. Yeah, you know, Ahsoka mother-flippin’ Tano!

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

With a blossoming renaissance of microbreweries, tap rooms and privatized beer peddling across America, you may be seeing a lot more farmland being repurposed into expansive day tripper destinations like Inverness Brewing, dropping visitors and hops hounds into the pastoral splendor of Monkton, Maryland.

Not so much transforming as maximizing what a 100 acre working farm can be to the community as much as to the owning family, Inverness is a terrific operation with equally superb beers. Three different bars with a bucket load of taps spread over two tiers in the main barn, the third being fleshed out in the estate’s old horse stables.

TJ’s family gave us a gift card last Christmas to Inverness Brewing which were finally able to break away and use. While she’s no fan of beer, she’s bitten the bullet for me a number of times and it helps Inverness had adult-styled slushies for her and a banging food truck on the premises–more like a permanent trailer with casual fare food well up to its level of beers.

Naturally, the advent of IPAs means Inverness like most microbrews, has a heavy lean on those, my favorite being the double IPA, Monkton Madness. I also dug There’s Always One IPA, as much for the taste as the hilarious name. They have a hazy mango IPA and British IPA I also recommend. Being more a fan of the darker side of beers, however, I found the 8.5% APV Miss Molly’s Imperial Nitro Stout to be stellar. The rye barrel aged, honey fused Helles Maibock called The Pollenator, is a sheer joy in a bottle, more like a hard mead. Fair warning, though, The Pollenator is a 9.2% APV drink, so it’s recommended you give this one its own separate consumption day.

Similar to vineyards, homestead breweries such as Inverness offer open-air leisure aside from the plentiful indoor seating (there’s even a large leather couch in the bottom seating area of the barn). After hitting the food truck, we said hello to a birthday gathering before picking up a couple games of cornhole Inverness has stationed outside the stable bar. TJ and I split the wins and were content to skip a needless tiebreaker game. It was enough just to get some sorely-needed downtime to play with one another.

Nearly as impressive as the empire known as Brewery Ommegang near Cooperstown, NY (that one had its own Game of Thrones-themed ales that ROCKED) which we took in a couple years ago, Inverness Brewing is a cosmopolitan brand of country with more than 20 beers, live music, lush patios and even a jumbo t.v. to watch a baseball game on while hopping it up.

The old man in the tree…

Cheers, y’all…

–Photos by Ray Van Horn, Jr.

So let’s do this without much preamble this week other than to say Happy Friday and thank you as always for swinging by Roads Lesser Traveled!

One: Last Saturday was one of the most epic nights of baseball I’ve ever had with my bestis mensch, Shawn, at Camden Yards. Great seats, great company, the Orioles championship Class of ’83 including our man, Eddie Murray (for me, the GOAT I was blessed to have met as a kid back in the day with Cal Ripkin) and a terrific 7-3 win by the Orioles.

We initially got skunked out of a 20,000 only Murray bobblehead giveaway even showing up an hour early thanks to some rough traffic jams. The game was nearly sold-out and competition for Eddie’s bobbler was fierce, even amongst fans of the visiting team since Eddie was once a New York Met. Yet the baseball gods found a way to bestow us the bobbles anyway after the game. I’m still in awe of how it happened. We got the Murrays! Orioles Magic, we were feelin’ it happen. Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!

Two: Legent bourbon is one of THE finest swills I’ve ever had. My boss gifted me with a bottle of Legent a few months ago as an atta-boy for my part on a million-dollar closing. I fell in love with it. There’s a certain best mensch I mentioned moments ago whose wedding party gift will look very similar to this picture above, just sayin’.

Three: So we tried Dave’s Hot Chicken on Wednesday and they’re not playing in the hot department. I went for the full Monty and tried the Reaper spice. They actually made me sign a waiver before taking it out. God’s honest truth. I said then it would be the weekend before TJ lets me kiss her again. Luckily, that was false. 🙂

Four: I’ve not been as much as a cereal guy as I used to be maaaaaany moons ago. In fact, other than the annual box of Boo-Berry my folks gift me and my son as a Halloween treat tradition, I’ve just shied away, even though I love the healthy-for-you cereals that would’ve made Mikey up here sneer.

TJ knows her cereals, and she keeps bringing home the stuff adults love and kids cringe at, including Life cereal. It’d been so long since I had me some Life, it was a breakfast mouth-gasm. Hey Ray Ray! He likes it! Again.

Five: Always take time to pet the palm.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.