Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 25, 1993 TAG: 9307250181
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARK MORRISON
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Maybe behind my back, I'm a pea brain all the time. Who knows?
And who cares? As an expertly trained concert reviewer, I like to think I've developed pretty thick skin. Over the years, I've grown accustomed to the rantings of fans who take it personally when I dish up even the slightest criticism of their musical idols.
To a point, I enjoy it.
I've got my opinions. You've got yours. So be it. It can be fun to disagree.
Still, pea brain seems a bit severe. But that's what Ken Frith of Rocky Mount called me in a letter to Walter Rugaber, the publisher of this newspaper, who can make or break me like a twig. Frith also threatened to cancel his subscription.
In other words, Frith went right to the top - and he hit where it hurts.
The theory being: If Walter agrees that indeed I'm a pea brain, and he senses a circulation revolt by incensed music fanatics, I'm out on my ear. If not, I'm safe at least until the next rash of irate letters that flood in when I say so-and-so sings like a cow.
Sinead O'Connor, for example. She sings like a cow, a very sick cow if you ask me. Of course, she has never performed a concert here, so I haven't had the chance yet to offer my evaluation.
But I think you get my point. I'm safe until the Sineadheads out there take up arms and start burning pictures of Walter Rugaber outside the building. (Hey, don't put it past them.)
So, what was the burr in Frith's compact disc player?
He took exception to my review of the Glenn Frey/Joe Walsh concert earlier this month at the Roanoke Civic Center.
In my review, I wrote that Joe Walsh could not sing. I described him as "marble-mouthed," "dreadfully bad" and a possible "spokesman for the vocally impaired."
Remember, it was only my opinion. (Although I assure you in this case that I spoke the truth. Actually, I thought I was being kind.) Anyhow, Frith obviously disagreed.
In his letter, he wrote: "I do not understand why you have a pea brain like Mark Morrison on your staff. The Glenn Frey/Joe Walsh concert was the most bang-for-the-buck show I've seen in years . . . I am insulted by the review."
He's entitled to his opinion.
His fervor, though, I thought warranted elaboration. With skin as thick as a rhino, I called him up. He seemed happy for the second opportunity to call me a pea brain, this time one-on-one.
"I think everyone at the show enjoyed it except you," he said.
Not true, but I let him talk.
He said he went into his bank the other day and started talking to the teller, who also had been to the show. They raved about how good a concert it was. Then the teller said: "What about this deal in the paper?"
He said he tried to read my article as an outsider, as someone who had not gone to the concert. "The way I took it was, it was bad, that it wasn't worth going to.
"And I seriously disagreed," he said.
Finally, I spoke up.
I didn't entirely slam the show, I pointed out. I wrote that Glenn Frey had a "welcome professional polish." I praised their super backup band. Joe Walsh was a mixed blessing, I said. On the one hand, his singing was terrible. On the other, he at least kept things interesting.
His goofy spin on the Eveready battery bunny, when he circled the stage in rabbit ears while banging on a marching drum, was one of the concert's fun moments. I also complimented his power-chord guitar-playing prowess.
It wasn't like the time I wholly blasted rapper and male model Marky Mark when he played the Salem Civic Center in 1992. I rightfully called his display ridiculous, especially the ceremonial dropping of his pants and humping of the stage.
Nobody called me a pea brain then.
In fact, I tend to be generous with my reviews, sometimes despite my personal tastes. More or less, I gave Debbie Reynolds, Guns N' Roses, Neil Diamond and Billy Ray Cyrus all favorable marks, although I personally loathe each of them.
This means that I really am a pea brain or I try to be fair. In every concert, I try to point out the good. I try to sort out the bad. Isn't that my job?
"I thought you were a little harsh," Frith said.
Surely, he wasn't defending Joe Walsh's singing. I may be a pea brain, but Joe sings like he has a mouthful of peas. "Let's face it," Frith finally 'fessed up. "The guy can't even really speak English."
Frith, 42, is a former professional musician himself.
"He gets carried away." But Frith contends that is part of Joe's charm. "I think he's been smoking that stuff for so long that's what people expect of him," he said.
"My wife told me that he reminded her of me," he joked.
Frith was a good sport about all this.
I told him I admired his panache for going straight to the publisher. He said: "If I had a problem with the government, I'd write the president. That's just the way I am. It's like if you're praying, you go to the head guy."
It was nothing personal, he assured me. He has his opinions. I've got mine. He can respect that, he said. We found some common ground. Neither of us is impressed by Hank Williams Jr.
"Seen him three times, walked out twice," he said.
In the end, Frith decided to give me a second chance. But he will be watching.
"If you don't hear from me, then you're doing all right."
by CNB