For The Record- 23. March. 2024

Television turns me on when the summer's hot and the spirit's long

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Welcome to another edition of For The Record, the weekly newsletter that brings the world of music news straight to your inbox. Part essay, part good old-fashioned link drop, this is a benefit for paid supporters of On Repeat.

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This week, we’ve got news on what Spotify’s Loud & Clear report tells us, Lollapalooza and ‘Lost in the Dream’ turning 10.

All that and a LOT more, including photos from U2’s residency at the Sphere, Dua Lipa, and the post office’s latest stamp.

Let’s get to it!

📻📻📻

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There is a certain romance in the idea of community-based youth leagues. The sport doesn’t matter — it can be baseball, soccer, hockey — the idea does.

We find comfort in the idea of kids spending lazy summer days riding their bikes to the sandlot and playing a game, pickup soccer games where t-shirts take the place of goals, and Friday night lights shining down on small towns all across flyover country.

We’ve idealized an endangered species.

For many kids, the reality is travel teams in leagues far from their neighborhood. Mega clubs hoover up any player with a modicum of talent and a parent with a modicum of income.

It’s an objective truth that parents want what’s best for their children, and clubs have figured this out, sometimes charging big bucks for “Next Level Training” or academies.

Families shell out $1000s in the hope that this will smooth the path to a college scholarship—and serve as a bit of a bragging point to their friends—while in many cases, getting only a trainer with a vague accent that fills out a tracksuit nicely in return.

That isn’t to say that there aren’t good coaches and good clubs — there most certainly are. But far too many have figured out that eager parents are easy money.

If the checks keep coming, why do more than the bare minimum?

At this point, I should be clear on a couple of points. First, I’m not claiming any kind of moral high ground here — every family is different, and what may seem absurd to some means everything to others. Nothing wrong with that, as long as everyone goes in with eyes wide open.

My older son earned a spot on a team just in time for COVID-19 to take over the world. After a forced hiatus, we spent the following season visiting all corners of the Dairlyland and hopscotching between counties still under lockdown and wide open ones—if anything, that should tell you what living in Wisconsin can be like.

We made the best of it. Sometimes, we’d have lively chats. Sometimes, an early start meant he slept while I drove. Either way, the radio was on, and I was always surprised by what I heard. I expected “hits of the 80s” in the middle of nowhere. I did not have things like Pearl Jam’s “Hail Hail” on my bingo card.

Like his older brother before him, my younger son is now on a travel team in what I consider to be a good club. They have measurable benchmarks for player development, licensed coaches with well-developed plans, and a robust infrastructure.

They’ll also have a game schedule that will again take us all over the state.

Note: As mentioned a couple of weeks ago, he’s also playing rugby. It’s a workload he’s confident he can handle, and I learned early not to bet against him. At this point, my only concern is logistics and schedule conflicts.

Look, I’m just as susceptible to temptation as any other parent. Again, wanting what’s best for one’s kids is normal. I’m talking about the extreme end — the land of academy training for players who’ve just learned to walk, or places where $2–4K per year really just means a cool backpack while driving (or flying!) to competitions…usually while passing over dozens of worthy nearby opponents.

My kids are/were each there for different reasons. Before he graduated, my older son was drawn to the intense competition of high-level soccer and used club ball to stay in form for the high school season. My younger son is on a team that prizes development over all else, but his friends are there, too.

Neither played because I thought it would lock them in for a scholarship. That’d be great, but it’s not a given, no matter how many glossy brochures wind up in my mailbox, or how many payments I make.

I’m also not living vicariously through them, like some other parents. Yeah, it’s nice to note where they play, but it’s not a talking point I trot out to one-up the other suburban dads in my orbit.

Both have received good coaching, faced strong competition, and, most importantly, are living a good experience. The upside for them is great.

So what do I get out of it, then? What’s the ROI for me bombing all over the state in a car that may/may not survive the round trip?

Time. I’ve spent large blocks of uninterrupted time with both boys. Some amazing conversations happen between stops at Kwik Trip and fighting over the radio dial. Sometimes, these drives include some wild side trips.

At home, I’m outmatched by an iPhone or Hulu, but it’s a different story on the road. It’s a ton of pure quality time, and you can’t put a price on that.

Sometimes, you even get to hear a PJ deep cut.

And now for some links: