There is a day in every person’s life when they must adapt. They must change, grow, move on, groove to a different mixtape, listen to albums beyond the 80’s, stop playing God of War on god-mode, read beyond James Joyce and J.M. Barrie, and say goodbye to Toby Maguire’s Spider-Man.
Today is not that day. Today is a day to dig deep into the comfort and mundane and core shenanigans of my life and to bring with it a challenge. I have been a piano player and singer and harmonic-neck-piece whatchamacallit for most of my life, which is not exceptionally long, because I am only 23-years-old. I have performed in Battle of the Bands, high school and college musicals and plays, and I’ve played loudly for my folks keeping up until the dead and annoyance of early morning. One of my favorite musical endeavors, though, was something I have never shared to anyone beyond my family.
When my brother Ben moved to Chicago, I missed him. It sucked. I continued practicing more piano. We still talked and gamed and gabbed, but it still was a pain to be away. You’ve heard the story, yes, but this one has a strange twist that led to a wild and wonderful hobby– at least, I thought it was wonderful. I decided to record songs and send them to my brother via Gmail and audio recordings from my phone. If that wasn’t enough, I created a radio personality, of myself, introducing myself, (yes, I realize this sounds nuts, but I swear I am mostly sane and not completely bonkers!) and the entire thing became known as BSR or “Ben Spanner Radio.”
In this blog, I would finally like to share those recordings as well as create new ones. Hopefully, I can even try finally writing my own songs, of which have been mostly terrifying and failures so far. I’m not sure if anyone will listen to them outside of my required classmates and my Professor, but so we go.
Thank you for listening. Frasier Crane signing off.
I breathed a heavy sigh of delight after our class’s interview with Mr. Jemas. We hammered him with questions about Marvel, basketball, his life, our lives, Marvel, writing, business, Marvel, his new comics, and then some more about his time with, well, Marvel.
Words that stick in my mind while I rummage through and recall what the evening was like are kindness, simplicity, diligence, integrity, grit, harsh realism, and roads. I say “roads,” because this is a man who took many roads without a full-stop endgame (Marvel pun intended) of where he would or wanted to end up. He bounced around. He learned. He had goals and visions and passions, but he worked through and among multiple jobs to fit his life. His work with Marvel? The man brought Ultimate Spiderman into existence! Praise the Nine, the gods, Joseph Smith! I couldn’t help but smile while asking him about his and his team’s process to bring Peter Parker under a different High School life. Now? He seems content, it seems, in a good way. He’s working on comic books and graphic novels that investigate and interrogate the real, mundane, and yet extraordinary world. And that’s fascinating. He was down-to-earth and almost kind of mundanely experienced in his speech. He was considerate and thoughtful and honest with our questions, even if some came down as slightly cynical when it came to “writing as a career,” which I get, and understand, and can live with, but come on, man. I’m dying here! Give us millennials some god damn hope!
Any-who, I am grateful for that evening with Mr. Jemas. He was patient and frank with us, and kind while he did so. It’s rare for a handful of college students to have a conversation with a known figure– giving us various forms of advice, sharing stories, and presenting us with some inspiration, motivation, and brain-fuel after a long and winded day.
An exclusive behind-the-scenes chat with the devilishly handsome man behind the music.
Don’t miss next week’s broadcast–
Dan Spanner Radio is inviting the incredible Martin Spanner to the show next week for an exclusive interview about his life of music. The original producer of “Dan Spanner Radio” in its younger years, Martin is an incredible background percussion-man, fluent ambiance facilitator, harmony enthusiast, quirky / upbeat vibe-creator, and an all around devilishly handsome individual. Tune in next week for a chat between father and son about Martin’s influences, from Deano Martin to Billy Joel.
Questions for Marty:
Who are some of your most influential bands and musical artists in your life?
What are your earliest memories of music?
Why have you latched onto certain artists and who are they?
What are some of your favorite music-memories– band concerts, wild parties, etc.?
What can you tell me about “Ben Spanner Radio?”
What are some of your most memorable songs you and I have recorded together, and do you think we can both still hit the notes?
If you could play any musical instrument, what would it be and why?
Who is favorite classic, early 1900s musician?
What are some of your proudest records that you own, and what are your attachments to them?
Let’s talk about the Boss.
Let’s talk about Billy.
Let’s talk about Harry Chapin.
Do you have any goals within the music world? Do you have any hopes or dreams associated with you and music?
What is one of your favorite albums? What is its relationship with you personally? How did it change your life, the world, and what would the world be like without this album, in your eyes?
If you could perform any one song on your own, either in your own privacy or in front of others, what would it be and why?
Memory is a
strange trail to find myself on, as I’m sure it is for everyone. My brain hurts
when I think too hard about the past, I struggle to recall yesterday’s meal,
and then I say to-hell-with-it and focus on the now and present. Making a list
of memories wasn’t easy, but a prompt calls for action, so let’s do this thing.
I’ve moved quite
a bit during my youth, from the Ohio Valley, to the rolling hills of wild West
Virginia to, well, Pennsylvania where I live now, and certain (most) memories
seem to slip and fall between the linings. To start, here’s my list of random,
memorable moments:
List of Ten
Memories
1) My first date.
2) Playing Mass
Effect.
3) Beating
Bioshock.
4) Drowning in Manure.
5) Opening
Night: White Christmas.
6) Breaking my
Fingers.
7) Watching
Interstellar. (yes, the really long Nolan space opera)
8) Maybe my
earliest real memory.
9) The Hofbrauhaus
in Munich.
10) Seeing
Endgame.
I want to take
some of these individual memories, two for now, and rapidly and roughly dissect
some highlighted senses—the love, the trauma, the more love, the more trauma,
and so on. After this, I’ll work it into the theme of my blog, songwriting, and
attempt to compose some poorly-thought-out, sort-of-inspiring scores to fit
some of these moments in my life; like a mixtape from the early 90’s or a Hans
Zimmer soundtrack but with less terrifying undertones. Let’s start with my
first date with the wonderful person I’m still dating after 6 years.
Eat’n Park. Mid-High School. Later evening. Autumn. Kind of cloudy. Light chill outside and in. My mid-puberty. Late puberty? Still puberty? Large eyes. Nervous laughter. An overabundance of excitement but mostly nausea. Happy. Risky. Worth everything. She’s wearing a grey hoodie that used to be mine, classic rock overhead from the restaurant always-a-bit-too-loud speakers, the smell of scrambled eggs, steamy tea, sweat, a feeling that everything may crash, a feeling that everything will finally be better than alright. Movie begins at the cinema. “Prisoners” starring Hugh J. and Jake G. It’s a highly intense and graphic thriller. Uh-oh. We didn’t know that. More sweating. Attempts at hand-holding go south due to the previously mentioned uncoordinated sweat. Smell of over-buttered popcorn. The clean and misty smell of Sprite. Leaves are morphing outside. Billy Joel on the car ride home. Just noticed she smells like vanilla bean. Just noticed I probably still smell like sweat. Forgot I left the flowers in the trunk. Too long. Too short. The almost-missed nose-kiss at the door. Battle cry all the way home.
Next, when I
almost drowned in manure.
The undomesticated, wild hills of
Parkersburg, West Virginia. 10-years-old. Andrew is 11. Bright brown and green
all over the world. Summertime smell of
freshly mown grass, the hot breeze, and jeans that needed washing. Cameo
bandannas are on. Backpacks are stacked with necessities—peanut butter, chocolate
bars, apples, wooden sword strapped in, potato chips, and wrappers of other chocolate
bars from yesterday. 8am. Playtime. Time to be a superhero. I’m Cap today. He’s
Thor/Iron-Man/Wolverine. 5 miles in, following the creek. Its bitter-cold water
makes us clammy, thus, we feel badass and boyish yet whiny. Sun is almost
overhead now. Plastic revolver clings to the hip. Reached the fence.
Successfully mounted it after 3 embarrassing tries. Wring out our bandannas. We
reach the farmland. A bright white flower waits in the center of the brownish
field. Interesting thing! I run toward it. Andrew hollers and chases. Then, we
begin to sink. Newly fertilized field. It smells like poo. Sinking in shit.
Shitty way to die. We are stupid little shits. Drowning, crawling, screaming.
This is it. What a ride! A full 10 years! Andrew, being taller, grabs me and
heaves. Myself, being smaller, grabs him and screams. We make it to the gravel
road along the field. We’re about to throw up. We feel epic. We look like shit.
Shotgun fires. A boisterous and booming voice travels our way. The farmer is
awake. Time to run 5 miles home. Our moms make us take showers.
Dan Spanner Radio. 