Tim Brough's Black Leather Bookshelf: Kitty in a Head Shop

Tim Brough's Black Leather Bookshelf: Kitty in a Head Shop

While Visiting Amsterdam in May, we came across this little feline just basking in the attention.

Walter's Gone To The Moon

I was watching with amazement this week how we've ht the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11 and man's only steps on another celestial body. I have vivid memories of crowding around the big TV at my Nana's, watching with silent glee as Neil Armstrong dropped to the lunar surface. My godfather, Uncle Ray, worked for NASA almost all his life and I wanted nothing greater than to be an astronaut and go see Uncle Ray and Aunt Doris to see a real rocket launch.

Other kids memorized ball team rosters and stats, but not me. I knew every astronaut, every mission and any trivial detail about the space program my enthusiastic pre-teen mind could store away. I did not have rock stars or football players on my bedroom walls, I had a map of the solar system and a door sized poster of a Saturn V. Once they appeared everywhere for sale, the Apollo 11 Nasa Portrait of Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin and Michael Collins was up on my wall. Granted, 40 years later my adult mind has forgotten the bulk of these space facts, but that little nine year old that clutched the edge of Nana's hook rug and held his breath until we heard the cheers from Mission Control ring out peeped out a couple times this week.

I also had wondered if Walter Cronkite had given thought to these happenings. Uncle Ray had told me Cronkite had often visited Cape Kennedy and was an enthusiastic booster of the Space Program, so news of his passing came with a twinge. Cronkite came from the days of news that mattered instead of news that entertained, when a hard news journalist could impact the country's train of thought. There wasn't this mad race to the bottom, to see who could scoop everyone with a story about a pop singer's public antics or blow-hards massaging their egos by misrepresenting facts to suit their (or their network's) agenda.

It was famously said that President Johnson, when he heard that Walter Cronkite had claimed that the Viet Nam War was an unwinnable stalemate, commented "If I lost Cronkite, I've lost the midwest." We've lost that impact and that voice. The 24 hour round the clock news cycle, with multiple channels feeding us ratings bait but little substance, getting to news that matters has become near impossible. Like the stunning impact of seeing our first man on the moon, a voice with the integrity of Walter Cronkite's will not likely arrive to influence us again.

Twilley Don't Mind

As many of my friends know, I have been a pop music buff almost all of my life. I am a big fan of 80's new wave and of the oft neglected guily pleasure known as "Power-Pop," a genre that contained a lot of new-wave bands, but also has its Richenbacher roots as far back as The Beatles, among other 60's Brit bands.

One of my long faves in the genre has been Dwight Twilly. His mid 70's hit "I'm On Fire" was one of my teenaged 45's, and I had many of his albums. Most have been only limited releases or imports on CD, in fact his best known album, "Jungle," has yet to show up digitally at all. At one time, both he and Tom Petty were signed to the Shelter label, and both were picked to become superstars. Petty escaped a sloppy Shelter demise to sign with MCA, but Twilley's label woes are almost the stuff of legend.

So when a new Twilley CD shows up, I get psyched. To get wind of a new release is pretty exciting stuff. Twilley's new "Out Of The Box" is a sugary treat; a whole album of covers from a man who used to write songs like these with his eyes closed. There's everything here from Bee Gees to AC/DC, Beatles (5 times) and Bob Seger, all filtered through Twilley's jangly, harmonic power-pop style. It's kind of cool to hear "Old Time Rock and Roll" done up as a power-pop tune, and his version of Elvis' "Burning Love" belies the time Twilley journied to Tennesee is his quest to be a Memphis Sun singer.

The real gems, however, are the 60's oldies. Twilley's love of The Beatles' songs has always been evident, but when he lets his inner Lennon/McCartney loose on "In My Life" and "Tomorrow Never Knows," it is enough to justify the Peter Max-ian cover art. The more obscure picks are a delight, like "Big Iron" (Marty Robbins) and "(You're So Square) Baby I Don't Care" (Buddy Holly). If there was any justice in the world, Twilley would ride one of these to a third comeback. For now, his clutch of fans can sit back and enjoy the party.