While You Weren't Looking

Speaking of unexpected career turns, Ryan Adams' new album, "Ashes & Fire," is surprisingly quite good. His voice sounds very full and polished, in a way that it hasn't in a long time, and the production is excellent, with each instrument sounding crisp and placed perfectly in the mix. The producer, Glyn Johns (who, strangely enough, is the father of Ethan Johns, who produced many of Adams' early solo albums), deserves lots of credit. There aren't even many embarrassing lyrics, which is encouraging for someone with a history of writing them on pizza boxes and debuting them in concert later that day. In fact, the opening lyric -- "Last time I was here it was raining / It isn't raining anymore" -- serves as an appropriate metaphor, clearing the air of his intertwined personal and professional problems (drug addiction and subpar albums) the past several years.

That "Ashes & Fire" is so good fits well within Adams' career arc. He's always at his best when no one is paying much attention. First, it was with his old band Whiskeytown's debut, when he just entered his 20s and was unknown; then it was with "Heartbreaker," his solo debut after Whiskeytown imploded and no one thought much would come next; and now, it's after a string of soft albums that left many thinking he didn't have it in him anymore. Expectations are always a good motivator in life.

Above is a video of Adams performing the title track on a European radio show. Thanks to Caitlin Cary, Adams' bandmate in Whiskeytown, for this post's title. Now a reunited Whiskeytown is a concert ticket I'd happily buy.

Update: Pitchfork's review of "Ashes & Fire" is also great; it's witty and insightful like their old ones used to be. The record seems to inspire on several levels.

Reverting To The Mean

My friend wrote from London recently to ask whether Lana del Rey, the 25-year-old songstress who exploded from nowhere during the past six months, is indie, which is a simple but worthwhile question. One could argue that she's the end of indie rock: If an unsigned musician can post a song on You Tube and have it garner 30.7 million views (and counting), major label and modeling deals, and a performance on "Saturday Night Live" in six months, then the term "indie rock" is no longer relevant. The whole entertainment ecosystem is totally contorted, as indie, which one meant prideful knottiness, now means worldwide fame and acceptance, and labels don't matter until you decide to sign to one. I instead replied to my friend that she exists in her own world of hype cycles that compound upon themselves, which also seems to be true.

For better or worse, Lana del Rey's rise also highlights how the Internet, in its early-21st-century incarnation, has ended the career arc of critically adored and commercially overlooked musicians. The Replacements (and Paul Westerberg's solo records) were probably the most famous version of this archetype, though Dean Wareham's output in Galaxie 500 and then Luna, as well as the Magnetic Fields, are also good examples. With each release, critics shout it's a crime these artists don't reach a wider audience -- and then they don't reach a wider audience. But now, everyone pretty much ends up where they should end up, if not better. Neko Case, Bon Iver, Beach House and on and on have wide audiences that are much more substantial than they would've been if they released records 15 years earlier. They still make their own path, so they're not going to sell out arenas, but at the same time, they're catchy and charming and deserve the fan bases they've won. Those that don't break through don't make it because they're a bit too quirky, challenging or esoteric -- which isn't necessarily a criticism -- or because they're not quite as good as those in the upper indie echelon. I've been trying to think this week of a band with at least three recent records to its name that would fit the "overlooked critic's favorite" label and none comes to mind.

This is a good development in the music industry because it's wonderful to see talented people earn the recognition and money they deserve. This is also a disappointing one because some of the thrill of having your own personal treasure is gone. When the Internet opens all doors it also uncovers all secrets.

Above is the video for Luna's "California (All the Way)," to promote nostalgia. Though I like "Video Games" a lot, Lana del Ray has landed the farthest ahead of where her talent should place her -- at least at this point in her career.

So Much For The City, Part II

Nearly three years after the MBTA narrowly averted raising fares and cutting service drastically, the agency is back in the same place, saying it will shrink unless the state can somehow rescue its budget, which is $185 million short. Of course, every public transit agency in the U.S. seems to operate at a deficit, but it's very disappointing to find ourselves in this situation again so quickly, if only because it portends frequent reprisals. Don't transportation officials, state legislators and the governor's staff grow tired of the same three-act drama, where the T claims insolvency, the public objects at full throat, and state government somehow cobbles together enough money to avoid the fare increases and service reductions?

As much as I expect this sequence to repeat itself, now even if we're only in act two at the moment, I'm still perplexed by how these departments' leaders never acknowledge the unfairness of the scenarios the T presents. The 1.3 million people who ride the T each day, including me, are in the right. We choose the more environmentally sustainable mode of transportation, as well as the one that supports anti-sprawl development patterns because we encourage businesses, retail and corporate, to concentrate around transportation, and residential developers to do the same. The health, safety, livability and business consequences of T ridership are much more promising than those of car driving. For others, including students, the working poor and the elderly, riding the T isn't a choice, but rather the cheapest way to travel when owning a car is too expensive or driving is no longer possible. Nonetheless, the T proposes to raise fares and cut transportation options, which falls more heavily on the poorest who have trouble affording the price and on bus routes that go to the more distant urban neighborhoods where the poor live. (There's a reason why many neighborhoods around subway stops are gentrified, or are at least the next targets for gentrification.)

Michael Graham, the Herald's most conservative columnist, wrote recently that T riders are arguing for great service without having to pay for the true cost of it. This is very ironic, considering the true cost of car driving has been masked since World War II, whether it's the government subsidy of highway construction, the environmental impact of vehicle emissions that isn't priced into the cost of gasoline, or the greater tax credit one receives for commuting by car. If the negative externalities of driving were incorporated into the price, say through a gasoline tax, far fewer people would be behind the wheel and far more would be clamoring with the rest of us for more equitable transit service.

Boston, it's worth noting, is one of the few cities where one can live without having to own a car. (I own one as a convenience, but don't use it very often.) This is one reason it remains such a popular city, particularly for talented students and 20-somethings, and shrinking its transit options would be a major blow for the metro region's overall competitiveness. However, the two greatest sources of the T's problems raise uncomfortable questions about governance for its largely Democratic ridership in a largely Democratic state: First, the salaries, benefits and pensions that the T pays its union employees are far more than the agency can afford. Second, the agency is stuck with billions of debt from the Big Dig, which, as marvelous a change as it had on Boston's urban design, was ultimately a highway expansion project. Why are the public transit authority and its riders paying the bills of the state highway department and its drivers? Largely because legislators found the T to be a convenient, off-the-books place to stash the debt so that the state's fiscal health wouldn't deteriorate. The least we can do is write our legislators and ask them to be more honest.

Farewell, Gary Carter

Carter, the Mets' star catcher during their 1986 World Series victory, was an early childhood hero of mine. My father writes to report that when we played baseball in the driveway at home, he would pretend to throw off his catcher's mask and catch foul balls, which I liked. Another favorite family story is how I impressed my pediatrician in the fall of 1986 by reciting the Mets' roster at the age of three.

The Mets, perhaps more so than any other team of the past 25 years, had an astonishing amount of unfulfilled promise. They won 108 games in '86, another 100 in '88 but lost the NLCS in seven games to the Dodgers, and by '91 had fallen off the baseball earth. Carter was the only player from those teams inducted into the Hall of Fame -- as a Montreal Expo, where he began his career and had many great seasons, though the cap a player wears in the Hall is determined by its voters, not the player. Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry had the most infamous implosions, but Lenny Dykstra wasn't very far behind, though he didn't have the same potential as the first two. Keith Hernandez was also on the team, as were many players who had at least several good seasons in their careers -- Ron Darling, Rick Aguilera, Howard Johnson and Kevin McReynolds. The team just totally fell apart, partly out of expectations, partly out of ego.

Perhaps this year's Brewers will faintly echo those Mets: After becoming a big success story and reaching last year's playoffs, their big power hitter, Prince Fielder, left for the gargantuan contract given to him by the Tigers (a likely mistake considering Fielder's body), and their biggest star and franchise face, Ryan Braun, has been suspended for 50 games for failing a drug test. That's a tough turn of events, particularly in a small market.

What Jake Stern Wants, Jake Stern Gets

Jeremy Lin's meteoric rise this week from third-string point guard to NBA phenomenon reminds me of a Matt Christopher novel -- a great talent who must've been hiding something for too long, like "The Fox Who Stole Home" or "The Babysitting Quarterback" or something. Considering Lin's Harvard pedigree, maybe his book could be called "The Student Council President Point Guard" or "The Math Tutor Three-Point Shooter"?

The ironic twist is that Lin's game fits the Knicks' offense much better than that of the injured star he's replaced, Carmelo Anthony. Lin is energetic, has good court vision, threads passes well and knows how to execute the pick and roll, which is exactly what the Knicks' other star, Amar'e Stoudemire, needs. Anthony slows the game, requires the ball in his hands on too many possessions and takes too many shots to get his points. Once Anthony returns from injury in a week, he likely won't adjust his game to match Lin's -- it will be the other way around. Lin won't mind this, I expect, because until a week ago, no one knew him, but his blazing productivity will extinguish. I'd briefly like to compliment myself for criticizing the Anthony trade since it was made a year ago.

The other noteworthy part of Lin's emergence is how well it fits the 21st century. There's a heartwarming Horatio Alger element to it, with a hard-working, overlooked Asian American Harvard graduate (though only in the NBA can a Harvard grad be overlooked) making good when he's just given the chance. But more so, he's soared to national-sensation status in only a week, something that could only happen today. Even my friend Jake wrote from Delhi about him, to jokingly ask when I'd write a blog post about Lin. (Though Jake is a big basketball fan and NBA games end as he's eating breakfast, so he can follow the action.) There's something about his ascendance that's more about pop culture than sports, like a reality TV star or viral video on You Tube. (In fact, his highlights have already registered about 700,000 views!) He's only starred in four games, three of which were against poor teams and all of which were against opposing point guards with only a passing interest in defense, yet everyone is already fawning. Maybe we should slow down here before crowning him? Haven't we learned from our countless hype cycles? At least Lin's game and story are classically appealing and without the cultural conservatism that makes his NFL equivalent, Tim Tebow, so divisive.

Well, decide for yourself: Above are highlights of Lin's game against the Washington Wizards earlier this week.

We Built This City, Part II

Leave it to one of the Herald's online commenters to elucidate the news. In response to the death of Kevin White, Boston's mayor from 1968 to 1984, the person thanked White for saving Boston and stopping it from heading down the same path as Baltimore, Cleveland, St. Louis, et al did in those years. As hard as it is to believe today, this person is right. In the late 1960s, Boston was phenomenally different from what it is today: Like all U.S. cities of the time, its relevancy was in great doubt, as only a handful of new buildings had been built downtown in about the past 40 years and (white) people scattered to the suburbs, but it was also racist in a way that other Northeastern cities weren't. Reading the Globe's obituary of White provides a rich reminder of this era, with rival Irish political clans, corruption and an overall tense, doubting atmosphere. Now, Boston is comfortable with its diversity, has wonderful cultural amenities (even if it will never be cosmopolitan), a relatively healthy economy oriented toward the 21st century, and great neighborhoods for living.

Even though White was mayor when Boston's public schools were desegregated by court order, much of the praise for him has focused on urban planning. He oversaw the redevelopment of Faneuil Hall Marketplace, an outdoor urban mall that became a nationwide development trend, and the construction of many new downtown towers, one beautiful (the John Hancock building) and many architecturally questionable. Barney Frank, who began his career working for White, said last week that he thought White's greatest achievement was helping block the construction of a new "inner belt" highway and instead using the money for public transit. In "Planning the City on a Hill," a history of Boston's urban development, White is criticized for controlling the Boston Redevelopment Authority and clearing the way for his favorite business partners, without much consideration of their proposals' merits. He seems to fit the category of "growth coalition" mayors -- promoting big businesses, big buildings and downtown over the rest of the city -- but at a time when the city's raison d'etre was in question, maybe that's what it needed.

One of my uncles lived in Boston during the middle of White's tenure while in college and graduate school (on the other side of the Charles River, but close enough). He tells me how he could walk to Fenway Park or the old Boston Garden on game day and buy tickets because they were never sold out; the Red Line stopped at Harvard Square; riding the Orange Line wasn't a pleasant experience; and there were parts of town and bars that a nice Jewish boy didn't want to walk into for fear of the consequences of looking at someone the wrong way. I don't recognize any of this Boston because it no longer exists.