Eric R. Danton | Sound Check

Funky Winkerbean: Lose the goatee, Les

I've been an avid reader of comics in the newspaper since I was kid in the Denver area, following them in the Rocky Mountain News. I remember when "Bloom County" ran the telephone number for the switchboard at the White House, I remember thinking "Family Circus" sucked even then and I remember when "Funky Winkerbean" fast-forwarded from Les Moore's high school years to his adult life as a teacher at his old high school.

Now "Funky Winkerbean" author Tom Batiuk has fast-forwarded again, following the death from cancer of Les' wife, Lisa (at right). Never mind that I found the Lisa death sequence maudlin, manipulative and not at all comforting (and I write this knowing exactly what it's like to lose loved ones to cancer), Batiuk couldn't find a better way to illustrate older-Les than with a mangy goatee? Was he so grief-stricken he stopped grooming himself for a decade or so? His daughter, Summer, is old enough now to sit down with ol' Dad and let him know that unless he adds a beret and starts writing stream-of-consciousness fiction, his scraggly whiskers don't cut it.

Hannah Montana Review: There won't be one

Aside from Led Zeppelin’s recent one-off show in London, Hannah Montana is the hottest concert of the season, and tickets are more difficult to find than a Spears daughter with good judgment.

But The Courant won’t be reviewing Miley Cyrus’ performance at the Hartford Civic — er, XL Center.

We wanted to review it. We had asked to review it. But Disney, which airs the TV show “Hannah Montana” and mounted the accompanying tour, controls media access to the concert, and opted not to set aside any tickets for reviewers in this market (and some others), a decision that is shortsighted and greedy.

We gladly would have bought a ticket, were any available. But Disney screwed that up, too, when it failed to anticipate, and take steps to prevent, the swarm of scalpers that snapped up Hannah Montana tickets as soon as they went on sale. The fact that scalpers priced out thousands of little girls eager to see their hero on stage made little difference to Disney, except as a public-relations blip: The company profits regardless of who ends up buying the tickets.

By shutting out the media, though, Disney also deprives kids staying home Wednesday night of an account of the show written for a broader audience (and with perhaps more critical detachment and, arguably, scrapbook appeal) than whatever mileyrawks85 writes on some Hannah Montana fan site. Of course, newspaper concert reviews are rarely the last word; they’re actually more of a starting point for debate and discussion — key elements of community.

But Disney couldn’t care less about community, unless it boosts the bottom line. To this mouse-eared Grinch, Hannah Montana fans (and their parents) are little more than sources of cash to be squeezed until they run dry.

'Bombs bursting in air'

The Connecticut House of Representatives' select committee on children is holding a public hearing next week on HB-7248, a bill "to prohibit music with violent lyrics from being brought into public schools."

It's worth noting that the national anthem is a song with violent lyrics, but lawmakers have cleverly sidestepped that with this definition:

"violent lyrics" means a sound recording that contains explicit sexual or violent material or detailed verbal descriptions or narrative accounts of explicit sexual or violent material which, taken as a whole (A) predominantly appeals to the prurient, shameful or morbid interest of minors, (B) is patently offensive to prevailing standards in the adult community, as a whole, with respect to what is suitable material for minors, and (C) is utterly without redeeming social importance for minors.

Let's give them the benefit of the doubt and assume that our esteemed representatives mean well. But shouldn't parents, and not state legislators, be the ones determining what material is or is not "without redeeming social importance" for their children?

Dear Britney: Just go away

It's hard to imagine a more persuasive argument for the corrosive effects of fame than the Britney Spears' life of late. Her recent antics -- crotch shots, tattoos, head shaving, rehab -- are even less interesting than her music was, back when she was a recording artist instead of just one big cry for attention.

Those poor children. It doesn't bode well for them that Kevin Federline is the stable parent. Here's hoping Brit saves some of her gazillions of dollars for the giant therapy bills that are sure to follow.

What would Sting drive?

When big acts, like the Police, announce reunion tours, everyone wants in on the action: Amazon offers "experts" to comment on the band's career, satellite radio does the same, giant electronics chain stores rush to sponsor the outing and on and on.

Today, the special interest riding the publicity coattails is AFV Solutions, a company that makes low-emissions fuel systems suited to — surprise! — tour buses. AFV's publicists sent out an e-mail with the subject header, "The Police on tour ... but what will they be driving?"

The average fan (who, given the demographics of the Police faithful, is likely to drive to the concert in an SUV) surely couldn't care less whether the band shows up in a 1979 tandem-axle Mack dump truck belching out filth or in a sleek new tour bus that runs on rainbows and positive thinking, as long as the trio plays "Every Breath You Take."

Bend it Like Posh Spice

So, the Beckhams are moving to Los Angeles so endorsement juggernaut (and, incidentally, soccer star) David Beckham can extend his flagging career. Sweet. And when can we can expect wife Victoria to release a Posh Spice solo album?

Here's a tune to accompany the Beckhams' relocation ...

Download:
Art Brut — Move to L.A. mp3

Yesterday's news

The front page of The Courant on my doorstep looked awfully familiar this morning, and it didn't take long to realize why: My carrier delivered an encore copy of the paper from yesterday. No wonder circulation is slipping.

Mayor Perez just can't help himself

Politicians across Connecticut couldn't resist the urge to flap their jaws when local rock hero Gene Pitney died in April. Although it struck me as self-serving and in poor taste (which I mentioned at the time), at least there was a local angle.

Not this time. Hartford Mayor Eddie A. Perez felt the need to issue a statement on the death Monday of James Brown:

“As the nation continues to mourn the passing of the 'Godfather of Soul' James Brown, we should reflect on how he was one of the biggest musical influences of his generation. From his songs to his dance moves, he was passionate about performing and that passion has had a distinct impact on the artists of today and will continue to do so for the stars of tomorrow.”

Let's ignore for a second that the mayor's vapid statement is two days late, and therefore utterly useless for anything more than bird-cage lining.

What's in a name?

The idea of selling naming rights for stadiums, arenas and other venues has always vaguely bothered me, and Clyde Haberman of The New York Times today did an excellent job summarizing why in a column about the New York Mets selling naming rights to their new stadium. Alas, columnists on the Times website are considered premium content, and I get an error message every time I try setting up a TimesSelect account, so I can't link to it.

But Haberman's point is this: it's about honor. Shea Stadium bears that name in honor of William Shea, a New York businessman who was instrumental in bringing National League baseball back to the Big Apple after the Dodgers and Giants fled west. Haberman writes, "Naming rights are not to be confused with honor. Honor is something bestowed upon you. It is not something you can insist is your due. A company name spread above the front door on demand is a billboard."

'Silent Night?' If only ...

It's still technically summer, but Christmas albums are already arriving in the mail. That's fine — record companies work in advance on this sort of thing. But so do their publicists. "I’m writing to see if you have received the ... Christmas album we sent to you," one wrote today. "If you have, will you be reviewing it?"

Honestly? I have no idea — it's SEPTEMBER. Maybe we'll review it. But probably not. Because let's face it, there are only so many versions of "Silent Night" you can withstand before "tender and mild" describes your frontal lobe, and Emmylou Harris' version is the same as Rhonda Vincent's is the same as Andy Williams' is the same as whomever's. 

Every year, there are maybe three holiday albums that try something different. Those are the ones we'll review, because those are the ones that are interesting. Otherwise, you may as well just stick to Johnny Mathis' "Merry Christmas." It even includes "Silent Night."