Parental Perspective

By Marty Smith
Cambron, Mia & Vivie's Daddy

Parenthood is Wild Kingdom. It is The Wild Wild West. Where The Wild Things Are. Youth Gone Wild. It is the most-difficult, most-rewarding job imaginable, as wonderful as it is worrisome.

There is no off-switch. Little feet are the alarm clock. Giggles are soul-fuel. Smiles are tangible. So are tears. Mistakes hurt.

The moment the doctor smacks those little cheeks, the unknown shifts instantly -- from personally intriguing prospect to terrifying spectre.

That tiny little body makes you, in fact, realize how small you are.

The relentless day-to-day parental itinerary that leads from carpool to swimming pool and classroom to practice field and negotiation table to dinner table makes it difficult to keep a stranglehold on perspective and a proper priority scale -- even for the most-devoted parents.

That dynamic is made even more difficult when parents are forced to constantly thwart mind-numbing sibling quarrels about such things as who-sits-where and who's-watching-what, and the incessant verbal jabs spoken by little sister with the sole intent of poking big brother the lion.

Refereeing proves exhausting. It compromises patience.

I try extremely hard to maintain patience. I often don't.

I am not patient by nature. But my patience is far greater today.

I was told early on in parenthood not to sweat the small stuff. But in this world gone awry in the most fundamental arenas of common courtesy, I refuse to raise anything other than respectful children. I harp on it. Yes ma'am. No ma'am. Yes sir. No sir. Please. Thank you. Don't back-talk your momma. Straighten-up your toys. Quit whining. Do your homework.

Maybe I go too far. Maybe I shouldn't sweat every tantrum.

Maybe I should change my approach, let a few things slide.

Sandy Hook Elementary School is no different than the school my seven-year old attends.

Those sweet children could be his class. They were his age. They may have shared many of his interests. Maybe they loved Monster Trucks like he does. Maybe they requested chicken nuggets every other meal like he does. Maybe they picked on their sisters like he does.

That stopped me in my tracks. No tragedy in my lifetime hit me harder. I mourned 9/11 deeply. I wept for Virginia Tech. Blacksburg is 10 minutes from my hometown. But nothing felt like this felt.

It's children. Pure. Defenseless. Precious.

Innocent.

There are many moments, as I sit quietly snuggled in the comfy far-right corner of my couch, that I adjust my gaze from whatever frivolity dances across my television screen and fix it solely on the precious face of whichever of my children happens to be buried beneath "blankies" and "amilals" in the opposite corner.

I just sit and stare, for minutes on-end, until  my mind creeps dangerously into the fantasy I hold dearly for the future. I sit and stare, at the wide eyes and the snaggle-tooth grins, and let my thoughts try to guess  their thoughts.

The innocence is intoxicating.

It is a portrait of perfection. It is a sweet so sweet words can't possibly articulate the taste.

Maybe it's because my children are so young, and I'm living the lives many of those heartbroken parents are living. Maybe it was the realization that it all speeds by so fast.

And the realization that it can stop so fast.

I sat Wednesday and watched my son perform in his class' Christmas program. He walked confidently to the microphone and told us that every Advent Sunday many Germans light a candle on their Christmas wreath.

And then he sang "Oh Tannenbaum."

And then he did the Macarena to "Deck the Halls."

And I laughed.

And I wept.

Night Train: A Monster

By Marty Smith
Country Boy Casserole

Given its release to the public today (Oct. 16, 2012), many of you have asked for my thoughts on Jason Aldean's new album, Night Train. This is my review of the album, which first ran in the body of my ESPN.com column -- TheSix -- in mid-September.

Jason Aldean climbed to the top of the country music universe by cutting redneck rock 'n roll songs that simultaneously broach the human element while speaking directly to the boys in the hayfield trying to get out of town, and the girls in the boardroom that just want to get back home.

Aldean's song choices make many different types of folks from many different places in many different walks-of-life say, 'That's me.'

That's hard to do.

It's even harder to duplicate.

But with Night Train he did it.

I can't believe he did it. But he did.

This record is a monster.

And it's not redundant. Country artists can get redundant, fearing they'll try to fix what ain't broke and end up a broken record. Same thing happens in racing. Teams that are really good one season sometimes end up mediocre the next, because they're afraid to change what works in the moment. Then, suddenly, they're behind for the future.

Aldean's last album, My Kinda Party, sold nearly three million copies and, in my opinion, carried two (and maybe even three) more radio hits in its pages than the five-straight No. 1s you did hear.

In today's landscape in the country format, triple-platinum is just north of impossible for someone not named Taylor Swift, according to those I know in the industry.

How do you follow a record that huge? That's a ton of pressure. (Welcome pressure, sure, but difficult nonetheless).

I broached that thought with a buddy of mine in Nashville, who made a fantastic point: When you're on top of the mountain like Aldean is, the best writers in town lay the best songs in their catalogues down on your doorstep. “Here's the best I got: take your pick.”

Nobody loves country music more than me. I skew "hardcore fan" on the demo sheet. I'm no music critic. I'm not educated in music theory. But I have plenty of music theories. I'm a hard-sell these days but not a cynic. I'm not educated enough to be cynical and have conviction about it. I'm too big a fan for that.

There are but a select few artists that make me pump my fist. There's a lot of watered-down work out there. So when I receive an advance-copy of a new album, I'm excited, but try to temper it. If an album carries 11 songs and four of them are solid, it's a decent record.

Night Train carries 15 tracks. You don't especially need the seek button. There are a couple songs I don’t love. But it’s an album you can just let play.

It is 90 percent classic Aldean. The remaining 10 percent is a swing for the fence.

The Only Way I Know, a collaboration with Luke Bryan and Eric Church, will be No. 1 by wintertime, I figure. It's about growing up in the middle of nowhere, ignorant to the broader scope, and the core value of the simple man. "Don't back up... don't back down..."

The beauty-in-simplicity nostalgia of growing up in the country is a theme that weaves throughout the album. There are a lot of rivers and a lot of reminiscing in this record.

The initial radio track, Take A Little Ride is the fastest-rising single of Aldean’s career. It sold more downloads in its first week than any country male in history. And in my opinion it is one of the weaker tracks on the record.

There's a rap song on the album called 1994, which hops through Joe Diffie's career. The first time I heard it I mocked it. But by the fifth listen, it's impossible not to bob your head. It'll be huge in Aldean's live show. Just huge. There'll be 15,000 people bobbing their heads and hollering, "Joe... Joe... Joe Diffie! ... Joe ... Joe... Joe Diffie!" Trust me.

There are also some huge tracks. Talk is my favorite in the early-going. The way I hear it, it’s about taking the next-step with a new love-interest, and it’s the best vocal -- with the most passion -- on the album. Aldean didn’t write it, so he either lived it or dreamed about living it. It’s that personal.

The title track, Night Train, is just fantastic. Same for Drink One For Me. “Tell the boys… thanks for havin’ my back… some of the best memories I’ve ever had…”

I could go on-and-on. Buy it. You’ll be glad you did.

Reaction: Church and Stones

By Marty Smith

Given my friendship with Eric Church, I've been innundated with requests for feedback regarding his comments in the Rolling Stone article. In this instance 140-character responses don't suffice. So I figured it best to simply write about it.

So... here are my thoughts ->

Having spoken with Eric, I have context on the matter most do not. And context in any debate is critical to truth, fairness and accuracy. A quote can be accurate verbatim, but contextually misleading.

Eric said what he said and he has to own it. And he does own it.

But that doesn't mean we have the true scope of how he said what -- and at what point of a much broader conversation the words were stated. I'm not saying the writer took him out of context. Not even. But any writer will tell you that there is potential during any story for the context of his or her keystrokes to change a bit during the editing process.

Oftentimes in my job we are handed sheets of paper with quotes from racecar drivers. They are words on paper. And when read they are at times eye-popping, seemingly condescending or controversial for those reporters that weren't present when they were said. It is important to see HOW they were said.

A comment said while laughing is taken completely differently by those present than it is by those reading it on a piece of paper. Yes, those exact words were stated. But body language and voice inflection say every bit as much as the words themselves.

Not that Eric was laughing about the Idol-driven fast-track-to-fame dynamic. Because he wasn't. He genuinely doesn't appreciate it. That is not debatable. But that sentiment is not about the people. It's about the process.

Oddly enough that's why, when he names Blake Shelton and CeeLo Green in the Rolling Stone piece, it's not necessarly about Blake Shelton or CeeLo Green. They -- unfortunately -- merely provided the motor in the magazine vehicle that delivered the larger message.

He shouldn't have named names. Period. That was a mistake, and also is not debatable.

Shelton and Green are livid. And given what they read, I can see why. From there it was a runaway freight train. In instances like this reactions are quick and sides form immediately, based on personal allegiences.

The reaction has been crazy. Some of Blake's closest friends are some of my closest friends. They've asked for answers and I've not responded until now.

But Eric is my best friend. He's a badass, genuinely. I know his heart and I support him.