Kevin Costner serenades the Rays

Kevin Costner and his roots-rock band Modern West (c'mon, stay with me, folks) are so digging our Tampa Bay Rays, they've recorded a song in the team's AL East-clinching honor: It's All Up to You, which you can check out right HERE.

"Towards the end of the year, I ran into Joe [Maddon] up in Toronto," said Costner via conference call. "I just said to him, 'You guys need a war song. Something you can play in the locker room after you win.'" Costner had been working on the song before the Rays run, but felt that the track's underdog theme fit our squad perfectly. So he changed a few words here and there, and added play-by-play soundbites of Rays' vicories.

No word on whether the players like It's All Up to You, which they heard last week after clinching the Al East. Maddon, however, did tell Costner that the song was "tasty." Costner says the song isn't available for purchase -- not yet at least. "I wanted to get it in the dugout for the guys," he says. "It was a gift."

My evil colleagues have circled my desk with stakes and torches, expecting a fiendish dismissal of the track, which sounds a little like a drunk Stones tribute band soundtracking Smokey and the Bandit 2. But even though the onslaught of sports cliches is Dick-and-Jane simple, and Costner's honky-tonkin' affectations are making me rethink my love of Tin Cup, the song isn't THAT awful. Seriously. It's merely silly-dumb. And to be honest, I kinda grinned when I heard the sound-bites of Rays game footage; for awhile, the song could have been about ANY team, so at least he had the decency to localize it.

Last year, Costner played at a Rays event that unveiled the name change and the new unis. A year later, the Rays are division champs, and the Hollywood star is, well, still looking for a hit. So who can blame him for riding our success.

Of course, he'll be rooting for us only to a point.

"I'm definitely pulling for the Rays," Costner told me, "but if they wind up playing the Dodgers, you gotta be true to your school."

But Siriusly...

So in order to traverse the wilds of DelMarVa last week, the Forever Fiancee, Kid Lulu, Mai-Mai and I rented a sleek blue Family Truckster -- aka a Chrysler Town & Country with only 570 miles on it. Despite my aversion to mini-vans, I grew to adore our weeklong wheels, and so did the rest of the brood -- especially Mai-Mai, who showed her excitement with pooptastic revelry every hour on the hour.

One of the highlights of our rental car was Sirius Radio: all Disney, all AC/DC, all Elvis whenever we wanted. Total bliss. As a music critic, I spend most of my drive-time zipping CD after CD into the player; it's the only way I can conquer the incoming. So Sirius was a relatively new toy for me. Awesome. Totally awesome.

When we first picked up the Truckster, we spent a good bit of time spinning around the dial, exploring the 150-some stations. Keeping one eye on I-95 and the other on the display screen, I saw the FF roll past something that said PLAYBOY.

"Whoa, honey," I said, "you just passed the Playboy station."

"No way, Sean. Not with kids in the car." She kept spinning the dial.

"Come on," I insisted. "It's probably just jazz. Hef loves that crap. Let's check it out."

So I reached over, knocked the FF's hand out of the way and clicked back to Playboy. At first it was soft-soothing New Agey music, harps and wave crashes, and then a young British woman, her voice all low and smoldery and porny, continued to read from some sacred text:

"And that's when Amber, stifling her giggles, bent all the way down to lick the tip of Tom's co--"

WHOA! ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION!

"What did I tell you, Sean! You never listen! What did you think Playboy was gonna be?!"

The FF and I turned back to check the kids. Mai-Mai was out like a light, her last diaper-filler apparently sapping her strength. But Kid Lulu, our 4-year-old, was wide-eyed.

"Daddy," she said, "can we listen to the Jonas Brothers now?"

"Sure, baby. That sounds like a great idea."

"Love Runs Deeper"

This is so good, but you gotta promise me you'll stick around 'til the 40 second mark. The song is called "Love Runs Deeper" from Lindsey Buckingham's new album, "Gift of Screws." If you're a Fleetwood Mac fan, you're gonna flip. Have fun. And if you can't watch this video, here's the LINK.

AC/DC is coming to Tampa!

JUST ANNOUNCED! In support of upcoming album Black Ice, Angus Young, Brian Johnson & Co. will be coming to the St. Pete Times Forum on Sunday, Dec. 21st.

Tickets go on sale this Saturday, Oct. 4, at 10 a.m. If I were you, I'd show up to Live Nation and/or Ticketmaster wicked early, as the Aussie crew has pretty much been selling well everywhere. And why not? This will be the band's first major world tour in seven years.

Between snagging Rays playoff tix and getting closer to my No. 1 dream concert, this is turning out to be the Best Day Ever.

In Sean's Mailbox: Blonds, Pussycats, Oasis

I should be writing a smart, insightful essay about Bruce Springsteen's rather surprising decision to be the next Super Bowl halftime act (Feb. 1, Tampa). Politically speaking, the Boss and the NFL's corporate powers-that-be are strange bedfellows. On the other hand, Bruuuuce will (probably) have a new album to promote, and you can't beat the exposure of 150 million-plus viewers. Plus he'll be able to sneak politics in between Born to Run and some new single. Still, the whole thing seems weird, awkward. I dunno. Maybe I'll write about it...

...or maybe I'll just listen to the new Pussycat Dolls album, Doll Domination. That was just one of the new albums waiting for me after a week off. My mailbox was stuffed with fluff, ladies young and old looking to sell their sexy wares. This includes Kristin Chenoweth's Christmas CD, and you know how I feel about her.

Anyway, as I dig myself out, here's some of my mail, starting with the magical one-two punch of vapid American Idol blonds...

Kristy Lee Cook -- Why Wait (LISTEN)
Kellie Pickler -- Kellie Pickler (LISTEN)
Oasis -- Dig Out Your Soul (LISTEN)
Kristen Chenoweth -- A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas
Elvis Presley -- Christmas Duets
Pussycat Dolls -- Doll Domination (LISTEN)
Demi Lovato -- Don't Forget
Plain White T's -- Big Bad World
Little Big Town -- A Place to Land
Tim McGraw -- Greatest Hits 3
Little Feat and Friends -- Join the Band

Photo courtesy of Getty Images.

This oughta be worth playoff tix, right?

Hello, Tampa Bay. Good to be back. What have I missed?

Before we proceed with all the pop puffery and related madcappery (Springsteen playing the Super Bowl in Tampa!), I think we should first acknowledge my startling gift of prophecy regarding your Tampa Bay Rays.

That's right. Anybody remember THE OPENING DAY PLAYLIST?

Cool, huh? And based on that alone, I think someone should TOTALLY take me as their rollicking date for the Rays upcoming romp through the postseason, dontcha think?

Gone Crabbin': See ya in a bit

Hey boys and girls, I'm heading off to the great state of Maryland, be back in a week. (C'mon, we all just won a major award. This is the perfect time to rest on our laurels, right?)

The vacation itinerary includes hanging with Mom and Dad, dropping in on Pop Life star Guy and, for a finale, venturing into the midway mania of Ocean City, Md. -- that's right, the very same place where a coupla crazy kids fell in love and made out on their first date.

I might drop in now and then for an update. Or I might just go all recluse, stuffing my maw with backfin and Natty Boh, preferably in some joint that has pennant-race baseball on a TV over the bar.

Have fun. Be safe. And I'll see you on Sept. 29.

NEW MUSIC: Raphael Saadiq

Raphael Saadiq
Album: The Way I See It (Columbia)
In stores: Now
Why we care: The suave leader of ’90s new jack collective Tony! Toni! Tone! (remember If I Had No Loot?), Saadiq has been penning and producing for such R&B acts as D’Angelo and Joss Stone. But his return to the other side of the mike is inspired indeed, as the singer, in the guise of Marvin Gaye's ghost (or at least the best Temptations tribute act you've ever heard), throws smooth props to the spectral aura of Hitsville U.S.A.
Why we like it: Saadiq dislikes the word “retro,” but there’s an undeniably vintage swoon to these Motown whispers, written today but truly birthed 40 years ago. This is a bold, singular vision, but Saadiq ain’t too proud to beg (wow, sorry about that) for help from such stars as Stone, Stevie Wonder and Jay-Z.
Reminds us of: "I know you wanna leave me / But I refuse to let you go...”
Download these: Sure Hope You Mean It (LISTEN)
Grade: B+

E is for...?

Kid Lulu had another Share Day at school today. I guess they're rockin' their vowels, because after last week's Great "A" Debacle, today was all about things that start with "E." Some teachers and parents (including Totally Together Mom) puckishly asked if I had remembered to bring something this time. And you know what, ladies? I did.

Because while your kid brought in a stuffed elephant.

My kid? She brought in Elvis.

Ho Ho Holy Crap!

Jeez, as if I don't have enough things to worry about...

To remind me that Christmas is a mere 98 days away -- but WRITING about Christmas CDs is only 58 days away -- the first of zillions of sonic snowflakes fluttered into my mailbox today.

This year's winner for first reindeer outta the gate: Mary Chapin Carpenter's Come Darkness, Come Light: Twelve Songs of Christmas.

I was going to listen to it, but then I just curled up in a ball and cried for a half-hour. Crisis averted...

Pop Life stars (aka you) win Best of the Bay

This is very cool...

Creative Loafing, the alt-weekly in town, just released their annual Best of the Bay awards and Pop Life received a sweet nod: BEST Way to Enjoy American Idol Without Actually Watching It

But wait, it gets better. Here's the write-up...

"St. Pete Times pop music critic Sean Daly and his fellow Pop Life bloggers managed to have their American Idol and eat it, too. Live-blogging each episode, this crew of AI obsessives generated a weekly snark-fest that was lots more fun than the show itself. Marissa from Kankakee, deeply in lust with "Roo" (her nickname for Aussie singer Michael Johns); Jeff reporting from Cuba (!); Sparky, Spearsy and the whole gang making up rude nicknames for David Archuleta (Muppet, Archie, Chachi, Tickle Me Davy) -- all were hilarious as well as dangerously addictive, kind of like the show that inspired them."

Here's the online announcement plus links to the rest of the ish.

Nice work, boys and girls. Your withering vitriol and misplaced aggression are much appreciated!

The Walkoff Playlist

Last night, the AL East-leading Tampa Bay Rays celebrated their 11th (11th!) walkoff win of this improbable season, sending the Boston Red Sox to a 2-1 defeat...and back into 2nd place.

For now, at least.

The Rays-Sox storyline has been tremendous this season: killer slugfests, extra-inning heroics, the Yankees suck, myriad home-and-home sweeps, my shrink-session feelings for both squads.

Nevertheless, after 11 walkoff wins, it was cool last night to see the Rays still so youthfully stoked to win in dramatic fashion. Look at those happy scamps, Dioner and Aki, gamboling around the bases. Adorable, yes? I call that inspiring -- not to mention a great reason for today's playlist.

By the way, I'll be at Friday's Rays-Twins game, a potentially historic night in which the Rays could clinch their first-ever playoff spot. Yes, the Forever Fiancee and I (plus 6 of our pals) will be cabbing it.

THE WALKOFF PLAYLIST
1) Walk of Life -- Dire Straits
2) Walk on By -- Cyndi Lauper
3) Walk Away -- Kelly Clarkson
4) Walking on Air -- Kerli
5) Hit That -- the Offspring
6) Dogs on the Run -- Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
7) Run Like Hell -- Pink Floyd
8) Don't Look Down -- Lindsey Buckingham
9) Don't Give Up on Us -- David Soul
10) Love Rollercoaster -- the Ohio Players 

Persall and Daly: America's Sweethearts

We have major Festival of Reading news to report...

In a move sure to shatter attendance records, St. Pete Times film critic Steve Persall and pop music critic Sean Daly have agreed to team up on Saturday, OCT. 25 for a no-holds-barred Festival throwdown.

Persall and Daly? We thought they hated each other? Or do they...?

Details are still being ironed out. For instance, if Persall gets a limo, I'm gonna throw a hissy. But this much we do know. Our laff-a-minute lecture/purple prose orgy will be (1) FREE (2) held somewhere on the campus of USF St. Pete and (3) starting before noon. (Too early, party stars? Just suck it up, make a Bloody Mary in a to-go cup and roll your bedhead in there.)

Anyway, mark your calendars: OCT. 25. We're still discussing format...well, other than mocking each other and giving plenty of Q&A time to the readers who think we suck. (Seriously, our hate mail rocks!) Persall has killer Hollywood stories, including tete-a-tetes with Jack Nicholson and Bill Pullman, "close encounters" with Joan Jett and Edie Brickell. And you know Daly will dust off that damn Mellencamp story again, plus reveal intimate details about creeping out the Jonas Brothers.

OCT. 25! Don't miss the magic!

A Hootie Hoedown?

Do you have a middling pop music career? Are you a mortgage payment away from schlepping the RibFest beat? Do you wish people would stop calling you Hootie? Maybe it's time to consider a career in country. Crossing over has never been easier. First off, put a lil' twang in your talkbox -- it's pronounced YEE-HAW -- and start droppin' your -ings. Then stock up on religion, pedal steel and saloon cliches. Bon Jovi did it. Michelle Branch, too.

And now three former pop heavyweights, desperate for a career gitalong, have decided to ditch the Big City for a metaphysical Mayberry. Former Hootie and the Blowfish frontman Darius Rucker, who plays Tampa's Dallas Bull on Wednesday, has a brand-new country album. So does former folkie Jewel, who plays Ford Amphitheatre on Friday. And the juiciest story of the week might be bubbleheaded blond Jessica Simpson, who figured that since she dates a Dallas Cowboy and looks hot in cowboy boots, she might as well try to sell records on Music Row.

Using highly scientific criteria -- twang, drinkability and "country cousin" resemblance -- we take a look at crossover country's newest entries:

Darius Rucker, Learn to Live
(Capitol Nashville)
Twang Factor: Rucker doesn't mess much with his soul-low growl. But he does trade in the Blowfish bunch for a full fleet of woozy, floozy pedal-steelers, especially on the put-down dust-up All I Want. He even nails the bad country pun game: "Girl, all I want you to leave me is alone."
The Bud Test: Great chunks of this likable 12-tracker are meant for boozing and brawling -- or at least talking about it. Drinkin' and Dialin' gets it all done in three horny minutes.
Country Cousin: It's just a matter of time until good-time fellas Rucker and Toby Keith get together for a swaggery duet. Or, at the very least, Lethal Weapon 5.

Jewel, Perfectly Clear (Valory)
Twang Factor: Out of these three artists, Jewel, with her strummy poetry and lilting phrasing, had the shortest distance to go to make it to Nashville. She just needed nicer boots and shorter skirts.
The Bud Test: Not a lot of drinking going on here. Well, unless it's cyanide. Jewel's wispy worldview remains her own navel, although she does lighten up with front-porch swinger I Do.
Country Cousin: Did Lee Ann Womack ever live in a van?

Jessica Simpson, Do You Know
(Sony Nashville)
Twang Factor: Let's be honest: Simpson has nowhere to go but up. You know it. And so does she. So despite the fact she just got booed at the Grand Ole Opry, Jess fully embraces the country trimmings, sashaying that twang and tuchus all over the place. It's not art. It's not good. But it is kinda sexy.
The Bud Test: Full embracing the country-crossover aesthetic, Simpson invites you to Come on Over one minute, and then Pray Out Loud the next. In Nashville, sex and sin are excusable as long as they're immediately followed by heavy helpings of the Lord. Amen, good-lookin'!
Country Cousin: Carrie Underwood's flighty relative. Anyone remember Scooby Dumb? Yeah, like that.

"Crawling from the wreckage one more time"

So I'm still sludging through the new Metallica album, Death Magnetic, their 10th overall and first in five years. The guys aren't breaking a lot of new ground here, but they are trying to break my face, which is an aural escape I rather appreciate in these tough recessionary times. Svengali knob-twiddler Rick Rubin is a famously streamlined producer, so here he has the L.A. quartet gutting nuance and simply slamming your head against the wall with Uzi-spray riffs and Jurassic beats. At 45, lead singer James Hetfield has lost shades of complexity delivering his bedtime stories of the damned. But drummer Lars Ulrich, 44, still plays the ever-lovin' hell out of his kit, obviously inspired by a neck-snapping assault of dramatic time changes. The lyrics play like Metallica Mad Libs: "Sleep and dream of this / Death Angel's kiss" and "Dark, rutted, cold and hard to turn / Path of destruction feel it burn." And I'm going out on a limb here by saying the well-worn themes revolve around soul-cracked slaves trying desperately to overthrow masters both mortal and immoral. You know, the same stuff they've been rocking for years. But all that said, this sucker sounds pretty good in the MAZD. At the very least, I can't hear my car rattle. Just my fillings. To sample Death Magnetic, go HERE.

I'm back, baby!

The Eagles didn't win last night, but you know what? I DID. Dallas 41-Eagles 37. Philly +7. Love it. It's been a long time since Lady Luck snuggled up close. Welcome back, honey. Reunited, and it feels so good.

In Sean's Mailbox: "Let Forever Be"

Just opened a slew of mail, including the Chemical Brothers' new singles collection, Brotherhood, which includes this gem, 1999's Let Forever Be. That's Oasis grunt Noel Gallagher singing lead. Michel Gondry directed the trippy vid. Lemme tell you: When this song shuffles onto your iPod, instant bliss.

Here's today's haul...

The Chemical Brothers -- Brotherhood
Metallica -- Death Magnetic
ZZ Top -- Eliminator: Collector's Edition
Raphael Saadiq -- The Way I See It
Herbie Hancock -- Then and Now: The Definitive Herbie Hancock
The Subways -- All or Nothing
Underoath -- Lost in the Sound of Separation
Blues Traveler -- North Hollywood Shootout
Graham Nash -- Songs for Beginners
Dead Confederate -- Wrecking Ball

Vote for the Lurker!

This is Jim Webster. This is also, presumably, Jim Webster's cat. As well as being one of my neighbors, Jim is a high-powered editor at the St. Pete Times. He has an array of important jobs; he also has Other Crap To Do, including babysitting Pop Life and making sure my prose is litigiously sound. I call him the Lurker, and I sleep better knowing that he has my back. He's good people, although his cat is obviously satanic.

Anyway, the Lurker is a phenomenal cook; the Daly family has been the recipient of myriad Websterian delectables, including homemade toasted almond ice cream. My lord, that was bleepin' amazing. We also crashed a Thanksgiving party he threw; before I was thrown out for wild misconduct, I tried every single highfalutin appetizer, including something that looked like pumpkin rangoon. Awesome.

Jim's latest culinary creation is Pig-Wrapped Pig-Stuffed Pig, a grilled porktacular that has landed him in the quarterfinals of Mario Batali's Ultimate Grilling Challenge, an international throwdown of barbecuing beasts. Here's a VIDEO of the Lurker's masterpiece. Basically, the contest is his to lose.

If you'd like to vote for the Lurker, and show support for his dedication to Pop Life, you may do that by going HERE. It looks like a bit of a hassle, to be honest. But how cool would it be if we sent one of our own to the championship, thus launching the Lurker into the spotlight?

PODCAST! Take Philly and the points

Tonight's MNF game features the Cowboys vs. the Eagles in Dallas, a ferocious NFC East scrum. I like Philly +7. It's a sure thing. Trust me.

Now I know what you're thinking: Sean, you drive a MAZD, you have two small children who insist on being fed, you have an FF who craves constant pampering, why on Earth would you consider wagering on this game? It's a valid question. And I have a valid answer: Donovan McNabb, the great warrior from the (former) football powerhouse of Syracuse University. This guy is the ultimate fighter; I've never seen a quarterback do so much barfing on the sidelines, then come in and do so much winning on the field. If I throw up once, I'm out for days plus I look like I have freckles. But I digress. There's no way McNabb is going down to Big D and losing by more than a field goal. NO WAY. In fact, the Cowboys are overrated, and they'll probably lose outright. Heck, I like the Eagles to win.

In related news, can someone loan me 75 cents for a Dr. Pepper?

Here's this week's Stuck in the '80s podcast, a smash-mouth analysis of gridiron flicks from that fabu decade. Sportswriting stud Tom Jones, the rugged face of the St. Pete Times, joins us in the studio. ENJOY.

Happy Friday, from AC/DC

Here's the new AC/DC song, "Rock N' Roll Train." Yeah, I know what you're thinking. But tell you what: At this point in the day, with 10 minutes until quittin' time, let's just bang our heads and contemplate frothy adult beverages, okay? Have a great weekend everybody.

DALY TV: Please remain calm...

Hey kids, I'll be blabbering for a perilous 30 mins. today on Fox 13's Your Turn with Kathy Fountain. Show starts at 12:30 p.m. Pretty sure you can get a live stream of it HERE. The topic is Hollywood & Politics (or does anyone give a crap when Matt Damon spouts off about the presidency?). I think a high & mighty panelist dropped out, so they went with me, the premier Tony Randall/Regis Philbin/please-dear-god-just-get-us-anyone guest in Tampa Bay. Although I did have far too many bakery goods at Dad's Donut Day, I'm planning on taking this one low-key...

Billboard: Good at music, shaky at math

Through a highly scientific method of data analysis and playing with my daughter's stuffed animals, I have deduced that a small fleet of cute furry bears were the real rulers of the Jurassic geologic period. T. Rex was No. 2 on the list, followed by Snow White at 3 and a headless Strawberry Shortcake at 4. Yes, yes, it's a highly controversial list, but I stand behind my findings.

Oy. In yet another example of our list-crazy times -- lists often built with more imagination and subjectivity than cold, hard facts -- Billboard magazine has just released the most popular "Billboard Hot 100" singles of the past 50 years. (The Hot 100, created solely for individual hits -- not artists or albums -- started in 1958.) The mighty top 10 includes such we-should-be-ashamed winners as The Macarena by Los Del Rio and Debby Boone's You Light Up My Life.

And the No. 1 hot single? Not Yesterday by the Beatles. Not All Shook Up by Elvis, either.

If you correctly guessed Chubby Checker's 1960 dance-craze classic The Twist, then YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY LYING. Culturally significant? Absolutely. A good way to grind your date? And how! The hottest of the hot 100? I dunno, boys and girls.

The Billboard Hot 100 is based on airplay and sales information, a combination of what singles are hot on radio and in record stores. The problem, however, is that decades-old data was not only gathered in far different ways, but also "weighted" differently. After all, we really don't pay much attention to "jukebox" spins anymore, do we? Plus since 1991, Billboard has been relying on various Nielsen devices (SoundScan, etc.) to more accurately pinpoint numbers and dollar signs.

So Billboard had to "weigh" eras against each other, using imagination and creative number-crunching. Oh, and one more thing: Over the years, Billboard has altered the ratio of importance between airplay and singles sold; for instance, with the advent of iTunes, we are now a singles market again, but we weren't in the '90s. And so on.

So...after all this abacus-twiddling, The Twist came out on top. You gotta give them credit. No one saw THAT coming. The song only spent a few weeks at No. 1. But it stuck around for 39 total weeks in the Hot 100, a mark surpassed only by UB40's Red Red Wine cover, which lasted 40 weeks in 1988.

Billboard is qualifying its list with dizzying verve. Geoff Mayfield, director of charts at the magazine, told the Associated Press: "We went through each era, and we looked through the rate of turnover. The rate of turnover was very high in the late '50s and early '60s, and we had to put a weight on that to make the chart runs of that era equal to the chart runs that can be accomplished since 1991."

Huh? What? Oh screw it. All together now: "Come on and twist, yeah, baby, twist..."

Here's the Top 10 "Billboard Hot 100" Songs of All Time:

10) Un-Break My Heart, Toni Braxton
9) We Belong Together, Mariah Carey
8) Hey Jude, the Beatles
7) You Light Up My Life, Debby Boone
6) Physical, Olivia-Newton John
5) The Macarena (Bayside Boys Mix), Los Del Rio
4) How Do I Live, LeAnn Rimes
3) Mack the Knife, Bobby Darin
2) Smooth, Santana feat. Rob Thomas
1) The Twist, Chubby Checker

A is for...Aardvark? Aloe? Alien!

I'm feeling every one of my 38 years today. Not so much physically -- hell, I've felt like Wilford Brimley ever since high school. Nope, this time it's all about the mind, the nut, the melon, a frenzied OCD hamster wheel that for so long kept me neurotic but punctual, accurate, together.

But man, I'm dropping stuff left and right these days, the look on my face a constant "Aw crap..." as I've misplaced yet another to-do. This weekend, I totally flaked on a dinner party for a good friend -- I wasn't dodging, I just plum forgot. I've had stuff at the dry-cleaners for months now; in the morning I make firm plans to pick up my clothes, but by night -- poof!

The other day, the Forever Fiancee asked me to pick up Mai-Mai, our 7-month-old, from daycare. Two blocks from home, with B.B. King wailing on the radio, I realized there wasn't a baby in the backseat -- Aw crap! -- so I totally pulled a Smokey and the Bandit U-Turn in the 'hood and hauled tuchus back to Mai-Mai, picking her up in the nick of time.

The worst is Kid Lulu's school. Because the FF leads a princess life (it's in her contract), I have to take my 4-year-old to school each morning. Without fail, when I get there, someone will inevitably ask me, "And what did you bring in for Marsupial Day?" Marsupial Day?! Then I'll call the FF and start to complain that she never tells me anything and she'll inevitably say, "I told you about Marsupial Day last night! Does this mean Lulu doesn't have a marsupial at school? Poor thing. No wonder she hates to go there." Then I sprint home -- already late for work, mind you -- desperately searching the house for a marsupial.

This morning, I was hit a cornucopia of mindlessness. Lu and I had a nice a.m. -- some grapes, some SpongeBob, some sports page -- and arrived at school on time. Lovely, lovely. As we walked into her classroom, a little boy started waving a plastic alligator around. "A is for alligator! A is for alligator," he rejoiced. Then his Mom, a Totally Together Mom no less, says, "And what did you bring in for Share Day? It's "A" Day." Lulu, a sweet, brilliant, emotional child, hits me with a quivery look: Daddy... So I tell her not to worry, don't cry, I'll just run home and get something that starts with "A."

BUT before I can bolt, the Totally Together Mom says, "And don't forget, tomorrow is Dad's Donut Day!" AW CRAP! Dad's Donut Day! When she says that, I also remember that I'm taping a Fox 13 show tomorrow, which now means I have to wolf down bakery goods with the kid, then Smokey and the Bandit over to Tampa, then somehow get back to work and file a feature story, and THEN record a podcast.

All of these thoughts are hamster-wheeling in my now-sweaty head as I look around the house for something for Lulu to take in. Ale? Aspirin? Come on, Daly, keep it together, man. Aloe plant? Big honking Aardvark that Steve Spears got for Mai-Mai as a baby present?

And then I see it: a remote-control Alien from Toy Story. He waddles around and makes that "oooOOOOoooh" noise. Perfect. So I grab it, zip back to school -- sucking major wind at this point, 'cause I have Wilford Brimley's body, remember -- and I give it to Lu's principal. And then I stand outside the door, and wipe sweat off my face, and wonder what my 38-year-old brain will forget next. As I walk home, I realize that maybe ale and aspirin weren't such bad choices after all.

Questions for Ashley Tisdale?

What? Is there a problem? Why are you shaking your head with disgust? Do you really think I'd sacrifice my journalistic integrity just to get a 20-minute phoner with an attractive young woman? Shame on you. Shame. I've obviously positioned myself as an in-depth chronicler of 21st century popular culture, which just happens to be rocket-boosted by the High School Musical franchise, a tween-rich phenomenon anchored by a delightfully multi-hyphenated young entertainer by the name of Ashley Tisdale.

I'm currently in deep negotiation with Disney for an interview. High School Music 3 comes out Oct. 24. The award-winning feature on -- nay, duet with -- Tisdale would run on the 23rd.

Now as I contemplate how to to spell a maniacal laugh (MWAHAHA? BWAHAHA?), I'd like you to focus on...

QUESTIONS FOR ASHLEY TISDALE?

October 16: Tony or Alanis?

On Oct. 16, as part of the annual Clearwater Jazz Holiday, Tony Bennett will be giving a free show at gorgeous Coachman Park, which sits on the sublime, ocean-breezy shores of Clearwater Harbor.

On that very same night, in that very same city, Alanis Morissette will be giving a not-so-free show at Ruth Eckerd Hall. I've never seen her before. However, earlier this year, we famously cursed each other in a delightful phoner frenzy of f-bombs.

So I ask you: If you were a devastatingly handsome pop music critic -- one who's in deep smit with the elusive Ms. Morissette; but one who's never seen the 82-year-old legend, either -- where would you be that night?

I'm torn. I am. Ease my pain, peeps.

Finally, Cracker Barrel gives back

SONG OF THE WEEK
Kenny Rogers
Song: Love Will Turn You Around
Album: 50 Years (Cracker Barrel)
In stores: Now
Why we care: I'm obsessed with the Cracker Barrel gift shop. Seriously. I just want to play car bingo and eat pecan logs and buy Aunt Shirley a scented candle. I feel safe there, especially so close to all those mighty vats of sausage gravy. Now the Barrel is concentrating on the music biz, too. Their latest in-store release -- just sent to me by a crack Cracker Barrel music staff -- is a Kenny Rogers retrospective, which includes 1982’s Love Will Turn You Around, the best thing from the Gambler’s goofy-fun movie-career bid, Six Pack.
Why we like it: Way back when, Kenny was the king of the lazy-river sound, traditional and strummy but with a whopper pop hook. (Without Kenny, there is no Garth. Discuss.) With this sunny midtempo gem, you could either sing the guitar part or the chorus: "Love will turn you around, turn you around.” Reminds us of: The Barrel's awesome hash brown casserole. Like a big blob of heaven, folks.
Grade: A

The "I Hate Becks" Playlist

I hate my friend Becks. For the next five months, I will belittle Becks, insult Becks, call him names such as "Fatty" and "Fatface" and "Little Lord Fatleroy." Never mind that I am actually larger than Becks. Hate is unreasonable. Becks and I have been great friends for 25 years; we were high-school buds in Camp Hill, Pa. But around football season, it all goes to hell. This is because Becks and I will bet on anything, anywhere. If we lived closer to each other, I imagine one of us would be dead by now. Or at least in debtor's prison. Either scenario would cause the winner to feel bad -- unless they had money on it, and then who cares! Ha, ha! How's that cell treating you?! I'll bet you a carton of smokes you don't get early parole! Loser!

Although we're well aware that gambling takes a brutal toll on our friendship, we don't care. Wagering is unreasonable. Lately (including not one but two frickin' games last night), Becks has been crushing me. This is because I like to take the points, the underdogs, I'm a man of the people, a populist, Charles Dickens betting the over/under. I celebrate competition, resiliency, a dramatic ending. Becks, on the other hand, is a big fat fatty fatface with no gambling imagination. I hate him.

Anyway, while I dodge Becks' smirky calls for payment, I thought I'd whip up a little playlist, something we haven't done in awhile. This one's all about gambling and losing money and getting beat. If you really like The "I Hate Becks" Playlist, I'll sell it to you for $165 dollars. Deal?

1) Even the Losers -- Tom Petty 
2) Losing a Whole Year -- Third Eye Blind
3) Born to Lose -- Ray Charles
4) Beg Steal and Borrow -- Babyshambles
5) Spread -- OutKast
6) The Points -- Notorious B.I.G.
7) Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? -- Tom Waits
8) You Better You Bet -- the Who
9) Who's Got the Action? -- Dean Martin
10) The Comeback -- Shout Out Louds

Our Man in Cuba

After a prickly staring contest with Hurricane Ike, beloved Pop Life denizen Jeff in Cuba sent this storm update to concerned friends and fans...

Hey everybody! Just a quick note to let you know that everyone here in Guantanamo Bay survived Hurricane Ike's visit without any real problems. Like everyone else on the base, Harriot and the kids spent 36 hours hunkered down in the house. I was at work, splitting my time between the Emergency Operations Center and running around the base chasing down power outages, downed trees and other problems.

Thankfully, we were spared the worst of Ike's wrath, and the impacts were mostly cosmetic.  When it was all over this afternoon, the kids were happy to be able to go outside and play, and Harriot was happy to let them. I was just glad to get out of my soggy boots and get some sleep.

Anyway, I just want to say thanks for everyone's good wishes.  It's nice to know that folks remember we're here. Tomorrow we start working logistics support for the Navy's relief effort in Haiti.  If there's anyone who needs your well wishes, it's those poor people over there.

Pink's "So What?"

When the FF dumps me for obvious reasons, I hope she still has the good humor to appear in my self-indulgent creative musings. Much like Pink's ex-hubby Carey Hart does here in the singer's vid for "So What?", which is pretty darn entertaining. Pink's new album, "Funhouse," is due Oct. 28.

Jessica can't Carrie a tune

Jessica Simpson, Do You Know (Sony Nashville) GRADE: C-

Do you have a middling pop music career? Are you desperate for a change? Have you considered country? It's not hard to cross on over, kids, you just have to follow a few simple steps: (1) Ditch the dirty and find the Lord (2) Leave the Big City and move to a metaphysical Mayberry (3) Sell the synth and invest in a big box of pedal steel and humility (4) Invite Dolly Parton to a sleepover.

If you already have a Texas twang, bonus points!

Jessica Simpson, a flame-out as a pop star (and a TV star and a movie star), probably figured that since she looks like Carrie Underwood AND dates a Dallas Cowboy AND looks smokin' hot in cowboy boots, why not try to sell some records on Music Row. Besides, next to Rascal Flatts, she'll come off like Bob freakin' Dylan!

Her new country album, Do You Know (WATCH the vid for first single Come On Over), arrives in stores tomorrow. And although it's decidedly better than her usual synthetic pop, the back-porch flirtation of it all ultimately feels kinda slimy. Hillary Lindsey, one of Underwood's top songwriters, shows up here to craft hooked-out tracks that paint the 28-year-old Lone Star native as a small-town feminist looking for God, good times and revenge. The problem is, Simpson has lived her life in the tabloid eye, opting for attention over respect, so we know better. Miranda Lambert she's not.

Simpson was never a terrible singer. She was the head of a class of breathy late-'90s Lolitas that included much poorer students Britney Spears and Mandy Moore. But the current crop of girls (including Underwood) like to belt it out, so Simpson's vocal stylings, while not a mess, do sound a little dated. They also sound like a mouse getting crushed by a 50-foot-woman when, on the title song, she goes up against the majestic lungs of Miss Dolly.

But you know what? Underwood's last album was flotsam, and it's still getting big air on the radio. And you don't get much bigger (or lamer) than Rascal Flatts, who'd kill for some of the ballads on here. So who knows? Maybe Jessica Simpson will find a profitable new home in country music. And if she doesn't? Well, I have a few simple rules for becoming a heavy-metal star. (1) Ditch the Lord and embrace the Lord of Darkness...   

The VMAs still suck

As far as highlights from last night's dreadfully who-cares MTV VMAs, I guess I'll take Ashley Tisdale introducing a lip-syncing Christina Aguilera, although both my dream gals seemed bored, too. Did anyone want to be there? I love how they've cut down on crowd shots. After 5 years of catching Jay-Z yawning, they finally learned their lesson. These days, you get more industry oomph performing on Nickelodeon's Kids Choice Awards, which are more stylish and more entertaining than MTV's annual craptacular. Last night's debacle was made even worse by filming it on a sound stage in the middle of Paramount; there wasn't even buzz from a host city. Oh, and comic "bad boy" Russell Brand was a wreck; it only sticks if it's funny, dude. Okay, enough. It's hard mustering cynicism for this. Let's move on...

PODCAST! "Weird Science" = bad chemistry

It was a curious weekend for the Stuck in the '80s crew: public humiliation, private shame, the death of vegetarianism (welcome back, Spearsy!), Crown Royal, an unfortunate tobacco run, more Crown Royal, same-sex stories from the Midwest, 99 meatballs (and a &!$@ ain't one), rabid texting, rabid denial, rabid subtexting, more rabid denial, revelations at 4 a.m. and, finally, losing my Miami-Florida bet by one $%#@! point (a field goal with seconds left -- hmmm, think Urban knew the spread???)

Anyway, to hear the seeds of our destruction, listen to the latest podcast about Weird Science right HERE. Fair warning: It can be hazardous to your health.

Lykke Li's "I'm Good, I'm Gone"

This 22-year-old Swede says her burbling electro-pop is inspired by Madonna and Bob Dylan. After listening to her debut, I’m also hearing Missing Persons, PJ Harvey and the guy who designs those big honkin’ IKEA catalogues. This is a hip, mellow affair, the kind of clean, sleek heartbreak you’d hear at a dinner party thrown by young Chicago architects. Not sure if that's a good thing or not. Whattaya think?

That's just the way they roll

Nick and Kevin Jonas perform at a sold out show for the Jonas Brothers at the Ford Amphitheatre.
Below: Kevin shakes hands with fans before the show.

[KERI WIGINTON | Times]
View more photos

TAMPA – Nadine Albadawi has something to say. Well, scream actually. After all, it’s extremely important that she get her point across. Plus she’s also speaking for her pal Samoura Slim, 12, who's still recovering from an epic bout of tweenage sobbing.

“The Jonas Brothers are real!” says the 13-year-old Tampa girl, as her fave band in the whole wide world –-  the ONLY band in the whole wide world as far as she’s concerned -- finishes a pre-show sound-check for 100 lucky fans at Ford Amphitheatre Thursday. “That’s all that matters! They’re real!”

They are not the Beatles. They’re not Elvis, either. But the Jonas Brothers are the biggest story in pop music. Heck, pop culture. The Disney-owned scamps with those fabu ’dos have three albums in the top 10, including the new "A Little Bit Longer." They have a No. 1 cable movie (Disney Channel's "Camp Rock") and a merchandising deal with Target that costs me $30 every time I take my 4-year-old daughter to that godforsaken place.

The Jonas Brothers are also the LOUDEST story in music. Nick, Joe and Kevin Jonas – 15, 19 and 20 respectively, God-fearing good boys from the tony burg of Wyckoff, N.J. -– played their undeniably catchy power-pop for a sold-out crowd of 20,000 at the Tampa venue, reportedly raising the noise meter to somke 120 decibels.

It’s the kind of noise that makes you cry with life-affirming joy…well, for the first five minutes at least. After that, it just sounds like a terrorist tactic.      

Everywhere you look, the Jonas boys are being stalked by young girls. And they love it. Perhaps even more important, they’re also being stalked by a rabid press, including yours truly, who was invited to spend the whole day with the band. They didn't seem to mind that, either.

So while this accessibility makes them look “real,” it also makes them look like cutie-pie rock stars who can’t get a lick of quiet, of privacy, of anything resembling a normal life. It's a brilliantly controlled mob scene featuring three boys taking it all in stride.

Just like the Beatles.

Just like the King.

****

The Jonas Brothers have fairly large, floppy bare feet. Nick, the Cute One, guzzles Diet Dr. Pepper. Kevin, the Nice One, likes to trumpet the joys of Red Bull. Joe, the Funny One (but also kinda cute), is genuinely sweet. He even gave me a fist bump. Right back at ya, buddy.

The Jonas Brothers, boys and girls, are as nice as you (and your parents) hope they are.

I learned these things not from the Q&A session, but by hanging with the guys at the Saddlebrook Resort in Wesley Chapel before their show. When the brothers were faced with yet another formal press conference, they were downright waxen, poised and posed, smoothly issuing the same slick answers they've been giving out for the last couple of years. Not rude, but not exactly a ball of laughs, either.

Joe: "The best part about touring is getting onstage and seeing the fans."

Nick: "We love Tampa. Any chance we get to come here is amazing."

Someone asks Joe about his rumored romance with country star Taylor Swift, and with neither a pause nor a smirk, he answers: "She's a wonderful girl. Anybody would be lucky to meet her." The press chuckles; the Jonas Brothers do not.

Someone asks Kevin, who's turning 21 this year, if he'll celebrate with an adult beverage on his big day. "Um, I'm not there yet," he says. Somewhere, those infamous "purity rings" were gleaming heavenly.

The brothers are famous for never acting like brothers. Never sniping, digging, punching each other in the head. They travel with their mother, father and younger brother, aka "the Bonus Jonas," one big polite happy family.

But keep watching and maybe you'll get something. Saddlebrook officials cooked up a team-building exercise for the guys. Each brother had to build a boat out of cardboard then race it across the pool. It was obviously meant as a zany photo op. "Oh no," whispered PR rep Carolyn Weyforth. "Not when it's about competition. You watch."

And indeed, with the theme from "Gilligan's Island" gamboling from a loudspeaker, Nick, Joe and Kevin went at it with an earnest fever. Nick made a teepee ("Paradise Pyramid"), Kevin a canoe ("Titanic 2"), Joe a shanty hovel ("Pool Master 5000"). When they finally launched, Nick sank, but Joe and Kevin remained afloat. Two feet from winning, Kevin took on water, and Joe, cruising to victory, immediately ripped into his sibling with a closed-door ferocity: "You're out! You're out!"

Not exactly a punch in the head. But as for trash talk, I'll take it.

****

It's easy to get cynical about pop culture these days, especially with such vapid tartlets as Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears doing their best to be dumb. And the Jonas Brothers certainly garner their share of snipes from people who don't believe they write their own songs or play their own instruments. (I was at sound-check and the show; the boys can play, trust me.)

How real can a band be if they're run by the Mouse House, the same place that made Miley "Hannah Montana" Cyrus a prefab star? Disney, after all, is make-believe.

And yet, when the Jonas Brothers finally took the stage at 9:00, descending on a hydraulic lift and kicking into theme song "That's Just the Way We Roll," you couldn't help but get a little misty-eyed.

"The last time I went to a show like this was Andy Gibb," said Mia Alvis, a Sarasota mom with two kids in tow. "It's nice. I hope that purity ring stuff sticks. I like that."

Maybe the Jonas Brothers will only get as big as Andy Gibb. Or Hanson. Or New Kids on the Block. But on this night, on this tour, the Jonas Brothers felt like the biggest act of the 21st century, the coolest role models in the universe. The fans felt it. The oft-jaded press felt it.

As my pal Nadine would say, it was definitely, deafeningly real.

'We have Jonas Brothers!'

[Times photos: Keri Wiginton]

Okay, boys and girls, today's the big day. All Jonas Brothers, all the time, right here on Pop Life.

I'm hanging with the power-popping trio -- Nick (15), Joe (19), Kevin (20) -- all day, including a sound check "party" at Ford Amphitheatre, then the show tonight.

(Fair warning: The JoBros aren't scheduled to go on until 8:50 p.m., a perilous school-night start time considering the age of the crowd. I imagine there'll be some 'rents pretty ticked-off about that.)

If you need a primer on the Disney-driven stars, check out my March interview with the guys HERE. Basically, they're the biggest thing in pop music/culture, replacing Miley "Hannah Montana" Cyrus as ruler of the powerful tween universe. The JoBros have a No. 1 cable movie, a No. 1 album, a hot concert tour and really impressive eyebrows. They thrive on looks and hooks, with part of their allure being the "purity rings" they tout -- all clean and shiny these scamps, right? Well, we'll see...

Since I'm on the road all day, following the boys here and there, I'm calling in to my partner-in-crime Steve Spears, who is producing the blog today. Steve's a ladies man, and is obviously threatened by the Jonas Brothers' pretty-boy power. But give him some love, and he'll perk right up.

* * *

8:27 a.m.: Spearsy here now , folks. And please forgive me for my lack of knowledge on this topic. If you asked me yesterday, I'd say the Jonas Bros. were the operators of that fish-n-chip place that Sean and I hit everyday for lunch (before I gave up meat, and before Sean went on that all-cheese diet.)

I hope to hear from Sean soon. Last I saw him, he was doing cannonballs at the Holiday Inn pool with those stewardesses we met last night outside the Jo-Bros hotel. I can't imagine he's feeling very spritely this morning.

9:09 a.m.: First update from Sean. "Hey, Spearsy," he says. "The Forever Fiancee has me all stressed out what I'm supposed to wear. So I'm pacing around like a kid on prom night. Maybe my black slacks."

Slacks? There's a sudden silence on the phone. "Do kids even call them slacks anymore," we both question at the same time.

11:38 a.m.: Sean has finally arrived at the Saddlebrook Resort -- a gated community and the previously undisclosed meeting site. "Security is tight," he says. "I was grilled like a summer sausage."

The rendezvous is set up for the fitness center -- a prospect that has Sean in a lather, since it's the only "F" word he's uncomfortable saying out loud. "No sight of the Jonas Brothers yet," he says, "But I did see a large, hairy man mowing his lawn."

12:39 p.m.: "WE HAVE JONAS BROTHERS!" Seans yells at me over the phone. "I sat in the back row of the shuttle bus and saved three seats for the guys, but Nick and Joe sat up front. But Kev was heading my way and then suddenly sat two rows in front of me."

The guys -- wearing T-shirts and jeans -- are getting a tour of Saddlebrook's fitness center by Jason Riley, who has trained tennis ace James Blake and the Yankees' Derek Jeter. No workout today though. "It's the second-to-last day on the tour and they're probably pretty wiped," Sean says.

Adriana Hamui, 12, hugs Kevin Jonas at Saddlebrook Resort.

12:57 p.m.: "I just shook all their hands," Sean is now gushing at me. "Nice, firm handshakes." Seriously? Come on, Sean, details! (For the record, because people seem to care, Sean is wearing black slacks and a blue striped shirt. "It's kinda Euro," he assures me.)

He's going on and on about the just-finished Q&A, including the awkward question about a romance between Joe and Taylor Swift ("She's a wonderful girl. Anyone would be lucky to meet her," Joe assures everyone. A polite brushoff.) But then suddenly our man Sean has a chance to hop into a photo with the boys. Panic ensues. The cell phone sounds like it hits the ground and then falls into a pool. The line goes dead.

Sean Daly during the Jonas Brothers Q&A session.

12:58 p.m.: Wait, the phone is not at the bottom of the pool. Sean reports on his photo shoot. "Every time I go into Target with my kid, you guys cost me $20!" Sean tells them. They laugh. "That's it! I'm putting my arm around you, Joe!"

Sean is growing tired of the softball questions being lobbed at our pop heroes, so here's his next one: "Kevin! You turn 21 later this year ... are you gonna have a celebratory adult beverage?" Kevin looks at Sean with a straight face. "Well, the day's not here yet," he says glumly. "I'll probably be stuck in a plane anyway."

The boys are stripping down to shorts now for some pool activity. Please, no drooling.

1:23 p.m.: Saddlebrook has set up a team-building exercise for the Jo-Bros and their band, Sean now reports. Each brother leads a different team. They're given two pieces of cardboard, duct tape and a Sharpie. With those, they have to build boats and "sail" across the pool. No hotel rooms and teenage vixens for these kids!

"Nick is a lot more resourceful. He's built some sort of teepee, but I don't know if it'll float," Sean says, in a hushed, serious tone more appropriate for a golf tournament than today's weirdness.

"Kevin's really having trouble with his makeshift canoe vessel. And Joe's not making a very good boat. The young one is gonna triumph," Sean concludes.

Sean goes up to Joe. "You've built a winner here," Sean says, "but you need to reinforce the bottom." Joe gives Sean a dirty look, sending our hero slinking away.

Nick Jonas makes a cardboard boat with band members.

The press pool is now officially wagering on the boats. Sean puts down $10 on Joe's boat but only after convincing him to tape up the bottom better.

Over the PA system, the "Gilligan's Island" theme song is playing. "Nobody's gonna believe any of the stuff you're writing," he laments.

 

2:02 p.m.: Finally, the boat trip results. (Stop the presses!) Kevin captained "Titanic 2." Nick was in the "Paradise Pyramid." And Joe was in the "PoolMaster 5000."

Right before they take off, Joe gives Sean a fist-bump (thus earning a heaping dose of sarcasm from Times photographer Keri Wiginton -- "Oh, you're really cool.")

Jenny Takamatsu (from left), Ryan Liestman and Joe Jonas do their Poolmaster 5000 cheer for Lisa Remillardwith ABC Action News.

So how did it all end, you're screaming, right?

"Nick's teepee sank immediately. Kevin was like two feet from winning, and they sank, thus allowing Joe and the PoolMaster 5000 to win," Sean is breathlessly relating. "They all really got into it. But the Joe fist-bump was the most important thing."

The boys and the press are heading to the Ford Amphitheatre now. Thankfully, because the heat is getting to Daly. "I've lost about 15 pounds of water weight."

3:41 p.m.: Sean is finally backstage at the Ford Amp. "The press room is the size of your cubicle," he whines to me. "And it's hot. I'm going to have to file the story in my boxer shorts."

The soundcheck "party" is next, but Sean won't leave the dressing room, even though it's right next to a malfunctioning bathroom. "A guy with a plunger just went in there, I swear."

The brothers are back at the hotel, leaving the press members to wander around aimlessly. "Some groupies are yelling at me," Sean boasts. "They think I'm 'Larry' Jonas."

4:08 p.m.: The Jo-Bros are at the Amp! They were greeted by a few hundred fans. "I'm told that the sound of screaming girls at a Jonas Brothers concert reaches 120 decibels," Sean says. "I've heard it before. At first it's funny and kinda sweet. But after an hour of screaming, it actually makes you nauseous."

Sean holds up the cell phone so I can hear the sound they're making. I'm baffled. It's a muted but screeching, automated sound -- like a car slamming on the brakes suddenly. Suddenly, the sound in the phone is amplified tenfold, and I feel my brain begin to melt.

"You like that, huh?" he says, and the line goes dead.

4:38 p.m.: The sound-check is over. The brothers did three songs, including "Video Girl" and "Shelf" off the new album.

Sean says the rumor about the boys not playing their own instruments is false: "Nick was hammering on the drums. He's a good drummer."

Meanwhile, the kids watching the sound-check were going nuts. "At one point, a girl threw out a chicken mask to Joe. I have no idea what that's about," he confesses.

After the quickie set, the brothers took questions from their fans, including one who asked if they could be superheroes, which ones wold the be. Kevin said "The Flash." Nick said "Superman." And Joe said "The Incredible Hulk, because I like to be in charge."

That triggers a gushing wave of man-love from Sean: "I love the Hulk. I sense a real connection between Joe and I -- we're going to be a BFFs for a while."

7:11 p.m.: Hey, gang, it's Sean. Spearsy had enough and stormed off in a huff. Sorry the blog's been quiet but I'm writing tomorrow's JB feature in a small, ungodly hot room that will soon force me to wax poetic in my undies. I just saw some of the meet-and-greet (500 people, no less, which is nuts). Local sports heroes Mike Alstott and Tino Martinez were at the front of the epic line with their families. Tino opted to let his kids get in there with the boys. Alstott, however, has never met a camera he didn't like, so he wanted some JoBros glory as well. Frankly, I think I looked better with the band.

You know, it's easy to get jaded about pop culture these days. But call me a sap: When you see all these kids who are so ecstatic, so happy, so without any care in the world but meeting the men of their dreams, well, I get a little misty. As for my colleagues, they were teary-eyed, too, but mainly because I smell really, really bad.

The Jonas Brothers go on in about 90 minutes. Maybe I'll be back. Or maybe I'll just hide in the tour bus and join them for the rock 'n' roll life...

Tomorrow: 12 Hours of JoBros!

Just a reminder that we'll be blogging nonstop Thursday, giving you the latest updates on the Jonas Brothers trip to Tampa Bay. The whole shebang will end with with a concert at Ford Amphitheatre. I'm meeting the shaggy pop phenoms at noon, doing a bunch of crazy press-savvy things -- and probably won't get home until 2 a.m. (That is, if we all don't get arrested first. "It's Nick's Uzi, I swear!")

My good buddy Steve Spears will be the point man here at Pop Life, deciphering my fanboy ravings and turning them into pure poetry. We should also have tons of pix and real-time updates about the state of Nick's hair. I've just been sent the itinerary but have been sworn to secrecy about the day's events.

Don't miss a second of the mayhem!

Lady Antebellum's "Love Don't Live Here"

Much like Michael Caine in "Jaws 4," Lady Antebellum singer Charles Kelley has the ability to take a dud and make it strangely palatable. Herewith, "Love Don't Live Here," which is a far better song than it should be. Have you heard this dude sing? Reminds me of Gregg Allman. Killer voice.

Vial of sweat? Lock of hair? Place your order...

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