Living In The Past, Today

It's ten years ago.  Like, right now the calendar should say 2002, maybe 2001.  I don't know how -- I ain't no rocket surgeon -- but certain events have transpired that have me convinced we've stumbled into a way-back DeLorean machine.

THE IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE

- Twothirtyeight are back together and rehearsing in preparation for DeLuna Fest in Pensacola and a "thank you" gig in Atlanta.  Instagram has the proof.

Twothirtyeight's last studio album, You Should Be Living, was released in 2002.  They broke up shortly after.  And now they're back!  No word yet on a tour, or any new material, or any new releases.  In the meantime check out Chris Staples' fantastic solo material.  All kinds of streamy and downloadable goodness on his Bandcamp site.


- David Bazan, who has never really gone away (nor would we ever want him to), is on a Control tour.  To celebrate the 10th anniversary of the release of Pedro The Lion's Control, Bazan will be singing the album's songs on the road.  Chronologically, alphabetically, I don't know.  It doesn't matter.  Great album, great musician.

The INFO.
The SONGS.

I have my tickets stuck to the fridge, so you will likely hear more about this later.


- Further Seems Forever is back together, and not only are they back together... they're back together with Chris Carrabba!  And not only are they back together with Chris Carrabba, they are also touring!  And not only are they back together with Chris Carrabba and touring, the band is also releasing a brand new full-length album!  Squeal!

Check out the first single, "So Cold," with Chris looking as chick-magnety as ever.

Carrabba, as you will vividly recall, left Further Seems Forever in 2001 to do his Dashboard Confessional thing.  FSF's last studio album, Hide Nothing, was released in 2004.  But now everybody is back together and being productive!


So maybe the clock hasn't been turned back.  Maybe it's still the present day.  And maybe all of these reunitings and tributes are for us geezers who can't let go of our glory years.  But if my old favorite bands still want to dish out the songs, I'm more than happy to sit here and eat it up.

Steve Sabol

Man, I loved Steve Sabol.  I didn't know him personally, of course, and his career began decades before I was even born.  But to a kid like me whose appreciation of sports and film were on an equal plane, Sabol's work was absolutely mesmerizing.  Before I even knew who the man was I was absolutely captivated by the slow-motion images of looming football players set to dramatic orchestral music.  It all seemed so epic.

As somebody who never really fully matured into true adulthood what I really loved were the bloopers.  The "Football Follies."  Watching Sabol's follies was like watching a variety show.  There would be a series of short segments, and each segment centered around a theme or told a silly story.  The narratives really made the videos endearingly entertaining.

We take it for granted, the aesthetics of the football highlight reel.  Steve Sabol pioneered a lot of that.  Early on he did a lot of the camera work himself.  Not content with a high static shot from the fifty yard line, Sabol's images were tight and intimate.  And more often than not the best images were just off the playing field, like players gabbing on the bench and psycho fans hollering in the bleachers.

Beyond the imagery, Sabol also pioneered the technique of hooking everybody up with a microphone.  Audio was key, and sound-catching dishes could record the grunts and clangs of offensive lines meeting defensive lines, but only lapel mics could catch actual conversation.  And in-game football conversation is awesome, especially when coaches are wired up.  Players taunt each other, complain about the heat, talk about whatever, but the coaches are viciously ruthless.

And that brings us to the bleeps.  Half the fun of an NFL Films production from the 80s is hearing the naughty words bleeped out.  Imagine Stevie Wonder getting elbowed in the stomach during a harmonica solo, or the sound an old Macintosh computer made when you sat on the keyboard.  That's what Jerry Glanville ended up sounding like in these films every time he tore into a referee.  It was great.

Steve Sabol died Tuesday at the age of 69 from a brain tumor.  He transformed the way we watch football.  He turned a pile of men mud-humping each other into a triumphant spectacle.  He leaves behind decades of work, hours of film, and tons of documented football awesomeness.  I owe Sabol much of my football fandom, and I miss him already.