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Easily Toronto's equivalent, if not outright one-upsmanship of Minnesota's native son and folk legend Bob Dylan, Neil Young is in that whole different class of artist who can boast a following that spans nearly five decades and several generation's worth of musical craftsmanship. Arguably, much of his catalog falls into an overly expansive sector of the rock and roll landscape to reasonably classify it as one thing or another as Young took an independent, if not erratic approach to realizing his musical inspirations ranging from country and folk to hard rock and experimental electronica. Because of his broad range of musical interests, Neil Young falls heavily into the category of acquired taste. Young's lightly polished, high register singing style is not for everyone. Some listeners may first encounter Young's distinctive voice and declare it to be an insurmountable stumbling block when trying to access the full breadth of his work. But if the ear is allowed the chance to adapt to the lilting nature of Young's shaky falsetto, the unimpeachable evidence of his other worldliness becomes difficult to deny. Young's delicately crafted songs, with their intricate guitar and piano work, coupled with his frank, narrative approach to lyrics and songwriting in general was never designed for the purpose of commercial success, but served first and foremost as the most direct means in which the artist could keep a sort of public musical diary for interested strangers to thumb through.
As a once devoted fan, now a simple observer of the Utah Jazz, Salt Lake City’s unlikely NBA franchise, I couldn’t help but bear witness to their most recent and unceremonious exit from the playoffs at the hands of the much hated and much higher profile Los Angeles Lakers. As recent custom would have it, the Jazz went down with little resistance; four straight games in what would ideally have been a best of seven series. Once again Jazz fans are forced to reevaluate the team assets a few weeks earlier than they had hoped and must now convince themselves that perhaps we'll get 'em next year, drawing hope from what has emerged as an insane and seemingly inexhaustible supply of "we'll get 'em next year"s. Some fans are contrite in their denial following our perennial dismissal from the party, suggesting that perhaps some harder defensive play and maybe a few key moves in the off season might be just what the doctor ordered to finally get past those pesky, talent-rich teams out west. Less grounded fans exhibit their denial by concocting what-if scenarios; hair-brained schemes that somehow incorporate the miraculous acquisition of a big-name/big-game free agent that could never possibly come to fruition, with some theories so far-fetched that they teeter on the edge of sports science fiction. The entire culture here in Utah has a rich history of powerful denial. A denial so long carried and engrained into this valley that you can almost feel it in the air as you come off an airplane. That same denial has permeated the Jazz since the end of the era in which they made two unsuccessful trips to the finals against the Bulls. The time for them to address the encroaching realities of owning a National Basketball Association team in today's market may be irreparably past due and the once sturdy ship of the Utah Jazz basketball franchise is beginning to show serious cracks in its hull.
