Scooby Doo

I’m going to start doing a new series of blogs since I seem to have dropped the ball on all the other series of blogs I’m doing. In this series, I plan to go back a examine all those bits of pop culture that have most heavily influenced who I am and what I like. And I will try to keep it in autobiographical order. Mostly, I will be talking about movies. But also some TV shows. And a few musical artists.


Until I was twelve, I accompanied my mom to my grandmother’s house every Saturday morning. While my mom styled my grandmother’s hair and went shopping, I watched television. Specifically, I watched Saturday Morning Cartoons. When I was a kid, my life revolved around television – mostly cartoons. This was in the primitive days. Before cable. Before a time when entire channels were dedicated to playing cartoons 24/7. There were only specific times when cartoons were on. Weekday afternoons, and Saturday mornings.

On Saturday mornings, my schedule was carefully chosen as I switched from channel to channel on the hour and half hour to catch all my favorites. These included Superfriends, Smurfs, Drak Pack, Gummi Bears, Bugs Bunny . . . and my all time favorite animated Saturday morning cartoon, Scooby Doo.

At this time (1979), the iteration of Scooby Doo currently playing Saturday mornings was The Scooby and Scrappy Doo show. I was not so crazy about this. I liked Fred, Daphne, and Velma. I liked the mysteries. The ghosts. The scary settings. Not so much the slapstick. However, I loved the opening sequence – especially the shot of that train coming at the camera. There was a real menace in how that opening bit plays out. Sadly, it is entirely absent from the actual episodes themselves.


The Scooby Doo I knew and loved was Scooby Doo, Where Are you? Which played on weekday afternoons. But only on one or two days a week. The rest of the week was dedicated to the two-parter guest spot episodes, or the mid-seventies Scooby Doo Show. But these versions lacked those special qualities that I loved about the original series.

Even as a kid, I always liked stories with a little danger. I liked villains planning to do harm to the heroes. I liked menace. I liked creepy shit. And Scooby Doo was my horror movie training wheels. Scooby Doo presented a world populated by haunted mansions, secret passageways, bats, cobwebs, skulls, lightning storms, spooky organs, portraits with moving eyes, trap doors, creepy-looking old chests, bats, echoing ghastly laughs, gray skies etc. And always with the ghost hands, grabbing at our heroes from the shadows. I have known those who actually claimed that Scooby Doo was too creepy for them as a child, and granted, re-watching old episodes, it does feature a lot of imagery that cartoons would most likely not feature these days.

Of course there was never any real danger. Death was never explicitly mentioned. Instead, bad guys threatened to turn Scooby and Shaggy into ghosts (which is code for threatening to kill them). And I was never all that clear what would happen if a phantom actually managed to successfully grab a member of the gang. But for a kid who was not allowed to watch anything remotely scary or adult, it was as close as I could get to all out horror for a very long time,

I loved the way the cheap animation was used. How each character had a distinctive way of running and standing. Frantic chases down endless hallways (as a kid, I discovered very quickly that if I run down a hallway, I hit the other end very quickly). The echoing shuffling that accompanied their footsteps. Even the overly dramatic had gestures when a character was “kidnapped” by some mysterious force behind a wall. I even loved the constant rotation of stock music. Also a plus, the hippie chase songs. I was obsessed with the show. At one time, I could tell you which images in the opening titles weren’t really in any episode. (The shot of Freddie in a chair sliding into a secret passage proved an especially difficult-to-see-episode for a very long time).

(While on the subject of grabby ghost hands, I often wandered why the gang never encountered villains with guns. Only costumes. I knew the show was from an earlier era, and I had a very shaky grasp on history, so I began to suspect that the show took place in a time before guns were invented. Unfortunately, I had seen a western or two, and was unable to account for the discrepancies in the timeline of my theory.)

Scooby Doo inspired an entire sub-genre of Saturday morning cartoons: the teens solving mysteries show. And naturally, these shows all featured mysteries with someone dressed up as a ghost. For the most part, ghosts did not actually exist in these shows. Perhaps this was meant as a reassuring message to kids that there is nothing to be afraid of, but I have to admit that what I took away from it was something more pragmatic: that perhaps there is nothing supernatural at all. That everything unnatural is really just an invention of man. This reading may be especially heavy for a kid, but I swear it painted how I looked at monsters, Santa Claus, and God. 

Perhaps what drew me most to Scooby Doo, Where Are you? Was the idea of driving around with my friends and solving mysteries when I grew up. Sadly, this dream was never realized,

In later years, the show went off the rails, but there will always be a special place in my heart for the final continuous iteration of Scooby Doo: The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo. In this version, the gang (now in different clothes for the first time in 15 years) opens a Chest of Demons – releasing 13 of the most terrifying ghosts on the face of the Earth. The idea was thrilling to me, but I was initially disappointed that the series opted for a lighter, post-modern take on the material rather than the darker, more dramatic take I was hoping for. Regardless, the bizarro humor grew on me and prepared me for the rising trend in self-referencing animation. Bonus: this iteration featured a warlock named Vincent Van Ghoul who looked and sounded exactly like Vincent Price. 



Later on, I watched a lot of G.I. Joe, He-Man, The Real Ghostbusters, etc, but they all fell short of the euphoria I experienced when Scooby Doo was new to me. While none of the later series were as good as the original, Scooby and the gang remains a vital part of my childhood. I still hope to ride around in my flower van with my peeps and chase a few ghosts around an oversized rundown mansion.

A side note: after watching a lot of old cartoons this weekend, I noticed a great amount of unabated liberal propaganda in my old Saturday morning cartoons. First off, I wish there were more blatant liberalism in today’s cartoons. However, I appreciated how Scooby Doo was generally lesson-free. Except of course that the villains were all selfish, money-hungry meanies. It featured a tight nit group of friends who looked out for each other as they explored dangerous places and encountered faux dangers. There wasn't much more to it than that.

Where did Scooby Doo lead me?:

• Other weekday afternoons cartoons for one thing. In the mid-eighties, weekday afternoons became inundated with first run shows - not just decades-old reruns. So I watched a lot of G.I. Joe, He-Man, even some Ducktales later on.
  
• But what Scooby Doo really did was pave the way for my obsession with horror films. From the stock imagery, to the genre's conventions. Scooby Doo has affected how I view horror movies. It has taught me to empathize with the good guys - the victims. Obviously, the villains are the more dramatically drawn characters in horror, but I remain firmly invested in the good guys despite how stock and one-dimensional they are. Only a few years later, I became obsessed with black-and-white horror movies.  I attribute this to Scooby Doo. 
  

I still can't watch the lightest of shows without longing for at least a  little darkness. For al the lightheartedness of Scooby Doo, there was a darkness in each episode that the characters took seriously. Shaggy and Scooby were terrified in every episode. Sometimes, even Freddie and Velma were scared. I still need this in everything I watch. I NEED the characters to take whatever situation they are in seriously -at least for a fleeting moment. Scooby Doo, Where Are You? wasn't ground-breaking. It wasn't even particularly imaginative. But it filled a very specific niche - and I was its intended audience. 

Bonnaroo 2009

There comes a moment at every Bonnaroo I’ve attended when I hit a low point, and I don’t want to come back. The first year, it was on Sunday afternoon. Not even Bonnaroo could keep my regular Sunday afternoon ennui at bay. Year two, it was Saturday afternoon. All the dust and heat was making me feel sick. I didn’t think I could last through the rest of the weekend. Last year, it was Saturday morning. My phone was dead. My tent was rained out. And the gray skies were fucking with my mood.

This year, that moment arrived about thirty minutes after I arrived. In other words, day one hour one of Bonnaroo this year sucked balls. It took 13 hours to get to the campsite. THIRTEEN HOURS when it has usually taken maybe four hours in the past. Traffic was hell. Absolute hell. I was stuck in one spot for with moving a foot for almost two hours. Someone somewhere fucked up royally. Bonnaroo, for all your posturing about recycling and conserving, you don’t hesitate to burn up inordinate amounts of gas and oil. Then, I was directed to a mud pit for a campsite. I set up in the rain and dark – regularly stepping in a deep mud hole at the corner of where I was setting up. This, in the midst of a tornado warning. As you may know, a warning means that there is an actual tornado in the area. Then, the rains came. Heavy torrential rains that brought down half the tent and soaked my towels. My towels! And my shoes! I tried to venture out to the concerts that evening, but I was informed that the entire site was out of programs. Before I had even arrived, they were out. Thus, I didn’t know who was playing where and when. I went back to my tent, wet and defeated. And wanted to go home.

But the next day was better. I woke up early and headed for Centeroo. The first thing I noticed is how little the place has changed. It never seems to change. For fuck’s sake, Bonnaroo, would it kill you to plant some goddamn grass?! There are small changes. The computer tent has become a DJ Scratch Academy tent. The cinema has a wood floor, a partition separating from the open front, and a concession stand. And the Troo Music Lounge was a series of open tents rather than one big one. But other than that, the same vendors sit in the same places. The same silly art takes up the same space. I think the same trash even stays in the same area. Maybe it was because of the rains, but the entire site felt much more filthy than usual.

I caught a documentary in the mostly empty cinema tent while waiting for the shows to start. It was something about Pete Seeger and how radical his politics were. But once the shows did start, I only had fun for the next three days.

First off, Gomez. A band I’m not too familiar with, but it was a great set. Energetic and rocking. Then Animal Collective, which was excellent. There’s nothing revolutionary about either of these shows, but they were both fun, and the crowd was into them. Sadly I couldn’t stay through all of their show, because I had to head back to the Cinema Tent to see Don Hertzfeldt (one of my favorite filmmakers). I got to sit in the front row (again, the room was practically empty). I did not get my picture taken with him (I was too shy to ask), but I learned that he’s a chatty Cathy. He didn’t offer much insight, but it was cool nonetheless. I could totally hang out with him. I also saw “I am so proud of you” for the second and third times. Amazing short film about mortality and its inevitability.

Afterwards, I caught Al Green (who was in a playful mood), TV on the Radio and Santigold before seeing the Beastie Boys that night. Despite some technical problems and actually dropping the beat a few times (“There is no tape. There is no iPod. This is live music.”), the Beastie Boys was my favorite show of the day. Alas, they performed neither “Girls” (my favorite BB song) nor “Fight for your Right”.

From there, I went to see David Byrne, who had a ridiculous costumed/choreographed thing going on. It was ludicrous, and I started to walk away. Al that stopped me was his breaking into “Burning Down the House”. Later, Phoenix (another band I was unfamiliar with, but liked), Public Enemy, and Girl Talk. By this time, it was almost four in the morning and I was tired of shoving my way through crowds.

For the record, Bonnaroo is overly crowded. You are regularly shoving through people. And at the shows, it’s really bad. Like sardines. I am not one of those who likes to linger at the back of the tent, or find some spot on the ground in ear shot and lie down. I get in there. I push my way close to the front – standing in front of someone. Trying to see past someone constantly bobbing their head or dancing clumsily. Yes, I get covered in the sweat of others, shoved around myself, and assaulted by the oblivious. But being in there. In that energy: it’s exciting.


The next day, it was hot. First off, I went to see the Steele Drivers based on a recommendation by a friend. I wasn’t into it, so I wandered around until I accidentally happened upon Jimmy Buffet singing that one song he has.


I then kicked around from tent to tent, shoving my way through a sea of crowds, until the Bon Iver concert – whose audience wins the award for most gratuitous PDAs. It was very sensitive and pleasant. Afterwards, I went to the Silent Disco to catch DJ Quickie Mart – based on another recommendation. I had never been to the silent disco, and this was the perfect time since there was no line. The idea behind the silent disco is to wear headphones while listening and dancing to the music. Take the headphones off and the bizarre illusion is shattered, and it’s just people bopping around to songs in their head – occasionally coughing out a random syllable along with the music. The DJ used popular eighties songs while keeping up a fast beat. I spent about thirty to forty minutes there before heading off to the next show.

As usual, I did not ride the Ferris Wheel.


Jenny Lewis. I didn’t know much about her, but one song really interested me. “Jack Killed Mom.” I have not yet managed to download it, but I’m working on it. I skipped out on her early to catch Of Montreal, who started late (which means I was right on time). Of Montreal follows the Flaming Lips school of showmanship. Crazy costumes and weird lighting effects. The Flaming Lips still win thanks to puppets, lasers and video screens, but Of Montreal gets a mention for effort. ON the other hand, the Flaming Lips involves too much political rhetoric. Later, I caught Wilco (who performed my favorite Wilco song “Jesus, Etc.” and did the best patter so far – all self-deprecating and intimate) and The Decemberists (who played The Hazards of Love note for note, beginning to end without a bit of patter).

Then, Bruce. Bruce was thirty minutes late, and performed none of my favorite songs (“I’m on Fire” “Nebraska” “Streets of Philadelphia” “Born in the U.S.A.”), but did perform “Born to Run”, a song that I have never been too keen on in the past, but now having heard him perform it live, I really like it. He also performed “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” despite declaring that “It’s too fucking hot for Santa Claus.” The Springsteen show was disappointing. It was to goddamn upbeat and the songs too goddamn poppy. I’m not giving it enough credit, I know, but it wasn’t my thing.


After Bruce, I headed toward the stage where Nine Inch Nails was set to perform, but got distracted by a band in a small tent. The band was The Giraffes. The performance was fantastic. The lead singer screamed out his songs while smoking and drinking. He then jumped into the audience to watch the guitarist tear it up while getting soaked in beer and sweat. The songs were bawdy and dirty and loud and awesome. Plus, some guy dressed up like Teen Wolf showed up and danced. The Giraffes are fucking awesome, folks.

Next up, Nine Inch Nails. Without showing up early, I was unable to get a spot close. And the strobe lighting effects made getting a good picture difficult. But this show remains my favorite (“I don’t know about this starting at one in the morning shit.”). Trent Reznor was on. He never performed “Closer”, but he closed out with a haunting rendition of “Hurt” after announcing that this was his last U.S. show as NIN. He sounded tired, but he didn’t let that slow him down. It sounded great. It looked great. I was all set to begin attending his Halloween shows until he made his announcement.


Afterwards, I went by the Art of Such “N Such tent where vaudevillian shenanigans were afoot. I watched ridiculous displays of naked pleas for attention while dancing for another hour. The such n’ such area is a great place to waste time, but it’s half assed Cabaret-lite. Afterwards, I made my way to the Discoteque, where I actually sat down and fell asleep. Despite being four-thirty in the morning, it was still shoulder-to-shoulder people everywhere. I limped back to my tent for a little sleep before beginning the last day.

The first show of the final day was The Dillinger Escape Plan. A rocking hard metal band. A spontaneous mosh pit busted out around me and I had to flee for my life – swimming against the current of people literally climbing over the crowd to get to the mosh pit. The lead singer regularly tossed bottles of water into the crowd, screamed into his mic, and flung himself onto the throbbing crowd – crowd-surfing with everyone else. It was genuinely exciting.

Next up, the laid back crowd of Todd Snider. They giggled dutifully at his dry humor and nodded in time as he performed. I left Todd Snider early (I wish I hadn’t) and went to the Citizen Cope show. I was so tired of fighting through crowds by this time, I stayed way back. Then, I headed back to the High on Fire show. Another metal band. Too loud (yes, I’m an old man), but I loved the introduction to one of their songs. “Thank goodness he’s no longer president, but here’s a fuck-George-Bush song. RUINS OF WARRRRR!”

I lay down on the ground and fell asleep during the uber mellow Andrew Bird show. Then finished off the weekend with Merle Haggard (who stopped a song to make a pot joke. He knew the audience.), Snoop Dogg (twenty minutes late, dawg!), Band of Horses, and Neko Case. I was drawn to the Neko Case concert by the sound of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog barking “This place has more stages than syphilis!” He then raped Yoda. At this point, I was overwhelmed and tired. I had barely paid attention through the last few shows. I needed the weekend to be over.

I spent the entire weekend stepping over drunks, shoving my way through filthy hippies, maneuvering through currents of drunk and high half-naked kids, and trying to peer around bobbing swaying sweaty bodies. My back was aching and I had blisters on my feet, but my initial frustration from the first night had subsided and I was happy again. As usual, the thought occurred to me that I’m too fucking old to be going to Bonnaroo. But once again I was won over by the crowds and the music and the whole atmosphere. It’s a party with 75,000 guests. And everyone is there for a good time. The overpriced food and drinks. The random strangers painting your hand. The ubiquitous pot smoking. Despite the hellish commute, I will most likely be back again next year.