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The Worst CD Ever Made: William Shatner
The Worst CD Ever Made: William Shatner
My friend, Alyse, was having this big yard sale and had been collecting things from here, there and another place to sell. I looked over the mountains of stuff she had in the garage and found a real treasure. Among the stacks of CDs was William Shatner’s Has Been.
I immediately put it on her player, as I had not heard it yet. It did not disappoint—it was absolutely, completely and utterly awful! I loved it, especially “Common People,” where he tells us, “But you’ll never get it right/’Cos when you’re laid in bed at night/Watching roaches climb the wall/If you called your dad he could stop it all/Yeah.” “It Hasn’t Happened Yet” is ultra-whinny. His “You’ll Have Time” reminds me of the Pole Barn Poets’ song, “You’re Dead,” but it’s not quite as good, even though it has catchy lyrics like “Live life like you’re gonna die/Because you’re gonna/I hate to be the bearer of bad news/But you’re gonna die.” Who couldn’t “Get behind that?” (another wonderfully awful track from the CD)
Bill assures us that, while he has “saved the world in movies,” he can “eat and sleep and breathe and bleed and feel/sorry to disappoint you/But I’m real.” But is he? Is he really? He has some really fine performers working with him (no sarcasm, just surprise) such as Henry Rollins, Nick Hornby, Joe Jackson, Ben Folds and even Brad Paisley. I can only wonder about their look of chagrin when this is brought up in the years to come… “Luuucy… you got some ‘splainin’ to do…”
Even the CD art is atrocious, in a classically cult way. Photos of Bill looking serious, speaking into a microphone (we are not given the dubious pleasure of hearing him actually sing), holding a pen, talking to others, are just too campy.
When Alyse looked at me like I was crazy, after we listened to the first couple of tracks, I pointed out that I absolutely loved this CD for the same reasons I love B horror movies. They are so bad they are awesome. So is this CD; it brightens my day when I listen to it.
I excitedly told a couple of friends in the computer lab at school about this really bad album, and it was one of them that pointed out that Henry Rollins was the singer for Black Flag. Later in the teacher’s lounge at lunch I announced that I had recently gotten the worst CD ever made in the history of CDs. Two folks immediately asked “William Shatner?”
My friend Ninian came to visit me, crashing at my place so he could attend the “Black Banjo” seminar at ASU.
He was a disk jockey back in the day so he has a deeper and more educated view of music, musicians and the music industry than I do. He mentioned that both black and white musicians played jazz and blues, but in the 30’s the record companies came in and would only record black artists performing blues and white artists performing jazz.
“So record companies actually defined culture?” I asked.
He said they did, and to an extent they still do. Being that he has a much more mature appreciation of music, when I told him during dinner as he ate a hamburger and we shared some pasta salad that we were listening to the worst CD ever made in the history of CDs, he asked, “If it’s the worst CD in the history of CDs, why are you listening to it? Even more to the point, why am I?”
He thought I was just as crazy as Alyse for liking (in my own way) the CD. But you know… I’ve listened to it many times now and it seems to grow on me… kind of like the scientific experiments I have in the refrigerator. I am just beginning to really understand the genius and talent Bill shows in his words and music… HELP!!!!
What is it about horses that attract women? Almost any young girl you talk to wants a pony or a horse. Then we grow up, get jobs, homes, families, responsibilities and most of us no longer have the time, energy or money to think about sharing our lives with an equine companion.
But the desire is still there, maybe hidden deeply. I believe that for me horses represent freedom. Think about a horse, or a herd of them, running through a meadow, heads high, manes and tails whipped back by the wind… Is there a stronger image of freedom?
I started my relationship with horses very young, but it was only infrequent. My family and I went to riding stables a few times. It was only much later that I truly bonded with my first horse. And that relationship was short lived.
The one below right is the one that gave me the black eye. You never know what a horse will spook at. It can be the same stretch of woods you’ve ridden in for years and they might see a leaf falling, a shaft of sunlight or goodness knows what and they suddenly rear, buck or take off running. I never knew what it was that set her off this time, but before I knew what was happening, she reared up and I leaned forward to stay on. Luckily I was not wearing glasses yet, because, believe me, there is nothing harder than the skull of a horse! Had that shiner for a week, but I didn’t fall off and I got her under control again.
I am fortunate to call Sheryl one of my dearest friends. She is living the dream, owning, working with and loving two horses. She has always had horses, ever since I met her long ago and far away in Georgia. Because of her, I was able to experience the wonders and thrills and closeness of horse riding.
We both moved away from Georgia, but amazingly both ended up in the same city in North Carolina! We renewed our friendship and she began encouraging me to come with her to ride on Saturdays. So I started. She had a friend who had a horse named Reba that needed some exercise. And she was friendly, too.
She had such a great heart! Sheryl rode her horse, Shadow, who at 23 refused to be anything but first on the trails, no matter how fast were were going.
And fast we would go! There were jumps carefully set up through the wooded trails and we would FLY! The trees were blurs on either side of me and the wind loud in my ears as Reba grabbed the ground in front of her and threw it behind her. We would sail over the logs, splash through clear streams throwing rainbow crystals high into the air, and soar over the pastures. Nothing had ever sent my heart pounding like that before; nothing has since. She moved smoothly under me, never stumbling, never hesitating at any of the jumps.
She was such a good mount that I did not have to be a good rider. Which was good, because I am not a horsewoman. Never will be. But still, on some sunny afternoons when I feel the wind pick up and whistle past my ears, I feel her moving with me, see the blur, smell her sweat and mine…
In the early 2000's I spent one fantastic year living in a barn on a horse farm. The barn was an old dairy barn that had gone out of business when I-85 had cut through the pasture. No way to get the cows across the road to the milking barn. So the barn was renovated (barely—don’t even get me started talking about the winter in this place!) and rented. Soon after I rented it, the pasture surrounding it was rented by a fellow who raised horses. He had over 100 of them, not all of whom stayed in the pasture around the barn.
So I was privileged to share my space with many horses. Some times they would just herd up for no reason I could understand and run from the very top of the pasture far away down around the barn and into the lower pasture. Their hooves would pound faintly at first, and I would run outside. Then the first ones would appear over the brow of the hill and the sound would get louder. As they passed by and the wind from their passing hit me, the ground itself would be rumbling under my feet. Then they would get to the bottom pasture, trot, walk, then flick their tails, shake their heads and graze…
At night I would sleep with the door open from my bedroom onto the balcony that looked over the pasture. Often when it was warm enough I would just sleep outside in my sleeping bag. In the early hours they would call to each other and I might wake up and listen to them for a while before falling back into sleep under the caress of the moon.
In the spring there were babies with their mothers. Fragile tiny things, walking around shakily, then soon running and kicking up their hooves, laying down and rolling on the grass…
The past is with me. But so is the present.
The FFA has seen to that. My first year at Watauga HS (2003) the FFA really wanted to have a Horse Evaluation Team. Knowing VERY little about it, I said, “Sure. Horses have four legs—let’s go!!” and go we did. The State Level competition was held on the same weekend as a yearly spiritual gathering I had gone to for many years. I was scheduled to do two workshops and be involved with the services. I had to cancel my participation so I could go with the kids to the competition. We earned second in the Region and had the highest scoring individual in the State, so I guess it was worth it…
I no longer ride horses regularly; haven’t in years. In fact, it had been more than 8 years since I had been on a horse when the FFA members decided they wanted to do a trail ride in the fall of 2004. Looking forward to it and not looking forward to the days after, I was just as excited as they were.
The horses were not like Reba. This was a commercial stable that rented their horses out for trail rides. The horses walked under different people several times a day and were not spirited. Who could blame them? I wanted to buy the horse I rode, just to see her run with head held high and mane flying behind her.
But as soon as I got there and smelled the stable, I could feel the goose bumps on my arms rise. We did not fly through the woods like I had done with Reba. We walked, trotted a little, galloped once maybe. By the time we got back it was just after dusk. The trail leaders let us run in the pastures.
Now before I describe this, let me say that no horses were injured (or kids) and we ran on a flat level pasture. So; picture this. Dark pasture (this is a photo of the pasture before it got dark), so you could see very little. Then add high school students and an advisor running through the pasture from one end to the other and back. All of us felt the freedom and excitement and I heard them yelling, hooting, hollering and realized that one of the voice raised to the sky above the sound of the pounding hooves was my own!
For just a moment, I was flying with Reba, following Sheryl and Shadow through the blurred woods on a sunny Saturday. Then I was back in the dark, my students galloping around me as we pounded down the pasture just one more time.
We unsaddled and walked our horses, they were brushed and I had to say goodbye to Sierra. Before I left, I stroked her soft nose, scratched under her chin and pictured again her running through a meadow with others, head high and mane flowing…
I could not walk properly for the next three days and the kids laughed at me…
