TASTY GOODNESS

It's the oldest, cheesiest, tired-est way to describe an act that reviewers and bands themselves use: "A tasty concoction with a dash of blues, a pinch of jazz, plenty of sass, and a heapin' helpin' of soul make Cookin' Pete and his Saucy Boys a unique blend of musical styles....." Blah, blah, blah.

But there's a reason for that -- it's because music and food have have always gone together. Be it a loungy piano guy at a swanky restaurant, or staggering frat-boys horkin' down cheese fries while they watch their favorite band, music and food almost always compliment each other. Fact is, that tired old way of describing bands is so overdone because it's accurate. Almost every musical combo in the world for the last 100 years takes "ingredients" from their members' different influences and "mixes" them up into their music -- otherwise, there would never be any change, no progress, no innovation.

Both playing music and cooking food take a balance of science and art. In each, there are "rules" (play in tune/don't burn stuff, vibrating metal sound good/yeast makes bread rise) that make up the science. And in each, greatness can only be achieved by intangibles, those immeasurable, indefinable "it" factors that separate the best from the rest. For example, in the way that you can follow to the letter Mom's recipe for the perfect meat loaf, but can never make it taste the same, you can also write out a tablature for a _____ solo and play it note for note and never come close to playing it the same as him. It's all about the hands -- the eyes may be the window to the soul, but the hands are the open door.

I was struck the other night watching "Big Night", a film starring Stanley Tucci and Tony Shaloub about two Italian imigrant brothers who come to America in the late '40's to fulfill their dream of opening a traditional Italian restaurant, about this whole food/music comparison. No cinematic masterpiece or anything, but it's a really funny, cool, interesting flick, great for watching with dinner. Basically, the plot is this: because of one of the brothers' (Shaloub) stubborn, unflinching respect for true Italian cuisine, and his refusal to stray from it to cater to their New York customers' desires (when one woman insists on having spaghetti with her risotto, thus having two starches with one dinner, Shaloub looks at her through the kitchen door and shouts "Philistine!!"), the restaurant is failing. Next door, there is a successful Italian restaurant, complete with spaghetti and meatballs for everybody, that is run by a semi-mobbed up older friend. To try and save the restaurant, the friend offers to bring Louis Prima to the restaurant after his show the next night, thus giving them one more "big night" to try and save their dreams. They invite everyone they know, cook an absolute feast (a 7-course Italian meal), and get shnockered on wine waiting all night for Prima to show. They have the party of their lives, and eventually, tired of waiting for the guest of honor, they decide to eat. My favorite moment: after the meal, a woman is shown slumping at the table, sobbing into her napkin, and wailing, "I never knew my mother was such a terrible cook!" Hilarious and perfect.

What struck me most while watching the movie was, besides the comparisons to music and food itself, was the similarities between the food and music business. OK, I can hear y'all now: "Good Lord, here we go again... this guy's a broken record." Yeah, I know... But if I wasn't at least a little tunnel-visioned and obsessive, I wouldn't be a real musician, now, would I? The most basic reason the food & music business are similar is they're both part of the entertainment business. I guess food is for nourishment too, but if it was only about that, we'd all just be eating packets of soy paste and drinking water. But no -- we want our food, like our music, to be good. The variety (and controversy) lies in what we define as "good". For food, that could mean just filling, or savory, or fun, or convenient and easy, or to some people food is deitous and a reflection of life itself. The same can be said for music; "good" can mean just fun, or danceable, or thought- provoking, or angry, or cynical, or even so full of dimensions and involvement that it almost becomes unenjoyable. What's "good"? Who the hell knows? I know I've had plenty of opinions on the subject, with plenty more to come. But with both food and music, while there are some basic parameters of good quality, it's all still mostly subjective.

In the film "Big Night", the struggle for success with what's "quality" and what the masses want, or think is "good", is the focus. What the brothers love, and believe others will love, is true, quality Italian cuisine. If the people will just try it, and give it a chance, they will love it as much as they do. But unfortunately, the restaurant next door features spaghetti & meatballs. They have a loud, bombastic character as the owner. They cater to the New York masses, and they are packed every night. The brothers' restaurant is mostly empty, with a few loyal and very satisfied Italian customers. But when given the chance on their big Louis Prima event, they are able to showcase the food they love, and present it in the way it should be done. And the "masses" are dazzled and supremely satisfied.

Music lovers, are you seeing the similarities here? The music business works exactly the same way. Acts who make "quality" music -- music that takes some love & effort to make, whose sole purpose isn't only to cater to as many people as humanly possible -- often can only achieve small, very loyal crowd. Pop music (especially and including modern country) gives the most people what they want, and with Americans, that means music that is easy, fun, and one-dimensional. And as we all know, pop music is now a multi-billion dollar international industry, with Nashville country as its flagship franchise.

So are pop music (or food) and quality mutually exclusive? Not necessarily. There is the occasional quality country song that comes out on pop country radio. But I like the chicken tenders at Chili's too -- that doesn't mean I think Chili's is "good". Chili's is corporate, middle-of-the-road, American McFood -- just like Big & Rich or Toby Keith or Ashlee Simpson is corporate, mediocre at best, American McMusic.

But here and there, quality food and music are able to coexist with success. Where corporate cuisine like Chili's, Olive Garden, and Fuddruckers thrive, you also have great restaurants like Les Halles in New York (Anthony Bourdain), Frontera Grill in Chicago (Rick Bayless), and even Hoover's Cooking (Hoover Alexander) here in Austin that are full every night, whose chefs have gained an amount of fame, either locally or nationally. In music, Kenny Chesney, Puff Daddy, and Shania Twain are multi-multi-millionaires and could buy and sell us all like corn dogs at a rodeo, but people like Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, and Lyle Lovett make a damn fine living making damn good music, have sold out every concert for years, and have never had a top 10 hit.

Just for the sake of this discussion, because they live in their own world (and because I love them and it's my Soapbox and I can do whatever the hell I want), I'm excluding fast-food burger joints from this comparison altogether. That said, this whole music-food quality vs. success thing hinges a lot on maturity level.

The younger we are, the more we want it faster, newer, more instantly gratifying.... whatever it is. Food, music, film, sex, a good buzz -- all have to satisfy us right here, right now, or we're moving on. As we grow up, we realize things have dimensions of enjoyment, that patience and perserverence can even have visceral results that reward our senses. Details become important, and we learn not to believe everything we watch, read, or hear. If you look in the right places, you can find the coolest music you could ever want, that one sound you never knew you wanted but now can't live without. If you take the time to understand even a little bit about food, the importance of quality and fresh ingredients, what separates a good gravy from a terrible one, the history of a certain style, you can find flavors and depth in your normal old dinner that you never even thought about. And next thing you know you're standing in 102 degree heat in Texas, in August, waiting in a 20 minute line to try a chip with a dab of hot sauce on it. Or in Spain making your favorite spicy fried taters for a friend, who in turn makes them for her own mother.

I'll use myself for an example here, like I did in that last comparison. Let me be clear up front: I love, with all my Southern heart and soul, a big greasy double-cheeseburger-ketchup-only-with-fries. I will salivate uncontrollably at the mere sight of a steak on TV. I will go to great lengths, as many of my friends and family can attest, to not eat a vegetable. Of any kind. Not one. With the one grand exception of the glorious potato -- which I eat at least 4 or 5 times a week, in every size, shape, configuration, or style. There was a time not long ago when the only seasonings I could comprehend were salt and pepper.

Now, thanks to growing up, and mostly to my lovely Miss K and her obsession with cooking, Food Network and 70's cookbooks, I've found a way to turn my picky and ridiculous eating habits into something that almost resembles good food. Up until a few years ago, the biggest food complaint you'd here from me was, "Dammit, they put %$#*-ing mustard on this!" Now, you're likely to hear me say stuff like, "Dammit, we're out of coumin again!" Or, "Babe, you've gotta make that bragiole again." When I was a kid, my Mom used to make potatoes, sliced round and about a quarter-inch thick, and either fry them or wrap them in foil and put them on the grill. To my knowledge, she didn't season thm with anything more than some onions and salt and pepper, and they were perfect -- a prime example of simple home comfort food that you can never duplicate. I remember when I moved into my first apartment with my brother, and tried to make them. I ended up calling home: "Mom! Why am I burning these fried potatoes so bad? Mom: "How much oil did you put in the pan?" Me: "Oil?" Now, although I still can't duplicate the perfect simplicity of them, I've tinkered with them for the last few years, and come up with some good stuff. A cast iron skillet & corn oil, parboiled potatoes, french-fry cut, seasoning with shallots, red pepper flakes (from Pizza Hut), oregano, lemon pepper, salt, and a local Southwest seasoning. Or to wrap in foil and throw on the grill, i marinate 'em in olive oil, some cayenne, chipolte sauce, garlic salt, red pepper flakes, and salt. Whoo-eee! Pretty fancy for stupid ol' french fries. But damn, they're good! I've also learned how to fry or grill steaks and burgers like I made a deal with Beelzebubba, with local barbecue steak sauces and other stuff, with some cool techniques that I learned from Miss K.

It goes the same for music. When I was younger, I wanted my music fast, loud, and/or painful. Now, although it's still gotta have that pain, I've learned I can accomplish the same thing with one acoustic guitar, or a three piece mostly acousic band that can make people feel any emotion in a coffee house, honky-tonk, or concert hall. I've learned that lyrics, melody, and taste offer much greater musical rewards -- even if the point of a song is to be loud and angry.

I guess that's what it really is all about. What is the one thing that separates Chili's from Hoover's, or Toby Keith from Lyle Lovett? Taste.

Here's hoping your music tastes good.

By the way, Louis Prima never showed.

Roger