2017 Triple Crown Nominated Nomenclature

Late last month, Churchill Downs announced the 418 three-year old thoroughbreds that have been nominated for competing for the 2017 Triple Crown.  At a minimum, 398 will fail to reach the starting gate on The First Saturday in May.

Over the ensuing months The B Team Syndicate will be focusing our laser-like Sport of Kings attention on the allied black arts of handicapping and wagering.  For many of you, however, varying descriptions of interest ranging from being entertained by the spectacle of the event(s) to having an interest in the history of the sport to simply having your hearts warmed by looking at pictures of horses [you know who you are] would more accurately characterize that quality of horse racing which you find attractive.  Some like to follow, root and perhaps - yes, it's true - even wager $2 on a fine equine specimen based upon its Jockey Club-registered name.

In something that is beginning to resemble a tradition, herewith are some of those names which loyal subscribers to Heavy Artillery might find speaks to them in a personal, unique way.  Below you'll also find a selection of names which I think are befitting those magnificent beasts, names which convey the sense of power, stamina and/or nobility inherent within their very nature.  Finally, you'll be treated to a listing of names which are, simply, atrocious.



Names evocative of people you know or maybe are, in fact, you:

Appalachian Gem
B Squared
Blueridge Traveler
Fleet Irish
Formula One
Hey Mike
Irish Freedom
Irish War Cry
Oxford Lane
Phat Man



Names that the horse would be proud of... if it understood human language:

Adulation
American Anthem
Aquamarine
Battle of Midway
Battle Ready
Big Gray Rocket
Big Hit
Bonus Points
Bourbon Empire
Bronze Age
Caustic
Colonist
Commandeering
Divisor
Fireball Shot
Glacier
Industrialist
June Sixth
Lancaster Bomber
Live Round
Lord Admiral
Monaco
Morocco
Multiplier
Pacific Surf
Rocketry
Silver Dust
Task Force
Texican
Ticonderoga
War Secretary



Names that... oh come on!  That's just ridiculous!

Bound for Nowhere
Dog Gone Lenny
Drummer D the T
Fillet of Sole
Gummy
Horse Fly
Hot Dad
Lemonist
Meantime
Menace the Dennis
Milton Freewater
Momma's Baby Boy
Mr. Dougie Fresh
Perro Rojo
Shoe Loves Shoe
Sonic Mule
Spicoli
Squared Squared
Tequila With Lemon
Vandelay
Vending Machine
Yo Y Me

You can view the entire list of 418 nominees here.

Roll the credits!

2016 RedsFest Was BestFest

RedsFest 2016 goes down in B Team record books as the best RedsFest ever!  Hence, my having dubbed this year's iteration as BestFest.  Cutting right to the chase, Lou and I each acquired 13 autographs on the first day of the two-day event.  We killed it.  Being veterans of a couple decades' worth of such events, we'd long ago secured signatures from the star players on today's Big League club and so each year we focus our alliterative autograph acquisition assault on the (many) assorted prospects and minor leaguers who populate much of the roster of appearing players.  The #1 prospect in our crosshairs this year was the Reds' #2 overall draft pick from this past summer's amateur draft, the former University of Tennessee third baseman Nick Senzel.  Senzel was announced among the first hour's group of players signing autographs on Friday.  Lou and I blitzed the swarming crowds of rabid autograph seekers (are there any other kind?) and seized a spot in line near the front.  For those who don't know, here's what Nick Senzel looks like:

And here's what his autograph looks like on the sweet spot of a baseball:

"N. Al?"  

"National American League?"  

"N. Delta... umm... Vertical Loop?"  

Dunno.  This I do know; all of Reds Country is hoping he develops into something closer to the Johnny Bench end of the Reds' draft spectrum and not the Brandon Larson end.

Nick was signing in the Season Ticket Holders only line (membership has its privileges) and due in part to the early hour and also due in part to the seeming dearth of surviving Reds season ticket holders, Lou and I were able to go through Nick's line twice in that first hour of RedsFest.

Herewith, a rapid-fire aggregation of the leading lights from our autograph-seeking achievements On December 3rd and 4th;

Robert Stephenson, pitcher.

Shedric Long (catcher, second base) shooting me the horns.  Very cool. 

Jose Peraza, shortstop.

Dilson Herrera, second base, acquired from the Mets in the Jay Bruce trade.

Rookie Davis, pitcher.

Many former players were on hand Friday and Saturday.  Among the vets, it was great - and heart warming - to see Dave Parker (below) engaging with his hometown fans:

The biggest draw is, naturally enough, the current Reds:

I've been to a nearly innumerable number of RedsFests and Big Red Machine Reunion autograph shows (and a disastrous 1990 Reds Reunion autograph show)  and the 2015 All-Star Game FanFest going back to 1991/92.  I've observed and experienced the full range of player-fan interactions; from players who were last-minute no-shows (Aroldis Chapman) to players who wouldn't deign to glance at the fans (Yorman Rodriguez) or even grunt an acknowledgement (did I mention Yorman Rodriquez?) to players who were friendly, eagerly interactive, talkative and warmly animated.  I'm happy to report - because I'm a Vottomaniac - that I have never seen any player, retired or active, who was more engaging and friendly to every fan who went through an autograph line than was/is Joey Votto.  No sooner than one fan would depart the podium that Joey Votto's eyes would immediately search for the next fan in line, smile broadly, look each fan square in the eye and initiate a friendly greeting.  Votto asked the fans visiting him how their own day was going, if they were having fun, if they were enjoying RedsFest.  At the conclusion of each encounter, Votto thanked the fans for being there.

Must be that Canadian brand of kindness we hear so much about.  Who knows what any of us are like behind closed doors, but in my own experiences Joey Votto publicly has consistently been a decent, generous, kind fellow.

Lou and I spied a variety of personalities and dignitaries at RedsFest on Friday:

Such as WLWT-TV long-time sports anchor "Lonesome" George Vogel.  I don't often watch channel 5 for my local news fix these days.  For the latest breaking news from River City I most often tune into WCPO hoping to catch Tanya O'Rourke.....

..... or newsbabe Ashley Zilka.  She is a fabulous reporter or something.

We ran into two of Lou's old Reily Elementary School best pals:

Tim F. (the man in black, top) and Mitch S. (the man in red, directly above).  None of my preppy Townie friends would know these two fine gentlemen but they were both former Little League teammates on the various Reily-based teams Lou played for back in the day; Cherokee Motors, Big Valley Auto Parts, Wilman Furniture.

Former Middletown Middie and current Chicago Cubs World Champion Kyle Schwarber was in line to get autographs, too!

Lou insists this guy was not Kyle Schwarber.  Maybe he's right.  Maybe.

The highlight of RedsFest 2016, aside from our Nick Senzel crowning achievement, was the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on Friday to meet the Hit King Peter Edward Rose and to have our photographs taken with him!

The Reds called this opportunity a "Meet & Greet with Pete Rose."  I dubbed it the "Pete & Greet."  The Reds should pay me to come up with names for their events.

OK, OK.  You got me.  A twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  We hit up Pete on Saturday, too.  I was proud of my Hit King photos and, later, shared them with Kuertz who I knew would be wildly mildly interested.

On Saturday afternoon The B Team took a time-out from the RedsFest activities and ventured on a brief excursion to the downtown branch of the Cincinnati Public Library in order for my youngest niece (picture above with Peter Edward) to collect an Honorable Mention award for artwork she submitted to a CPL contest.

Awesome, right?!  While waiting for the awards ceremony to begin, I discussed with my niece the Impressionistic nature of her painting (thank you Antiques Roadshow!) and through the voodoo magic of smartphone technology I showed her some of the more famous works of Monet, Degas, Cezanne and Bob Ross.  

Meanwhile, almost simultaneously in Michigan, my oldest niece - and her team - achieved a medal finish in a synchronized skating competition (hence her absence from the Pete Rose photo).

The B Team was killin' it that December weekend!

Speaking of artists, Tom Tsuchiya was at RedsFest demonstrating the technique he uses in creating all the baseball player sculptures (not statues) found outside Great American Ball Park. 

I engaged Tom in a discussion about his sculptures, the details of which I will not bore you with here.

WLW broadcast legend, and former Professional League of American Rules Football tight end, Bob Trumpy was not at RedsFest but when cruising the memorabilia vendor tables we found a jersey autographed by "Grumpy."

Lou and I found this to be funny.  We generally find all things Trumpy to be funny.

Nearing the conclusion of RedsFest late on Saturday afternoon and worn out from ceaselessly killin' it, we retired to the Season Ticket Holders VIP Ultra Lounge.

We luxuriated on the sumptuous faux leather couches, enjoying the dulcet vocal stylings of The Mistics (on stage, behind us).

The Mistics brought their A-game, as they always do.  Midway through the set The Mistics singled-out Reds' Senior V.P. of Business Operations Karen Forgus for a serenade.

We took that as our cue to exit RedsFest as conquering heroes.

Roll the credits!

December 7, 1941

Today marks the somber 75th anniversary of the December 7th, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor.  This historic event, contextualized as "a date which will live in infamy" by President Roosevelt in a radio address the following day for the American public, marked the most significant fulcrum point in American history since, perhaps, the April 12, 1861 firing on Fort Sumter by Confederate forces or the military engagements of April 19, 1775 between the British army and American colonists at Lexington and Concord.

What follows is a series of excerpts forming a narrative from Winston Groom's superlative book 1942: The Year That Tried Men's Souls that brings to life the unfolding scene on that dark day at sunny Pearl Harbor from so long ago.

*********

Commander Fuchida’s dive-bombers had already climbed high in the sky for altitude while his torpedo bombers had descended and circled so as to come in low from the southwest, that is, the ocean side of Pearl Harbor. The American battleships were moored in line two by two alongside Ford Island, which is in the center of the harbor. It was almost eight A.M., time for morning colors, and aboard the USS Nevada bandleader Oden McMillan had just raised his baton to begin playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Some of the bandsmen were puzzled to see large flights of planes diving down toward the battleships at the opposite end of the island, but McMillan concluded it must be some kind of army air corps drill and with a wave of his baton the band struck up the National Anthem. Almost in the same moment he heard explosions at the far end of Battleship Row.

One of Fuchida’s torpedo bombers skimmed across the harbor and launched its torpedo at the Arizona, just astern of the Nevada, as McMillan’s band was finishing the first stanza, then swooped up right over the Nevada’s fantail, where the American flag was being raised. The Japanese tail gunner let loose a burst of machine-gun fire on the musicians, who continued to play the anthem. No band members were hit, but the American flag was suddenly shredded. Other sailors on deck, momentarily confused, stood at attention, their right arms still raised in salute.

According to Walter Lord’s account of the attack, “McMillan knew now, but kept on conducting. The years of training had taken over – it never occurred to him that once he had begun playing the National Anthem, he could possibly stop. Another strafer flashed by. This time McMillan unconsciously paused as the deck splintered around him, but he quickly picked up the beat again. The entire band stopped and started again with him, as though they had rehearsed it for weeks. Not a man broke formation until the final note died. Then everyone ran wildly for cover.”

As the first torpedo bombers came in, some Pearl Harbor personnel waved at them before they realized who they were. Recreational fliers in small light planes out for an early Sunday spin were bewildered, then terrified, as they realized what these huge flights of foreign warplanes meant. Great geysers of water shot into the air as Fuchida’s torpedoes splashed into the harbor on their way toward the U.S. battleships. Meantime, at Wheeler and Hickam Fields and other U.S air bases, the American airplanes - lined up in rows per the anti-sabotage instructions of General Walter Short – were being systematically wrecked and turned into burning infernos on the runway.

All of this only took a few minutes. In his home in the hills overlooking Pearl Harbor, Admiral Husband Kimmel, commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, had been in the process of dressing for a golf game with his army counterpart, General Short. But by then the duty officer had phoned with the news of the destroyer Ward’s attack on the Japanese sub. Kimmel canceled the game and began redressing in his navy whites to attend to the situation from his office when the phone rang again with the frantic news that Pearl Harbor had just come under Japanese air attack. The admiral rushed outside, his uniform jacket still unbuttoned and flapping, just in time to see the first explosions. He dashed next door onto a neighbor’s lawn, which had a better view of Battleship Row. There he encountered Mrs. John B. Earle, wife of the Fourteenth Naval District’s commander’s chief of staff. The two of them gaped appalled at the unfolding spectacle. The sky was completely filled with Japanese planes and Kimmel instantly recognized this as no casual raid but a full-scale assault. The booms from the torpedo and bomb explosions began to reach their ears. Suddenly the battleship Oklahoma seemed to shudder and then slowly roll over in the shallow harbor until only its bottom was visible.

“It looks like they’ve got the Oklahoma,” Mrs. Earle remarked, awestruck.

“Yes, I see they have,” Kimmel told her, his face now a blanched mask of horror. He was experiencing a naval commander’s worst nightmare, as his fleet was being destroyed before his very eyes.

Then the battleship Arizona seemed actually to lift out of the water and an enormous flash of fire and smoke mushroomed above her forward decks; slowly she began to list and settle, and kept on settling. In that instant eleven hundred U.S. sailors perished. One of the big Japanese sixteen-inch naval shell bombs had hit the Arizona’s deck forward of the turrets and penetrated four decks below into the powder magazine. The ship blew up. The concussion was so stupendous that it blew sailors off of the other nearby ships into the water; it sucked up all the air in the area, actually stopping the engines of cars and military vehicles onshore rushing to or away from the scene; it blew people down inside of their own homes and offices, and even Fuchida, the Japanese air leader circling high above, felt his plane rock and roll.  Battleship division commander Admiral Isaac C. Kidd and the Arizona’s skipper, Captain Franklin Van Valkenburg, had been standing on the bridge and were incinerated by the blast.  Kimmel’s staff car roared up from nowhere and the stricken admiral jumped in and set off for his Pacific Fleet headquarters. By the time he got there the first wave of attack was reaching its most pitiless crescendo: bombs, torpedoes, and machine-gun fire from dive bombers and fighters filled the air; great billows of smoke from burning fuel oil obscured much of the harbor; and added to this was the constant roar of American anti-aircraft guns, which had finally begun coming to life.

Kimmel stood watching from the window of his War Plans office calm but grim-faced, with teeth clenched. Like the Oklahoma, the Arizona had gone down. The explosion had broken her in half. The battleships California and West Virginia had also begun to settle to the bottom. For the moment there was little Kimmel could do. The now famous message had already been dispatched to Washington and other naval commands: “Enemy Air Raid Pearl Harbor. This Is Not A Drill.” Suddenly a spent .30-caliber machine-gun bullet smashed through the window and hit Kimmel on the chest before dropping to the floor. The admiral looked at it, picked it up, and said to one of his staff members, “It would have been merciful if it had killed me.”

Aboard the sinking West Virginia, which had taken six or seven torpedoes in her port side, Captain Mervyn Bennion had been disemboweled by a shard from the Arizona when it exploded. He lay on the bridge perfectly conscious as his ship was gradually engulfed in fire, inquiring how the fight was going. At some point his officers decided to move him to a safer spot and for this agonizing task they recruited a large black cook, third class, named Doris Miller, who was the West Virginia’s heavyweight boxing champion. Captain Bennion died a short while later and Doris Miller, who knew nothing about weapons or weaponry, went out to a machine-gun station and in no time was “blazing away as though he had fired one all his life.”

Two young army fighter pilots, Lieutenants Kenneth Taylor and George Welch, had planned to spend their Sunday at the beach. When they saw the runway wreckage at Wheeler Field they jumped into a car and rushed off to a little grass landing strip about ten miles away where there were a few P40 fighters parked. Soon they were in the air and loaded for bear. Before it was over they racked up seven of the eleven Japanese planes shot down that day by the U.S. Army Air Corps.

Among the most startled people that morning – and that included everyone – were the pilots and crews of the big four-engine B-17 bombers who arrived at Pearl Harbor at the height of the attack. The twelve planes had flown fourteen hours straight from the West Coast with skeleton crews, their machine guns still packed in Cosmoline, listening to the soothing Hawaiian music on the radio guiding them in. They had just about enough gas to make land when they arrived on the scene of the carnage. Japanese fighters, whom the crews first thought were U.S. Army planes, suddenly attacked them. Hickam Field, their designated landing spot, was mostly ablaze with burning aircraft. One B-17 somehow made a landing with three Japanese Zeros on his tail, blazing away at him. Others followed but the rest scattered for the other airfields on Oahu. One managed to land on a golf course, another on a twelve-hundred-foot grass strip half the size of what it took to safely land a B-17.

At 8:40, a half an hour after the attack had begun, there was a fifteen minute lull, and then the second wave of 153 Japanese planes arrived. Pearl Harbor was so enshrouded in smoke by then that it was difficult to find targets, so many Japanese amused themselves by shooting up anything and everything. They strafed private homes, churches, hospitals, mess halls, groups of men, and, for target practice, speeding automobiles and trucks. One army ambulance received fifty-two bullet holes. What the Japanese did not do – and in hindsight this was one of the few blessings of the Pearl Harbor raid – was to destroy the huge fuel-storage tanks containing millions of gallons of precious fuel oil; nor did they destroy the vast naval repair shops and facilities. This oversight allowed the United States military to go on the offensive almost immediately after the attack.

In the middle of all this a stirring spectacle unfolded. The USS Nevada, whose crew at the beginning of the attack had stood at attention while “The Star-Spangled Banner” was played and they were being bombed and machine-gunned, had somehow raised enough steam to get underway – the only big ship that did so. Her senior officers were all ashore but there was an experienced reserve officer aboard, Lieutenant Commander Francis Thomas, who took charge. He knew next to nothing about handling anything as big as a battleship but Chief Quartermaster Robert Sedberry did and by some miracle, or a series of them (it normally took four tugboats to free a battleship from a mooring and set her straight in the channel), the Nevada came on, so as not to remain a sitting duck for the Japanese. She was seriously afire amidships and had a hole blown into her bow the size of a house, but out of the smoke and flames and crash and gloom of the battle she emerged into the bright morning sun full speed ahead, her American flag snapping in the breeze. Men onshore stopped whatever they were doing and gaped at this sight to behold. Many wept tears down their grimy, oil-stained cheeks and a great cheer arose all along Battleship Row, for to see the Nevada headed for the open sea, all her guns blazing at the Japanese planes, meant there was still a fighting U.S. Navy left in the Pacific.

If It's November It Must Still Be Rocktober

The foremost paleontologist of the western Carolinas, The Paleorider, submitted to the Heavy Artillery editorial board this week via text two unsolicited items which have been approved for publication on these digital pages.  [Unsolicited works submitted to HA become the intellectual property of this publication and cannot be returned except by formal written request, a self-addressed and stamped envelope plus purchase of a slice of pizza and ice cold beverage, adult or otherwise.]

First to materialize on the editor's desk was a photo of The Paleorider mowing the lawn of his neighboring ranch circa 1974:

What the reader should observe here is not the sterling work ethic of a 3-year old nor the Herb Tarlek-inspired vetements (hey, we were all guilty) but rather the stark contrast differentiating between the bucolic vistas which brought the first mid-century settlers to this part of the Township from the blight which later residential development brought to Curve Road now familiar to anyone who's visited The Ranch in the past 30 years [fx: cue The Pretenders].  A oh, way to go Ohio indeed.  In addition to regular exploratory adventures in those fields and woodlands, Lou and I used to launch model rockets that rained down all over the sparsely-populated neighborhood.  Kids today don't know how awful they have it.  Would that we could return to those sunny days of our Nixonian Administration youth.

*********

This month's issue of Car and Driver magazine (on newsstands now) makes further reference to everyone's favorite Canadian Power Trio.

That's two Rush references in two months.  C/D is rapidly re-branding itself as Car and Rush Fan.  Added editorial bonus; this C/D excerpt ties into the The Pretenders' "My City Was Gone" by way of Rush Limbaugh.  Whoever said Heavy Artillery can't also be sneaky?

On the subject of cars and rock music, another late-late night on patrol this month in the Jeep Main Battle Tank was Clash-intensive:

Nothing like a London Calling/Communista! two-fer to keep the adrenaline flowing at midnight.

*********

This week's second Paleorider submission arrived in the form of a brief PBS video clip which, perhaps none too coincidentally, also featured sights and sounds from the Age of Nixon.  The declaratory purpose of the video clip is to inform viewers of the revolutionary work of Pete Townshend and by further inference of the superior degree of quality found in his recorded demonstration tracks (or "demos").

A handful of official compilations of Townshend's demos have been released, notably the Scoop series of double-albums.  Scoop, released in 1983 right around the time of the demise of The Who, then Another Scoop (1987) and Scoop 3 arrived in record stores in 1994.  More of Pete's demos could be found on an assortment of releases in the year 2000 which related to his sprawling Lifehouse Chronicles project.  While unofficial/bootleg compilations of his demos are too numerous and too illegal to identify here you should operate with the understanding that I have them all.  For purposes of research only, of course.

Recently you enjoyed a selection of my favorite Scoop 3 demos.   Herewith, a more comprehensive listing of my favorite Pete Townshend demos from the first two installments of Scoop.  The Scoop albums have detailed liner notes informing the listener as to dates of recording, venue, instruments used and backstories about the individual tracks.  Time constraints prevent me from consulting those for use here.  As such, a fact-check may reveal errors in my brief annotations below.  My added comments are just meant to serve no more than thumbnail sketches.  At any rate, you'll find a musical style for just about everyone.

So Sad About Us/Brr

"So Sad About Us" was recorded by The Who and appeared on their 1966 album A Quick One.  "Brr" - completely unrelated to "So Sad About Us" - was a jazzy experimental track recorded in 1972 intended for use on the 1973 Who album Quadrophenia but was ultimately unused.

Politician

"Politician" takes a sympathetic look at political leaders, perhaps just as controversially in the mid-1960s when he recorded it as it would be today.  Dig the vibrant Motown groove, true to the early Who ethos of Maximum R&B.

Dirty Water

"Dirty Water" is a country-tinged exposition of, well.... dirty water.  Gotta be a witty metaphor for something I'm too dense to figure out.

Unused Piano: Quadrophenia

Like "Brr," recorded with the intention of using for Quadrophenia in 1973.  Elements of this theme were eventually incorporated into the album.

Things Have Changed

Mid-1960s pop/country-tinged demo not recorded by The Who.

Popular

Recorded for the Who's 1981 Face Dances album.  The band liked the New Wave-inspired sound but didn't like the lyrics.  It was re-written and renamed as the title song for The Who's 1982 album It's Hard.

Cookin'

There may be are more country influenced songs among Pete's demos than you might think.  Are the lyrics here a metaphor?  Are they not?  It's funny, for sure.

You're So Clever

Early 1980's New Wave electronica.

Body Language

See above.  Sounds much like some of the material that appeared on Townshend's 1982 solo album All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes.

Initial Machine Experiments

Early 1980s, just what the title implies.  Toying around in the home studio with a new synth.

To Barney Kessel

A guitar solo tribute to a noted jazz guitarist.  You'll find a lot of jazz-inspired demos in Townshend's catalog and I quite like them all.

You Came Back

More jazz, this about re-incarnation.  The album's liner notes reveal that Pete couldn't work out a solo for the break so he left it with just the backing track.  I think it's understated and that works well, and yes I'm very biased.

Girl In A Suitcase

A mid-1970s song about the hardships of life on the road for a popular touring musician and the photos of family carried along. 

Brooklyn Kids

Symphonic Townshend from the mid-late 1970s.

Football Fugue

More symphonic Townshend from the same era as above, this with a more comical lyric which mashes up an orchestra and a soccer (football) game.

Substitute

Circa 1966 demo for The Who classic single of the same name/year.

Holly Like Ivy

Recorded one night in a Dallas hotel room on tour with The Who in 1982 about a girl Pete had just met at an after show party.

Vicious Interlude

1970s home recording interrupted by a bit of fatherly scolding.  Hilarious and hilarious reaction by his daughter.

Cat Snatch

In 1983 Townshend began putting together demos for a proposed Who concept album to be titled Siege.  It would have marked a significant aural change in the sound and direction of The Who, which one might assume the rest of the band would have resisted.   It was futuristic and experimental and I think it would have been revolutionary.  Or maybe it was just funkadelic Who?  It matters not because shortly after initiating home demos for Siege Pete Townshend pulled the plug on The Who.

Prelude #556

An unused electro-symphonic intro from the early 1980s.

Praying The Game

An exploration of spirituality combining acoustic guitar with an orchestra.  Mid-late 1970s.

Don't Let Go the Coat

Demo for a Who song of the same name on the 1981 album Face Dances.  Many of the demos for this album have a more nimble, New Wave influenced sound than The Who as a band were able (or willing) to capture.

Never Ask Me

Recorded for The Who album Who Are You (1978).  Rejected by the band.  Townshend also submitted it to Quincy Jones for Frank Sinatra to record.  They rejected it also.  I think it may be his best-ever demo for an unrecorded song.

Ask Yourself

Another of the Siege demos from 1983.  Hard to see how The Who would have been receptive to it's style.  Had they gone forward, this project might have given the band a much-needed revitalization.

*********

When The Who convened to begin recording for what initially was to be the Lifehouse concept double-album, the demos they were presented with by Pete Townshend didn't incorporate synthesizers.  Piano and organ, yes, but Townshend hadn't yet discovered synths.  The Lifehouse concept proved to be too complex thematically to pull off.  It was a difficult idea to convey and probably wasn't a fully-realized concept in the mind of Townshend to begin with.  The recording process was fraught with technical problems.  The band went from recording studios in England to New York City and back to England.  1970 bled into 1971.  Along the way Townshend began using synthesizers and their producer (seen in the PBS clip, above) finally convinced the band - and Pete - to drop the concept, drop the idea of a double-album, just record the strongest material and arrange the album's playing order without any pretense of an overarching theme or narrative.  Who's Next, one of the all-time greatest albums, is what resulted. 

Roll the credits!