Weblog of Leland Rucker

Contador/Schleck: It's lonely at the top. (The Guardian)

Though the first day in the Pyrenees brought little direct action, there was plenty of jostling between the two GC leaders. Andy Schleck, who had been caught off guard by Alberto Contador’s attack near the end of Stage 12, wasn’t about to get caught out today, and he rode Contador’s wheel each time that the Spaniard tested him.

Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen were suggesting that this might have a psychological effect on Contador, but I don’t think either Schleck’s momentary lapse on Stage 12 or Contador’s challenges today will have much effect upon either man, each who seem supremely confident in his own abilities.

I watched Stage 12 a second time, and I’m really impressed with Contador’s cagey move there. He knows the climb well, and it favors his style, which seems to work most efficiently the steeper the incline, and just before the attack, he carefully looked back, then seemed to be, as he has the entire time since Schleck nabbed the maillot jaune, content to dance behind the leader, looking bored with the world. Phil Liggett said that he looked like a tourist, gazing around at the beautiful scenery below him.

Then he took off like a rocket. Like he had a motor in his cycle. In the end, he gained only ten seconds, but it was the stealth factor that was most impressive. It happened so quickly. Like when Armstrong ruled the tour, Contador seems willing to wait patiently and then strike at just the right moment. Today he didn’t succeed, and Schleck deserves serious credit for staying with him today on two tough climbs.

“Schleck needs 1:45-two minutes coming into the time trial” – Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen, July 17, 2010

This is still the wild card. Though he trails, Conatador is just hitting his stride as a time trialist at the time when Schleck couldn’t look worse in that category. His prologue ride at the start of the tour was almost embarrassing. If both stay healthy, Schleck will need to increase his lead significantly over Contador before they leave the Pyrenees, or he will lose.

Both seem to have powerful teams protecting their riders, but overall, Astana seems to be hitting its stride while SaxoBank might have already peaked. At one point today before the two mountain climbs, Liggett, noting the absence of SaxoBank riders in front of the peleton, said, “if I were Andy Schleck, I would be freaking out about now.” Schleck handled the relentless pace of the Astana squad today – which punished the rest of the peleton for the last hour and a half before the two climbs — but he had nobody beside him for much of the final climb.

All in all, the tension is building nicely for a wonderful three more days in the Pyrenees leading up the climb of the Tourmalet Thursday.

Cadel Evans rode Stage 9 with a fractured elbow and only lost eight minutes to the leaders. Photo: © Stephen Farrand

What a strange sport cycling, particularly in the Tour de France, can be.

I was just enchanted with the stage today. Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador pretty much decimated the rest of the  general classification field. Just ripped them by the throat and cast them aside.

But who could have ever guessed the two dominant riders would join forces while ascending the uncategorized Col de Madeleine and then stay together for thirty more kilometers to the finish? Or that they would catch the breakaway at the end? Or that Cadel Evans, who looked like death as he rode up Madeleine, rode the entire stage with a broken elbow?

Contador and Schleck are in complete control of this race, and, barring injury or illness, will be until we hit the slopes of the Pyrenees. I had to watch much of the Madeleine ascent a second time after I got home from work. It was magic.

Amongst the two, I have no favorite. I have been very impressed with Contador’s two earlier wins here, and his overall coolness under pressure and savvy strategic skills are undeniable, but I like Schleck’s fire and determination, especially after the last two days. “Now I just have to worry about watching one guy,” Schleck said.

But at this point, I’d give a slight edge to Contador. Schleck’s Achilles heel at this point is the time trial, which comes on the penultimate stage, and might determine the winner. Most tour watchers are saying that he could lost two minutes to Contador on that stage, so he must build a bigger advantage. He and Team Saxobank also have to protect the yellow jersey, while Contador and Astana just have to watch Schleck and stay out of trouble until Sunday. This is gonna be fun.

Lance Armstrong became a mortal again on the slopes of the Alps Sunday. He was a great champion.

An era ended Sunday at the bottom of the first First Category climb of the 2010 Tour de France, and the new one began almost immediately near the top. The first really difficult stage in the Alps took a toll on nearly everybody except Andy Schleck, who became a stage winner for the first time in his career. It won’t be his last.

Alberto Contador and Cadel Evans both seemed surprised and a bit tuckered out at the end when Schleck took off near the summit of Morzine-Avoriaz and snatched the stage from Sammy Sanchez as the Spanish rider’s legs turned to stone in the last seconds. Evans is in the yellow jersey, so he had one of his best days at the tour, too.

It seems that it’s pretty much a three or four-man race for the general classification podium finish: Schleck, Evans, Contador and perhaps Denis Menchov. Behind and still alive are Ivan Basso and Levi Leipheimer, though neither really seems capable of winning. Basso, though he won the Giro this year, has never shown the dominance he displayed on the high slopes before his suspension, and in all the years I have been watching him, I have no reason to believe that Leipheimer has anywhere near the killer instinct to win this race against these younger, more determined legs.

Stage Eight did end Lance Armstrong’s bid to win le Tour one more time. For me, and I’m sure I’m not the only one, it’s been difficult to watch his “comeback.” In 2008, after former Armstrong manager Johan Bruyneel had created a team around Alberto Contador, Armstrong joined that team, dividing loyalties among his colleagues and then spending much of the tour needling Contador for various team sins when it was clear that Armstrong was only the second- (or third-) best rider on the team.

Why do so many great champions come back out of retirement and force us to watch debacles like we witnessed today? Why can’t they rest on their laurels? I have been watching le Tour since that day when, after his chief rival went down hard, Armstrong took a creative ride across a field to join the pack around a curve. Watching him win tour after tour was greatly inspirational and sucked me into the sport of cycling, and when he decided to retire after seven victories, it seemed the perfect moment for him to sit back and watch another generation have its day.

So, despite the narrative power of the story of the champion coming back to the scene of his greatest triumphs, Armstrong’s return disappointed me, partly because of his attitude last year to Contador after he upset the dynamics of the Astana team, but also because I didn’t want to have to watch what happened today.

Make no mistake. Though Phil Liggett kept saying that it was through no fault of his own, Armstrong had this coming. He had remarkable luck, especially during the last years of his victory run. Last year he came in third, a remarkable return in itself but obviously not good enough for him. But in the year since, though he has had a couple of decent outcomes, he has never displayed any of the mastery he once had, and his body just doesn’t react like it did five years ago.

Having said that, it was still difficult to watch this great champion fall — again and again, once with only team members around him. Or to see him riding, his uniform ripped, blood running from both elbows and down his legs, or struggling to lose only twelve minutes on the leaders and having to watch as the cameras lingered on him after the leaders crossed the line.

This followed that day on the cobblestones when the cameras found him, his face blackened, fighting for survival behind the team cars. It seemed like he was always struggling this tour while the announcers tried to put a positive spin on his problems.

You can’t relive the past. Armstrong’s day is long past, and we’ll have to leave him to Versus reruns of his glory days, his Livestrong campaign and the idiotic Michelob Ultra Light commercials.

And after today’s rest day, let’s get on with the real battle at the top and let the post-Armstrong era of cycling begin. It’s overdue.

Thor Hushovd won the Battle of the Cobblestones in Stage Three of the 2010 Tour de France.

Another dicey day at the Tour de France as the riders had to traverse eight miles of cobblestones in six sections today.

There was no dearth of drama during this rare event – it’s only the second time I’ve seen cobblestones on the course in the seven years I’ve been watching. Saxo Bank had dominated the front of the peleton all day, and was jockeying for position as the road narrowed, when Frank Schleck went down hard and broke a collarbone, ending his tour right there. Since it was at the front of the peleton, everybody had to stop and try to get around the pile-up, which split the field completely into disarray.

Thor Hushovd, angered about Monday’s decision by the peleton not to sprint after the crash and melee coming down the Col de Stockeu, took the green jersey, winning the stage handily over Fabian Cancellara, who kept Hushovd from sprinting yesterday. Cancellara managed to take back the yellow jersey he lost bringing Andy Schleck back into the peleton yesterday, and though the team lost Frank, Andy Schleck was right there next to Cancellara at the end, picking up the time he lost during a poor Prologue.

Sylvain Chavanel was a loser today. After winning Stage Two by staying ahead of the field and avoiding all misfortune Monday, today he had to change bikes at least twice after blowouts during the cobblestone sections. The lost momentum each time lost him the maillot jaune, too, which he had dreamed of keeping until they hit the Alps this weekend.

Cadel Evans found himself in the best Tour position I can ever remember. Always a favorite the last few years, Evans has also been a target for other teams — last year he was shut down by Astana any time he made a move. There are too many good riders for teams to go after individual riders, and today Evans missed the Schleck crash and was there with Cancellara and Hushovd and Andy Schleck at the finish line, also picking up valuable seconds on the leaders. Evans, now on BMC Racing Team, might finally be able to contend this year. The addition of George Hincapie to his team can’t hurt his chances, either. Bradley Wiggins, another contender riding for the new Team Sky, and Denis Menchov were 53 seconds back. Other GC contenders Ivan Basso, Michael Rogers and Carlos Sastre all came in a group at 2:25.

Favorite Alberto Contador, who the announcers reminded us several times early on, had never actually raced on cobbles, rode a strong, relaxed, sensible race. He was behind the Saxo Bank crash group, which left him more than a minute behind the Armstrong group. But he steadily rode himself back into competition. A leak on his back tire coming down the final stretch left him 1:13 behind Hushovd at the end.

Of the leaders, Armstrong, who had a flat tire at a critical moment on a late cobble section, fared the worst. After a frantic dash to try and cut his losses, he was still 2:08 to the finish line behind Hushovd. At one point, the camera caught the man who has won here seven times, lost behind a gaggle of team cars, dirt smearing his face, desperately trying to save his race.

The lost time can be made up – as we have found out, anything can happen in this one — but it’s a real blow to Armstrong’s chances. Much of the narrative on Versus has focused on the Contador rivalry and Armstrong’s desire to go out a winner. Many have noted that Armstrong needs to shave time anywhere he can so he is ahead of or close to the other contenders by the time the Tour hits the mountains. That hasn’t happened. He is now in 32nd place in the race, 1:51 behind Cancellara with little chance to pick up time in the flat stages that precede the Alps.

The drama already unfolding this year is a night-and-day difference from 2009, where the first fireworks came when Contador dashed away from the field on Stage 7. He is still the favorite, but everyone is vulnerable.

Last year’s rivalry between Armstrong and Contador, both on the same team, was more distracting than compelling, especially after Contador showed he was the superior rider and put Armstrong in his place. Whatever psychological advantage Armstrong might have had over Contador after a strong Prologue (and that’s hardly a given) is completely gone now. In this year’s narrative, it’s anybody’s race.

Garmin rider Christian Vande Velde is the first major contender to quit the Tour. (Getty Images)

In one of the strangest stages in recent Tour de France history, there was no sprint for the finish, QuickStep’s Sylvain Chavanel is wearing the yellow jersey after perhaps the best ride of his career, three minutes ahead of everyone else, a favorite has dropped out and his teammate, one of the top sprinters, will continue with a broken left wrist.

And a crash less than twenty miles from the finish at a particularly treacherous point in the course forced everybody in the peleton, especially the leaders, to make decisions that might affect their entire race.

Chavanel, a regular peleton attacker, would not have been chosen by anyone to be wearing the maillot jaune, and only by a few to win the stage, for that matter. But this was a textbook example of why riders, against all logic and natural laws, still challenge the peleton. Though the odds are almost always against them, there’s always a chance that some black swan will come along.

This particular unforeseen circumstance came about seventeen miles from the finish in a forested area of Belgium. The peleton, chasing Chavanel and a couple other peleton challengers, were coming down from the Col de Stockeu, a short category 3 climb along a narrow, wet country Belgian lane. Bikers come down these lanes at terrifying speeds and when one of the leader’s bike slid out from under him, possibly on some oil on a wet road from a previous motorcycle accident, pretty much everybody in the main group went down behind him.

It left the rest of the race in complete chaos and erstwhile race announcer Phil Liggett, who had said earlier in the telecast that the ride down the Col de Sockeu was particularly treacherous, tongue tied trying to sort out who was where for the rest of the race.

But the images spoke for themselves, and of the decisions everybody had to make. First was Andy Schleck, who came in second last year. He went down hard. The first images were of Schleck holding his left arm in a strange position, and Liggett suggesting that it looked like he might have a broken collarbone.

His collarbone wasn’t, but Schleck’s bike was broken, and the camera caught one of his teammates giving Schleck his bike, and, improbably he took off again. His decision would be momentous; within minutes he was looking pretty well, and by the end of the race, he had caught back up with the rest of the contenders. I’m guessing he’s really sore about now, though.

Christian Van de Velde, considered a contender but nursing some broken ribs that almost left him out of the tour before it began, went down in the melee and wound up limping in twenty minutes late. He won’t be continuing today.

Lance Armstrong, in a group with Alberto Contador and Cadel Evans, went down and sustained some superficial injuries. No word on Contador or Evans yet, but each of them had to make the decision to get back on their bikes, try to find teammates and stay within sight of each other or any one of them could lose the race right there.

Not long after the crash, Jens Voigt, whose spectacular crash coming down a hill last year was considered at the time career ending, was seen leading his Saxo Bank teammates, Andy and brother Frank Schleck, back into the main pack.

Fabian Cancellera, a man who rides a bike so fast at times that officials checked  his machine for a motor after he won the Prologue, was the leader of the race at the time of the crash. He had the toughest decision of anyone. If he waited for Voigt to lead the Schlecks back into the peleton, Chavanel would take the yellow jersey from him and gain significant ground.

Of course, Cancellera waited, and took on the added task of negotiating with officials and other riders to slow the peleton and allow those caught in the crash to join the peleton again. He reached an agreement a mile from the finish with race officials and the riders, and the peleton rode in together, with no sprint for second place.

Chavanel, one of my favorite riders, deserved his win. Nobody gives him a chance in hell of winning the race, but for now at least, he has a formidable lead, and his Quick Step team, which lost workhorse Brian Hansen, now has a reason to get back into the tour.

On to the cobblestones, where even more carnage is expected in Stage Three.

Click to enlarge

The clouds were low and heavy, and it was threatening to storm Saturday night just before six when I jumped in the car to pick up some scripts at the King Sooper pharmacy. When I got to the left-turn lane from Table Mesa onto Broadway, the hail started.

I tried to pull into the Conoco station, but all areas with cover were already taken. The noise was deafening – I felt like I was inside a tin can. So I made it to the parking lot and stopped beneath a couple of small trees that offered a hint of shelter. But it hadn’t been a minute since it began, and the parking lot had turned into a foaming river moving downhill toward Table Mesa Drive.

So I just sat there, got out the iPhone and took some shots.

Two minutes later, the storm lifted, and I pulled into a parking place. I had to walk over piles of hailstones to get in.

I stopped at the counter to buy a couple of Lotto tickets. The guy there grinned and said the storm had blown out the lottery machine – instantly ending any gambling urges I might have had.

I looked back at the pharmacy. It had closed while I was sitting in the car in the parking lot river.

Three strikes, and I was out of there.

I didn’t know much about the life of Nina Simone when I began reading Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone, Nadine Cohodas’ biography of the classically trained precocious child who became one of the most unique and most troubled of American musicians. I had missed Simone’s career when it was happening and have been catching up after stumbling upon some of her recordings and Tom Russell’s fine tribute song on last year’s  Blood and Candle Smoke.

Cohodas’ book is an exhaustively researched accounting of Simone’s life, gleaned from reviews, reminiscences of colleagues, family and friends, published accounts of Simone’s performances and Simone’s own autobiography. Cohodas does an impressive job of setting the stage, so to speak, showing the transition from poor precocious Mississippi child to classical student paying for her education by playing secular gigs and finally a performer of great renown, able to mesmerize audiences with her improvisational as well as her classical skills.

Simone’s immersion in the civil rights movement, for which she became a fierce and outspoken advocate, is also well-documented, as is the effect that performing outspoken, political material had on her career.

Toward the end, as Simone’s mental illness took hold and she withdrew, Princess Noire seems repetitive, dominated by accounts of her eccentric behavior, and there are many of those. Cohodas seems uninterested in exploring Simone’s mental illness beyond accounting the mercurial instances, onstage and off, that dominated and diminished her career for decades. But Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone is a must-read for anyone who wants to know more about one of America’s most misunderstood artists.

Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone (Pantheon Books), by Nadine Cohodas (449 pages)

Just reading a story here in the Denver Post about BC-03-M-02, a lynx that was found in a trap near Nordegg, Alberta, Canada, on Jan. 28.

A lynx released in April 2004 near Creede, Colorado.

The cat, which was nine years old when found, had traveled 1,200 miles of wilderness, interstate highways, rivers and other parts of civilization in the last couple years. It had been trapped near the place where it had been captured six years ago, flown to Colorado and re-released at the edge of the Weminuche Wilderness Area near Creede on April 16, 2004. (The Denver Post story says 2003, but trust me on this one.)

Because, as it happens, Billie and I were in that open meadow just across from the Rio Grande on that crisp morning when BC-03-M-02 and three of its brethren were released.  The Division of Wildlife had invited volunteers from environmental groups to witness this release, part of an ambitious DOW program that had begun in 1999 to reintroduce lynx, which had disappeared in the state at least back to 1973. As a volunteer for Sinapu, I applauded the reintroduction program as a step toward keeping our wilderness areas intact and healthy and a positive move by DOW that was well received by conservationists, hunters and environmentalists.

The DOW tracked BC-03-M-02, recording that he sired at least two kittens in 2005 and four in 2006. He was last heard from April 20, 2007. He walked farther than any lynx has ever been known to travel. (Fly from Creede to Nordegg on Google Earth for some idea of the enormity of the journey.) When he was found, he was in good shape, two pounds heavier than when released. And he was almost home.

Except perhaps in a cage, we had never seen a lynx. From my journal:

“It was about a forty-five minute drive from South Fork to this gorgeous setting in a small meadow along the Rio Grande. A high bluff rises behind us along the road, and a spruce forest before us stretches up a couple thousand feet. Off to our right are snow-covered peaks that stretch up the valley.

The two pickup trucks with the lynx park on a dirt road at the edge of the meadow. The cages, made of steel, are covered with white tarps. As we pull in behind them, a little ground squirrel is bouncing around on the grass in the meadow. He will soon have new friends.

More cars arrive, about ten in all, and perhaps forty people have gathered, including, for some reason, a member of Sen. Lieberman’s entourage. One of the new wildlife commission members is introduced, in a spiffy fleece jacket with a DOW patch on the right sleeve.

The crates are taken from the trucks and carried, four persons to a crate, out onto the grass, all facing the meadow with the humans all gathered behind.

DOW interim chief, Bruce McCloskey, gives a short talk and answers questions. The lynx, he ensures us, are in the best shape they can possibly be; they have been probed and checked and are healthy as lynx can be under the circumstances.

This quartet was captured in Quebec and British Columbia in late December and have been kept on private property near here that a donor is in the process of turning over to the DOW. The lynx have been in pens about four months

While waiting for the release, we chat with Laurie Harvey, who describes herself as a “lynx technician.” She says the lynx have been in separate enclosures that measure about 12 feet long, five feet wide and five feet in height.

They stay in their cages and consider them a “nest box,” she explains, a quiet place where they can go and be by themselves. They have areas to climb on and exercise, and the lynx take advantage of the chance to work out. They are fed mostly rabbits, and she said the animals exhibit no signs of cage stress.

The most interesting thing she learned about the lynx, she said, was the wide range of behavior they showed toward people, from one animal that would allow her to get close to it and work in the cage to others that would get defensive whenever anyone so much as touched the cage.

The lynx each weigh about 26 pounds, and their blood and body fluids have been checked. They are in prime condition for release, Harvey said. She is in her second year of working with lynx and plans to sign up again for next season, though she admitted the work is hard and that “you shovel a lot of shit.”

The meadow is free of snow, but little patches still hug the spruce at the edges. Spring is popping up. Two fellows who look like McCloskey describes them – “snowshoe extremists” — stand and tell stories of following lynx and putting new collars on them. They trap them with cages much like those that bore them out here, except that they have a guillotine door. When the lynx goes for the meat in the back of the cage, the door closes down on them.

They explain that the pine forest just above us is perfect lynx habitat, with plenty of snowshoe hares and cover for these sensitive predators. The DOW is releasing some more down near Durango later in the day, and McCloskey and a few other honchos are heading there after this is over.

These lynx are radio-tracked by airplane and followed on foot by these trappers, ready and seemingly eager to follow lynx tracks at 11,000 feet in snowstorms. Like the guy from Washington, they are in Western wear that look like they’ve worn the same clothes for a month.

Chief McCloskey, in overalls, and the guy from Washington who looked as if he bought the jeans and the bright blue bandana around his neck for the occasion, each spoke about what a great thing the reintroduction program is. McCloskey introduced the people who would be allowed to actually pull the last barrier off the cages and let the lynx loose. Then we all gathered behind the four cages.

The one at the far left went out first. The DOW officer cut the wire and took off the first door. Two people stepped up and pulled the second metal door up and out.

Within about ten or fifteen seconds, the first lynx walked out. It took one look back, and within about a minute it was out of sight off to the right into a grove of pine trees.

It seemed smaller than I expected from photographs, but the long ears and bushy tail grabbed my immediate attention. I could also see what appeared to be part of its radio tag around its neck.

The second one is freed about two minutes later. It heads off to the left into some trees in the direction of the picnic tables. The third goes straight ahead into some trees; the fourth can be seen walking past a wooden platform along an established trail.

All four vanished within a minute. Heading into a brave new world, hopefully one with abundant snowshoe hare and a sexual encounter with the patter of little lynx two and a half months later.

I looked around and noticed tears in some people’s eyes. I was welling up, too, proud to be witness to this. For one who believes that our wilderness needs predators for its general health, this is as sweet as it gets. We were watching standard-bearers for a new generation of lynx in Colorado, a foreign land for them, bound for their individual fates. Where will they wind up?”

At least now, for one of those, we have the answer.

After reading a recent series of posts on a KC music fan listserv about a concert at the Uptown Theatre April 1, 1977 that featured Television opening for Peter Gabriel, who was touring in support of his first solo album, I remembered this article, which was never published and now includes original photography from Darrell Lea, who must have been sitting over a few seats from me taking pictures that night (thanks, Darrell). And btw, it wasn’t a crime to do that back then — we took photos of many bands back in those days and nobody said a word. It was a different time.

April 1, 1977

Television at the Uptown (Photo by Darrell Lea)

Tom Verlaine is sitting across from me in a booth in a Holiday Inn coffee shop in downtown Kansas City on an especially overcast April Fool’s Day. Verlaine is the leader and songwriter for the band Television, which last month released its first album, Marquee Moon, on Elektra Records to critical acclaim. The band is in town today as the opening act for Peter Gabriel’s show at the Uptown Theatre.

Verlaine is 27 years old and has been playing since 1966, when he bought his first electric guitar, a used Gibson model. He is wearing the same shirt he is pictured in in stories I have read about him in New Musical Express and Village Voice and on the cover of Marquee Moon.

He grew up in Delaware with drummer Billy Ficca, and moved to New York in 1967 with vague hopes of putting a band together. He played mostly with friends until 1973, when he formed Television. The only change in band members since then is the bassist, which was originally Richard Hell, now of the Voidoids, who “didn’t practice enough,” Verlaine said, and was replaced by Fred Smith.

Verlaine is intense and quite proud of the album. I told him how much I liked it right from the first listen, and he could barely conceal his pleasure. “You thought it was pretty good?”

“I thought it was fucking great,” I said. “I don’t take it off my stereo for very long.”

Another concealed smile. I know it feels good to hear that.

I ask about the sound of those two guitars, so crisp and clear and strong, a Fender Telecaster coming out of each speaker like dueling cobras out of a charmer’s basket. He said that live it doesn’t sound that way except in a small club, because the air inside larger rooms muffles the crispness and sharpness that you hear on Marquee Moon. He said he has a new Plexiglas guitar to try and recreate that studio sound onstage.

Some songs have been with them since inception, the most prominent being “Venus de Milo.” That they have been together almost three years accounts for the tightness of the album’s sound. There was little overdubbing on Marquee Moon, he said, just some organ and piano that Verlaine, who produced with Andy Johns, added later. “We changed some of the parts as we went along.”

Tom Verlaine looking rather unhappy with the mix -- or something. (Photo by Darrell Lea)

I asked if it worried him that bands that get high acclaim often crash and burn (thinking N.Y. Dolls), he replied that hype was just that, and that he was misquoted most of the time anyway. It could hurt or help them, he said, but that at this point he was just glad that he got his shot.

I suggested some influences that I heard on Marquee Moon. He said that, yes, he did like the first few Kinks LPs, and added that he really liked the Byrds, beating me to the punch, since a lot of the textures of his guitar style can be traced to McGuinn. But he said that he listened to a lot of tenor saxophone players, especially John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman. I mention that I hear some Tony Joe White on “Friction,” and said he hadn’t heard of him. I mention “Polk Salad Annie,” and he said he remembered that tune and that White played “some mean guitar.”

Was the music a reaction to the popular sounds of late, made with banks of synthesizers, mellotrons, keyboards and string sections? He said he wasn’t a synthesizer fan, but that the sound only reflected what he wanted to hear. Elektra gave him the freedom to work with a producer of his choice. Other companies, though offering more financially attractive packages, “wanted to stick us with a certain producer or put us in a certain category,” Verlaine said. “Elektra said they liked the group and would let us do the record the way we wanted.”

Peter Gabriel looks, well, young, doesn't he? (photo by Darrell Lea)

It’s pretty obvious later that night at the Uptown that everybody else is here to see the headliner. And Peter Gabriel does not disappoint. I was expecting the elaborate costuming and staging of his Genesis days, but he was in a sweat suit, explaining onstage that he had just seen Bruce Springsteen perform and that it made him want to work harder on his performances. The band makes the songs on Gabriel’s first solo album come alive onstage. The line-up is impressive: drummer Allen Schwartzberg (who I identified as Jim Gordon), legendary guitarists Robert Fripp (almost hidden stage right), Steve Hunter (that’s him on acoustic guitar on “Solsbury Hill”) and Dick Wagner, with Tony Levin on bass and tuba (!).

For Television, however, the sound is frightful and the band a knot of onstage contradictions. Verlaine seems impatient, like he’s on the verge of hitting someone with his guitar. When he cries in “Friction” that “you complain of my DICK–SHUN,” he accentuates it with little short bursts of guitar that emphasize the lyric.

Otherwise, he mostly stares down at the stage, venturing a look up every once in a while in the direction of Richard Lloyd, who along with Fred Smith, in dress and appearance, reminds me of what the early Zombies or Manfred Mann looked like in their Mod coats and suits. Lloyd stands motionless in front of his amplifier except to shake his head every once in awhile, like he’s just trying to stay awake. Then the lead swings over to him, and his body reels and staggers across the stage like a drunken marionette ash he picks out the notes as if in trance.

The set is chaotic and frantic, from the stammering chords of “See No Evil,” a song which seem to be on the verge of falling completely apart until they finally bring it to a finish four minutes later. But it’s also very exciting in its chaos. I am reminded of something that Verlaine said in the coffee shop, grinning widely, about how he can’t play a lead the same way twice. “My fingers just won’t let me do it.”

A crow (top) gets ready for another pass at the turkey vulture below.

I was driving down Moorhead, waiting for the heat to come on in the Subaru, the sky flint gray with bursts of clouds running north to south, when I first saw the three black shapes.

Three birds. All pretty large. And it only took a couple of glances away from the wheel to notice that it was two crows dive-bombing a turkey vulture. I pulled over as soon as I could and jumped out of the car with my camera. They were high enough that I couldn’t hear any sounds. I’m not that great a photographer, but I managed a couple of shots, including his one, which shows the larger vulture at the bottom with its white underwing markings. The crow at the top is about half the size of the vulture, with a black undercarriage.

The birds must have found some wind thermal up there in the cold air, and the vulture was soaring in the way vultures do, flapping its wings only when necessary and sweeping across the sky on the rising current. The two crows were flying recklessly around it, coming in from different directions, their wings fluttering as they tried to swoop in close without actually hitting the much larger vulture. (Well. That’s the way it looked. There is documentation of crows attacking turkey vultures, but I’ve never been inside a bird’s brain, so perhaps they were all just enjoying themselves up in the rising air current.)

Their ever-widening circles took them away from me until they were almost out of sight in less than a minute. Jumping back into the car, just thinking about how much fun that (at least) the crows seemed to be having, and marking up my first turkey vulture sighting this early in the year made an otherwise cold, miserable day lighten up considerably.