Free World Rockin'

As guest on stage at Precinct in Union Square, Somerville with John Blout, Dan Kopko and Tim McCoy of Watts and Tom Baker of The Dirty Truckers.

Video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFHYj50Tjb0

A Long Time Coming...

Watts enjoys a well-earned trip from the basement to the big stage

By Jeff Blout

(this article originally appeared in the September 4, 2013 edition of the Stoneham Independent)

Watts at Casino Ballroom last Sunday, L-R: John Lynch, John Blout, Dan Kopko and Craig LaPointe

                   Photo by Micah Gummel

The Casino Ballroom, Hampton Beach, NH

Sunday August 25, 2013

Led Zeppelin played here.

Jimi Hendrix played here.

The Who played here.

The list is long and reads like a role call for the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. Sprinkled amongst the icons are the names of instantly recognizable touring veterans (Southside Johnny, George Thorogood, Ted Nugent) and classic pop radio superstars (Chicago, Hall & Oates, Billy Joel). And tonight a new name can be added to the list of performers who have graced the stage of the legendary Casino Ballroom at Hampton Beach.

The name is Watts.

Watts are a Boston-based four-piece rock and roll band whose roots go back more than thirty years. Dan Kopko (guitar, vocals), John Blout (guitar, vocals) and Craig LaPointe (bass, vocals) have been playing together since the 1980s when they were teenage glam rockers, practicing Saturday afternoons in Blout’s parents’ basement in Stoneham and appearing regularly as a major draw at the Rockpile in Saugus and at the Kenmore Club’s Heavy Metal Wednesdays. Several bands and many lineup changes followed—including an earlier version of Watts—until 2005, when John Lynch, the hardest working drummer in Boston, joined Kopko, Blout and LaPointe to form the current, guitar-driven, rock-steady version of Watts.

The Casino show was originally scheduled as Cheap Trick with the Neighborhoods. Then the Replacements invited Neighborhoods’ guitarist Dave Minehan to join them for their reunion shows in late August, creating a scheduling conflict. Suddenly, Cheap Trick were in need of support. But Neighborhoods’ drummer John Lynch—yes, that John Lynch—wasn’t about to give up the drum stool that easily. Hey, I play in another band... Soon the Casino Ballroom’s calendar of events had a new listing for August 25^th:

Cheap Trick with Watts

They were given thirty minutes. They took thirty-four. Ten songs. No messing around. But this is not a critique of the band’s performance, nor is it a song-by-song breakdown in keeping with the traditional template of rock and roll concert review. Because tonight wasn’t about how long the set was, or which songs were played. Tonight was about The Moment and everything that led up to it.

Tonight was about thirty years of lugging amps, guitars and drums down uneven sidewalks and through narrow, poorly-lit entryways, then lugging them back out again three hours later. Tonight was about those basement rehearsals and that rickety drum riser fashioned out of an old ping-pong table. It was about playing Bill’s Bar on a weeknight while the Red Sox were playing across the street and wondering if anybody was going to show up, and how much, or even if, you were going to get paid. It was about spilled beer and cigarette smoke and figuring out who should be added to the guest list and which songs to cut from the setlist. And tonight was about all those personality-fueled brushfires that inevitably flare up, making you wonder if it’s worth it, being in a band.

Of course, not every night was a struggle. There were some great ones along the way. But none like tonight. Tonight was about the comfortable dressing room and the free beverages, the professional lighting and the executive-sized mixing board. And how the main act, a group high on your list of early influences, a group you saw live when they were half the age you are now, entered your dressing room and introduced themselves, knocking down any barriers between who belongs and who doesn’t.

Finally, it was about walking out on that well worn stage, tracing the footprints of rock history, and discovering that it makes perfect sense that you are here, that no matter how big a part fate played, you’ve earned this moment. And when it was over, the crowd’s enthusiastic response stood as affirmation for all of the hard work put in both on and off stage. Because, let’s face it, there aren’t many tougher jobs in rock than that of the little known band opening for the high-profile headliner. Watts proved more than qualified.

The Doors played here.

Janis Joplin played here.

U2 played here.

Watts played here.

Did they ever.

Throwaway Lines

It’s time to retire these tired sports sayings, catch phrases and nicknames.

1. Stuff

As in, “That pitcher has great stuff.”

This one’s been around for as long as I can remember, and probably long before that. Stuff. Anyone can say it. I can say it, and so can Dennis Eckersley. The difference is, one of us—me—knows nothing about pitching. But it doesn’t matter, because by using the term stuff, I can act like I know. Good stuff. Great stuff. Electric stuff. Stuff doesn’t really mean anything; using it to talk about pitching is really just a way to avoid talking about pitching. For example, next time you’re watching Baseball Tonight, check out how everybody reacts whenever someone refers to a pitcher’s stuff (trust me, they will). Chances are, they won’t say anything. They’ll all just sit there nodding in agreement because none of them knows what the hell stuff is. Saying a pitcher has good stuff is like saying a book is a good read; it sounds impressive, but you really have no idea whether they’ve actually read the book.

2. Compete Level

As in, “Milan Lucic has raised his compete level in the playoffs”

Always thought intensity was a perfectly good word.

3. Big 3

As in, The Miami Heat’s Big 3.

Let’s get right to it: Larry Bird + Kevin McHale + Robert Parish = The Big 3. All the others—The New Big 3 (Pierce, Allen, Garnett), Miami Heat Big 3 (LeBron, Wade, Bosch), San Antonio Big 3 (Duncan, Parker, Ginobili)—are just pretenders with a stolen nickname. Fans seem to have forgotten why Bird, McHale and Parish got the nickname in the first place. Yes, they were a trio, that’s important. But unlike the recent glut of Big 3s, at 6-9, 6-10 and 7-feet tall, respectively, Bird, McHale and Parish were all frontcourt players. In other words: THEY WERE ALL BIG. They weren’t just three superstars playing on the same team, which seems to be the lone qualification in this age of Big 3 barbarism. Last season, people were even jamming a Lakers Big 4 of Kobe, Gasol, Howard and Nash down our throats, but then they ended up sucking, and the campaign was scrapped. Boston’s New Big 3 stole the nickname of their own franchise’s most famous trio. Duncan, Parker and Ginobili played 5 seasons and won 3 titles together before anybody referred to them as a retro Big 3. In Miami, people started calling Chris Bosch a superstar, which he is not, simply to justify the nickname. And all of these so-called Big 3s had undersized players. In other words: NOT BIG. What I’m trying to say is: Get your own friggin’ nickname!

*Lawrence Taylor knows exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t you, LT?

4. Physicality

As in, “The Sharks have added physicality by trading for Raffi Torres.”

Physicality. Is that like compete level?

5. He’d like to have that one back.

As in, The goalie just let in a bad goal – “I bet he’d like to have that one back.”

As in, No Shit! You also hear this overused piece of obviousness whenever a pitcher gives up a homerun, or a quarterback throws an interception. I mean, wouldn’t any goalie, given the option after giving up any goal (good or bad), want a do-over? Or is it just the goals the commentator decides they want back that disappoint them? Or how about when a pitcher’s watching video of himself giving up a homerun, do you think he’s sitting there thinking, Yup, that’s exactly how I envisioned it. Wouldn’t want that one back. Quarterback just threw it to a guy on the other team? Awesome!  What’s that? Do I want it back? Hell no!

*We could also do a paragraph on the idiocy of good goals vs. bad goals, but not today.

6. Professional Hitter

As in, “That Matt Stairs, he’s a professional hitter.”

Since the inception of inter-league play, most every major leaguer hits, even American League pitchers. Last season, the average major leaguer made $3.2 million, making them all “professionals”. Over 80% of major leaguers are professional hitters. So, unless we’re talking strictly about non-fielding designated hitters, the term is redundant and moronic.

7. Best Player On The Planet

As in, “Things come a lot easier when you’ve got LeBron James, the best player on the planet.”

The first time I heard someone referred to as the Best Player On The Planet was during the 2008 NBA Finals. The player was Kobe Bryant. I believe the speaker was Mark Jackson. Now the player is LeBron James. And now everybody says it. I’ve also heard the title applied to Sidney Crosby in hockey. But it figures the trend would’ve started in the NBA, a league where star players are promoted above team play. And in this age of international competition, it is easier to identify such a player. But the constant use of the term seems to fall arrogantly in line with North America’s habit of anointing the winners of the Super Bowl, World Series, Stanley Cup and NBA Finals as World Champions. What’s next, Best Punter In The Galaxy?

8. This Boston Bruins Team

As in, “The future looks very bright for this Boston Bruins team.”

As opposed to all of the other Boston Bruins teams. It’s hard to keep track, and can be so confusing.

9. The Tom Brady’s and Peyton Manning’s of the world.

As in, “You’ve got to play better than that if you want to be mentioned alongside the Tom Brady’s and Peyton Manning’s of the world.”

*You can substitute out Brady and Manning for any number of athletes. But to make my point, I’ll stick with this example.

I’m not sure where or when this one started, but I seem to remember its popularity exploding a few years ago when Eli Manning claimed he was an elite quarterback. (The whole “Elite” obsession is a discussion for another day) Soon after Eli’s claim, every NFL pre-game, post-game and overcrowded panel show dove in, creating their own formula for what it means to be elite. The debates and opinions were endless (still are). The only thing that everyone seemed to agree on was that Tom Brady and Eli’s big brother were the undisputed measuring sticks of elitism. The annoying thing was that they just couldn’t seem to contain it. First, they went and pluralized these singular superstars’ names, “Tom Brady’s and Peyton Manning’s”—there are so many of them—then, as with The Best Player on the Planet, they globalized it, “of the world”, spreading their imaginary influence and authority to a worldwide audience that, for the most part, would have no idea who or what they were talking about.

*By the way, Eli Manning made his elite quarterback claim prior to the 2011 season. At the end of that season, he won his second Super Bowl, and became an elite quarterback.

10. And At The End Of The Day...

As in, And at the end of the day, middle-aged sports curmudgeons like me will continue to follow our favorite teams, cringing at the realization that we’re no longer part of the target audience, and that the announcers, analysts and experts are not speaking to us, but to a younger, hipper group of fans eager to learn and interpret their cutting edge jargon. And this list will regenerate itself; some will fall out of favor and never be heard from again, but others will surely come along to take their place, rolling off the tongue of some clever young sportscaster, or the fingertips of another tweeting twit. And fans like me will always watch the games, usually alone, fingers on the mute button, completely unaware that we’re in danger of becoming a cliché.