3 Chords & the Truth: Cooler than average

Embrace the chill.

3 Chords & the Truth, you see, is cooler than average. Way cooler than average.

Cool music, cool concept, cool production values . . . and a moderately acceptable host. That works out, when you do the math, to cooler than average. If you grade on a curve -- that is, factor in what you hear on the radio in most locales -- the Big Show is way cooler than average.

That's what I'm sayin'.

And that's what you'll hear, right here on this here program.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Good to know

Old Market, Omaha

July 7

3 Chords & the Truth: Patching it together

How do you put the Big Show together every week? One patch at a time.

You see, 3 Chords & the Truth is like a patchwork quilt. It has a bunch of musical scraps to it, and to the untrained eye, they look like pretty damned random scraps. To the untrained ear, it sounds like nothing sensible will come out of this mishmash.

Kind of how a box of discarded scraps looks like . . . a box of discarded scraps. Until you put them together into a beautiful quilt. Until you take the disorder and make it into order -- into a meaningful theme.

Until you create functional art out of random disorder.

That's exactly what's going on with the Big Show each and every week. We make a musical whole out of random songs and wildly diverse records.

It's a patchwork.

IT'S A SEEMING MESS until you add something that's in rare supply on the radio these days -- a vision.

I guess that's why the program's not on the radio. You need vision . . . and a bit of patience to see how things are going to turn out.

How the scraps get transformed into a whole.

Patchwork. That's the ticket to quality radio, even if it's just on the Internet.

Now let's you and me dig into that box of bits and pieces and see what we can make out of it.

 It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

A night at the ballpark

Went to tonight's second game of the College World Series championship here in Omaha, by God, Nebraska . . . where we saw a cute baby.

Oh, and the ball game, too.

 

And then we saw the cute baby with a cute hat. Mom may be just a little bit proud here.

And then we saw the little thunderhead that couldn't. They got the game in --  without a rain delay . . . or a drop of rain.

The wrong team won, alas, but there's always Game 3 tomorrow night.

Play ball!

3 Chords & the Truth: Tragically hip

Because someday I'll be old -- and someday is today -- there's only one thing to do.

I'll put on a double-knit polyester shirt. With a wiiiiiiiiiide collar.

I'll put on a too-tight pair of bell-bottom blue jeans (and these days, all my jeans are too tight anyway).

I'll scare up a gold chain or three as I get ready for this edition of 3 Chords & the Truth.


I'LL ATTEMPT to hide my bald spot. Then I'll attempt to avoid fast convertibles, speedboats or going outside on windy days.

Then I'll put on a Donna Summer record, talk about getting down, try to engage you in a rap session, attempt a dance move no one over 40 should even think about, much less do . . . and then I'll proclaim everything groovy.

And I'll think kind thoughts about you, my people, for you loyal listeners of the Big Show are righteous dudes . . . and dudettes.

This edition of the program, you see, is Tragically Hip.

If you think you can boogie down in Funkytown, maybe you can be Tragically Hip, too. Or if that's not your bag, man, you can just sit over there with all the freaks and be dismissive of it all. It's a free country, man.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Crank it up(ish)

Crank it up!

Ish.

Sorry, but this week on the Big Show, I don't feel like being a fanatic about it. So instead of turning the show up to 12, I'm settling in at just about 9 and a half.

That said, 3 Chords & the Truth is as worth a listen as it is every week. Really worth a listen.

You'll be amazed! You'll be entertained! You'll be eclecticized! And you might even be edified!

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera and so on. Ish.

Just listen, OK? And tell everybody you know . . . or don't know. Ish.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Night trippin'

The Doctor is dead. Long live the Doctor.

This week on 3 Chords & the Truth, we'll be night trippin' in honor of Dr. John, the Night Tripper. If you ask me, that's absotively mos' scocious.

An' dat's all I got to say about dem tunes. Y'all just listen to the Big Show, and then say hey to yo' mama and them.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: No, it's not your device

You're going to hear some things on the Big Show.

Rest assured, there's nothing wrong with your smartphone, computer, Internet radio, tablet or hi-fi apparatus. No, it's us.

I mean that in a good way.

You see, 3 Chords & the Truth is built to surprise, shock and stun.

I mean that in a good way.

SO, WHEN your mind gets blown -- as it is likely to be at least once during this edition (actually, every edition) of the Big Show -- you're not losing your mind, and there's not a solitary thing wrong with your preferred means of accessing podcasts. It's not you; it's us.

I mean that in the absolute best way.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Smart sets for the Smart Set

The Big Show is not your average music program.

That's because you're not your average listener. You're part of the Smart Set, and you deserve smart sets. And that you get every week on 3 Chords & the Truth.

This week is no exception.

Aannnnnd . . . apparently I'm supposed to say more here, even when that seems so very unnecessary. Well . . . um . . . so . . . I . . . .

Nope, I got nothin'. Everything that needs to be said, I have said.

So, then. All that's left is this:

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: A Dacron state of mind

Call me Dacron.

Dacron. Dacron Polyester.

The Big Show this week is in a Dacron state of mind. Very double-knit. Give me some Boone's Farm, and I might get triple-knit to the wind.

That's pretty much where your Mighty Favog -- and 3 Chords & the Truth -- happen to be this week. Stuck in the 1970s. Actually, in retrospect, that's not such an awful place to be.

Especially musically.

HERE'S THE thing: It occurred to me the other day that next week, specifically May 23, marks the 40th anniversary of my graduation from Baton Rouge Magnet High School. And as you'll be able to tell from the show, my mind is still 18.

My body, not so much.

But, damn, the music is so good. Thank you Young Favog.

You're quite welcome, Old Fart Favog.

Now cue the nostalgia . . . along with the usual eclecticism.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: An unapologetic blot

The Big Show is an unapologetic blot on the face of mindless musical conformity.

Do now what you will with that. I don't care.

3 Chords & the Truth is all about the music, exquisite taste and creative programming . . . not dumb preconceptions from the Usual Suspects. And boy, howdy, is this edition of the program an example of that.

You betcha, pally.

That is all. My throat hurts, and my typing fingers are sympathizing.

It's . . . well, you know what it is. Be there. Aloha.

They get pretty brazen once the holidays are done

Look out the window. See turkeys.

Apparently, that's just how we roll in our neighborhood here in Omaha, by God, Nebraska.

3 Chords & the Truth: Is this thing (cough) on?

This edition of 3 Chords & the Truth is brought to you by a 60-something-year-old RCA KN-1A pressure microphone . . . and the croaking, hacking crud.

Trust me, the music on this week's edition of the Big Show sounds better than I do. It ain't even close because, of course, the music on the program always sounds great.

And a host who sounds like he's 85 going on eternity at least should benefit from the vintage "golden age of radio" warmth of a cool, old microphone.

Yes, it all started at a 20-watt FM station in Baton Rouge, La. . . .

I KNOW, I know. Knock it off, Ted Baxter!

And stop the radio-gear geekery while you're at it.

Message heard. Now about the music. . . .

Well, we have a little of everything on this 3 Chords & the Truth, spanning much of the 20th and a little of the 21st centuries. That includes a jazz band of future legends led by a dude playing a comb.

We also get our tie dye on, then jam with the Night Tripper a bit later on the show. And we got 78s. More than our share of 78s.

And that's about it. I need to go hack up a lung now.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Chasing electrons under the covers

If you're asking me what the hell I mean about "chasing electrons under the covers," you're asking the wrong sleep-deprived guy.

You have your electrons, and you have your covers. There you go. There may be chasing involved, though I'm unsure how you find and catch the exact ones you're seeking.

Thus, my friend, is the central mystery of 3 Chords & the Truth, where playing great music means never having to say . . . things that make any damned sense.

We do, however, have a set of mighty fine cover songs on the program this week, which is as close as we come to being comprehensible right now. And I have to tell you, there is nothing -- nothing -- more 1972 than Steve Lawrence covering Bobby Sherman . . . or Cass Elliott if that's how one prefers to roll.

Are we there yet?

Well, we are now.

It's the Big Show, pally. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Ghost tunes for mellow moods

My hobby is dead people's music.

OK, maybe not all of them are dead. Some just have moved into nursing homes or senior apartments.

And, to be fair, some of the music I fixate upon probably was their kids', left decades ago at Mom and Dad's place. But what we're talking about today definitely was Mom and Dad's music . . . which, alas, they couldn't take with them. Wherever.

A fair amount of what you hear on 3 Chords & the Truth falls into that category -- especially on this episode. After all, when there's only two kinds of music in the world -- good and bad, and the bad, you don't mess with -- you tend to mix and match.

A lot.

BUT GRANDPA'S LOSS is your gain on the Big Show. My parents' generation, as it turns out, had much better taste than I gave it credit for four decades ago. Once again, the old folks' have the last laugh, even if it might be from the Great Beyond.

I've been grabbing music -- much of it long out of print -- at estate sales for a long time now. At first, the main attraction of the "grown-up music" from back when I wasn't yet one was one of sheer irony. It was a hoot. Turning the tables on oneself, and one's misspent youth, for kicks and giggles.

The other attraction of "the velvet sounds" was that, back in the day, it was actually owned by grown-ups. Grown-ups took care of their records, generally. Their kids . . . my generation . . . didn't, due to being teenagers, who are well-known idiots. (I have long, very personal experience with this from four decades and change ago.)

Thus, when I find "my" music at estate sales, good luck finding good rock LPs and 45s that haven't been beat to hell. So you grab Mom and Dad's stuff that hasn't.

AND THE funny thing is, well, it's not bad. Actually, it's damned good. The "elevator music" of one's youth, it seems, has been sullied by both your youthful prejudice and its (shall we say) leaden presentation on the radio back in the day.

Let's just say some of those easy-listening FM stations may have developed rigor mortis decades before their listeners did. That was a damn shame.

So here we go on this edition of the Big Show, which once again sees us in something of a mood. We're mixing and matching and re-contextualizing that at which we scoffed, snot-nosed punks that we used to be.

Now sit back, tune in, turn on and open your musical mind. And if you can't manage to do that . . . get the hell off my lawn.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

3 Chords & the Truth: Max tunes

Max tunes.

Max chill.

Max melodiousness.

Melodiousness?

Max music curation.

3 Chords & the Truth . . . the Big Show.

Yeah, that's what we're talkin' about.

Be there. Aloha.

Life . . . passing by at 33⅓ RPM

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him,
Take your time, it won't be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

-- Joni Mitchell

Don't it always seem to go, you don't know what you got till you've gone. Homer's sold you LPs, and you took home somebody's life.

Me, I thought it was just an exceptionally eclectic bit of birthday shopping at the Old Market record store -- everything from Oingo Boingo to Paul Mauriat, with some Louis Prima and Keely Smith in between. Oh . . . and a 1968 album by The Vogues.

Just a while ago, I was taking the old record out of the old jacket, and out fell a piece of somebody's life, a picture of a pretty young girl. Maybe a high school picture, maybe just the Kodak paper evidence of splurging on a trip to the photographer's studio.

I do know this, though. It looks like my long-lost, teenage journey through the last half of the 1970s. I remember that hair, and that blouse rings a bell. Definitely the last half of, if not the Age of Aquarius, certainly the Age of Dacron Polyester.

A 40-YEAR-OLD portrait stuck inside a 50-year-old LP for safekeeping. And then somebody sold the hiding place to the record store, kind of like the kinfolk giving Goodwill the mattress that hid Grandpa's life savings.

The mattress full of Benjamins is just sprung springs, spent stuffing and some clandestine cash. This picture right here, though -- that's somebody's youth. Somebody's lost youth that's been gone about the same number of years as mine.

I remember that youth. Not as well as I once did but, like the flipped curls and summer blouse of a beautiful young woman, it rings a bell.

Who is she? Where is she now?

Have, for her, the years between Jimmy Carter and Donald Trump been as long and strange a trip as they have for . . . well . . . me? How many joys and how many tragedies has she counted off between the vast plain of a life yet to come and the bittersweet reflections in the rear-view mirror as we of a certain age cruise toward eternity?

Regrets, I've had a few. I hope that young woman -- the one forever gazing toward a Kodachrome future that now lies largely in the past -- has had fewer.

Once, like the song on that Vogues album, she was somebody's special angel. I hope she still is.

3 Chords & the Truth: #NebraskaStrong

Dear World,

Here in Nebraska, after the flood, we're down. But we're not out.

In fact, we're #NebraskaStrong. And we shall, as W.H. Auden wrote, "stagger onward rejoicing."

Consider this edition of 3 Chords & the Truth one hell of a stagger. Rejoicing. With the music.

We go on.

We go onward.

Rejoicing.

It's the Big Show, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Omaha. Monday.

Click on map for full size

The trip from downtown Omaha to the town of Valley, in far western Douglas County, usually takes about 40 or 50 minutes, depending on traffic.

Correction. It usually took 40 or so minutes to make the trip across Omaha and across the Elkhorn River to the suburban town. Today, it took a KETV, Channel 7 news crew almost 4 hours in a backroads trek across a fair swath of the dry(ish) parts of northeastern Nebraska.

Then authorities reopened Highway 36, allowing motorists to make it to Valley -- probably in about an hour -- by following a State Patrol guide vehicle on the last leg of the journey.

West Dodge Road at 228th Street (courtesy Douglas County)

THIS IS the new normal. As water recedes on the major westbound routes out of Omaha, we're finding that what was multi-lane highway is now fractured, undermined and occasionally completely washed-away.

Or, as they say in New England, "Ayah, ya can't get thayah from heayah."

Nebraska. Sunday.

Nebraska State Patrol

I think this photo taken by the Nebraska State Patrol near Columbus pretty much sums up the suffering of my state these past few days.

It is not yet done. The Missouri River continues to rise to historic levels just south of Omaha. Fremont, Neb., is a virtual island. You could make the 30-minute trip there from Omaha this afternoon -- finally -- in just under 3 hours, if you knew which back roads were dry and had a police escort.

That's how a convoy of food and fuel made it in tonight. Before that, people and relief supplies were being ferried in from Omaha by volunteer pilots.

From north-central Nebraska to the Missouri River bottom land in the far southeast, people have lost everything and small towns have been all but scoured from the fertile plains. Across the region, at least two are dead and several more missing.

Its well fields swallowed by the Platte River, the city of Lincoln has mandated restrictions on water usage. We haven't even started talking about how bad the damage to agriculture is.

YET, IT'S just been the past day or so that the national media has acknowledged that something might be catastrophically wrong in "flyover country." It's not the first time we've been ignored by the "coastal elites," many of whom seem to think cattle roam the streets of Omaha and Conestoga wagons still rumble down the Oregon Trail.

We're all rubes to them. Yet they wonder why so many in these forgotten lands might vote for such a monster as Donald Trump.

Well, I wouldn't -- and didn't -- vote for the political equivalent of the Ebola virus. Many folks I know wouldn't, and didn't. Of course, it's perfectly clear to these same learned and oh-so-sophisticated folks why people in far-off lands might blow themselves up on crowded far-away streets.

Perhaps "Fuck you," is a message most clearly read from a great distance.