Doctors spend 10-15 years or more going to school for their professional experience and are paid handsomely for it. I also went to school to earn mine. I did it the hard way by getting dirty in the trenches. I was a musical bricklayer. To date, my compensation has been $1.59, grey hair, and an enormous waistline/wasteline (hey, I didn’t say I would turn down those lunches!)

But, here’s my point (and there is one). When I started learning guitar, playing in bands and recording demos we couldn’t get gigs, couldn’t get signed, and couldn’t get anyone to pay attention to us. Sound familiar? I, like dozens of other motivated Do It Yourself musicians, created the situations and opportunities that led to releasing a dozen albums with my name on them and building a record label that distributed 100 albums by others. Myself and the personnel in my bands had to work together to create our art and sell it because there was no one to ask how to do it. The .PDF downloadable Kindle manual, the University diploma course and the YouTube instructional video didn’t exist yet on “How to conquer the world of Rock Music without having to try.”

The two biggest mistakes musicians make is having a chip on their shoulder because they believe that strapping on a guitar comes with inalienable rights where everyone owes you something and in believing that the music business has anything to do with music. It has to do with selling widgets. Unfortunately, the widgets come attached to ego driven dreamers who believe a career – and money – should be handed to them sans labour. In recent years that attitude is the norm and not the exception. You can blame the ‘American iDolt’ generation for that.

It took years for me to figure this simple equation out despite being told this by music manager Ray-Ace Sare during a period of time when I still had the drive and the Rock and Roll hair to pull off super-stardom. I was that guy with the chip on my shoulder. I was angry at the world because they wouldn’t recognize my talent (real or imagined). Eventually, I started to listen and take advice from those more experienced than I.

Finally, I started creating widgets to sell. And when I did…the industry came knocking on my door with offers to lead me to the land of plenty.

It was the motivation that led to the success I eventually had with Bullseye Records. I built the label as a vehicle for my band from the ground up with no distribution, no radio play and certainly no social networks to promote myself ; we used archaic devices like telephones, typewriters, snail mail and fax machines to communicate our musical message – hell, I even created a magazine that ran for four years as a really expensive advertisement for my product. It was partially to blame for the collapse of my first marriage.

It’s all about good old fashioned elbow grease and extremely hard legwork. You can’t release a new CD [or digital file] into the void and expect something to come out of it just ‘because’. Lesson number one is that you shouldn’t release product until you have a reason to – and usually that goes hand-in-hand with establishing a fanbase. If you don’t know 1,000 people…don’t record a CD hoping to sell 1,000 copies. Believe me, despite what your Facebook page says…you don’t have 1,000 friends. You know 1,000 people who aren’t interested in your music. Because they’re more than likely trying to sell your theirs!

And blaming the vacuous expanse of flash-in-the-pans dominating the charts and airwaves for your own lack of success means you’re not fully grasping how this all works. It takes a career of failed albums, poorly attended gigs, lost wages and sticking it out until your competition has either dropped dead, gone bankrupt or flamed out. In the music business it’s the artists with the 10 year plan and the long-tail that are the last men standing. Because the current crop of Garageband/ProTool graduates have a level playing field in making stellar sounding records, it’s no longer about who’s got better songs. It’s about who has longevity.

Next time an artist bitches about how hard THAT is, I tell them about the four consecutive years in a row I drove to New York City, on my own dime, with a new demo tape and knocked on EVERY A & R man’s door in the city looking for a record deal. On one trip I accidently got off a commuter train from Connecticut with a back pack full of demo packages in the middle of Harlem – proudly, I was able to see The Apollo Theatre in broad daylight and then ran for my life past the abandoned derelict cars and  burning garbage cans littering the middle of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Drives. I wound up with a hernia carrying that 40 pound bag around New York City and dropping packages at 17 record labels – including Clive Davis’ Arista Records at the foot of the Trump Tower. I was soon corrected by a rather miserable receptionist when I asked if it was the office of AH-rista….she said, “No, it’s AIR-ista”.

The highlight was visiting the offices of New York music consultant Phil Sandhaus whose credits include music supervising on the 1993 movie ‘A Bronx Tale’. Phil wasn’t there, but transplanted Canadian manager Steven Shipp was. It was also the offices of Blackheart Records – home to Ms. Joan Jett and musical partner in crime Kenny Laguna. Steven was recommended to me by former Teenage Head guitarist Dave Rave and musicologist Gary Pig Gold. Joan happened to stop by while I was there and brought everyone pizza. I picked their brain. They supplied the food this time!

Of those four trips I was able to advance meetings before my visits with execs from Germany’s Bellaphon Records, Spain’s Blanco Y Negro Records whose A & R rep was a drop dead gorgeous Miss Universe finalist but couldn’t speak a word of English, publishing guru Jerry Love of Famous Music Publishing whose clientele included Mick Jagger and Living Colour, Nettwerk Records’ Terry McBride and some powerless promo guys from Sony who did enjoy people paying for a liquid lunch in exchange for picking their brains.

I got a few bites and some offers, but in the end those people would have destroyed my label and my band in the same manner acts have been destroyed by the industry since the dawn of time. If you’re desperate for fame, then by all means create a disposable widget made to order – the majors love it when you do all the work for them. But if you want a career – one that you control and still allows you to look in the mirror with integrity every day – then get off your lazy social media-stunted ass and make great records, network, pound the pavement and get in people’s face. Your advocates will never come to you. You MUST go to them.

Now, with Artist & Repertoire (better known as A & R) all but dead at the labels, networking in recent years is a treacherous, nebulous black hole. But here’s a few tips once you make contact with industry people like me who’ve been around the block for 20 or 30 years and seen every permutation of shoe-gazing, questionably talented almost rans.

Personally, I think soliciting for a record deal via email, Twitter or Facebook is a cowardly, impersonal cop-out. But if you must do it – especially if your band is located in Stillwaitingtobediscovered, Saskatchewan – then try NOT to do any of the following:

1. Tell the record label that you’re the greatest thing since a) sliced bread b) flakes of ham c) The Beatles.
Not only don’t we BELIEVE YOU, but we don’t care. If the Beatles came to me today I wouldn’t sign them either. Yes, they’re arguably the greatest band of all time, but radio won’t touch power pop anymore than they’ll play Klezmer music. There’s an entire global movement for modern Beatles-styled pop and few of the hard working acts involved in the International Pop Overthrow scene ever get signed. It’s not that it’s bad music, it’s that the industry is looking for something else. Something that involves pre-packaged musical pablum trotted out by ‘Best In Show’ dancing poodles wearing IUD’s for ear rings.

2. Tell the record label that this is their last chance to counter offer a deal you’re in the middle of making with another label.
Chances are really good I *know* people at that other label. The Canadian music industry is a really small clique of like-minded individuals and one remark from me about how you’re attempting to do an end run around them at the negotiation stage will sink your deal…and probably any deal in the future. I will call your bluff and you have nothing in your hand. I know of a fine upcoming singer whose spouse attempted this stunt and they went from having a $300k offer on the table to having no offers, no deals and a door slammed behind them in Nashville. The lesson here is don’t play games with the big boys…oh, and don’t let your ‘better’ half manage you.

3. Tell the record label that you want them to listen to your music but don’t supply a URL to hear the material.
Instead you ask the label to do a Google search on your name in some goofy game of A & R Hide ‘n’ Seek. It becomes more laughable when you decide to name your band something ubiquitous like The Nice or Smith Brothers Band or your own name is Cliff Johnson which makes a Google search pointless when 50,000 results pop up. And if your entire web presence only exists on MySpace, you will automatically be derided and ignored. You will be forced to change your name for no other reason than you’ll never be taken seriously again.

4. Ask the label to come to your gig 3000 miles from their head office.
We will not attend. We may not even attend if you’re 20 miles from our head office. Hell, we may not ever come and see you. So don’t sweat it. If your live show is the cat’s ass (or a PT Barnum Freak show), word will travel (see lesson #6) and we will eventually take notice. If we don’t, you should still not sweat it. We usually have something better to do like schmoozing with acts we’ve already signed and charging them back the cost of the party including the limo filled with hookers and cocaine.

5. Tell the record label that you’ve done thorough research on them and feel your music is a perfect match for the label’s ‘vision’.
I get 20 of these a week from jazz, rap, easy listening, and other genres of music who are not suited to our roster – which is Classic Rock and singer-songwriter based. Do your homework before trying to blow smoke up someone’s ass. The only thing worse than a suck-up is an ignorant suck-up. Conversely, a former artist on my label once came to me with a progressive, jazz-fusion instrumental solo album that I rejected without hearing a note. I told him outright – we do ROCK – we don’t do jazz. He then went into an expletive filled tirade about what a closed mind I had. I told him that I couldn’t pay the bills with an open mind and showed him the door. Seems no one else had an open mind either as the album has never been released.

6. Tell the record label that at the age of 17 you’re ready to take on the world and be the next (insert favourite famous star name here_________).
Tell you what…get in a van, play every stinking puke hole and backwater cesspool of a venue from Labrador to Vancouver and south to Alabama for the next 2 years. Then come back and show me the road scars. I’ll believe that you’re ready for the big leagues when your dick is chafed, your back is fucked, your hands are blistered, you’re malnourished, your vehicle has 100,000 Km and no tire treads, and your drummer has quit the band – twice. Until then, you know NOTHING about what it takes to ‘make it’. Raw talent is only a small portion of the equation. Experience, tenacity and street smarts is 90% of the game. Talent is merely the device used to get it.

7. Tell the record label you’re getting airplay all over the known universe, have a huge fanbase and have had songs placed on compilations, soundtracks and in movies.
I’m ‘plugged in’ as a previous generation used to say. I’m on the ‘net 14 hours a day. I wrote the Canadian Pop Music Encyclopedia. I eat, breathe, sleep music. So, if I haven’t already heard of you then your self-serving hype carries no weight. It’s my job to know who you are. I can smell the bullshit through the computer screen. Call me when you’ve actually achieved the things you’ve claimed. But don’t be surprised if I don’t answer the phone. You’ve already lied to me once…

8. Tell the record label you’re looking for someone to pay your way.
Hate to break the news, there, Bubala but that model is dead. Labels aren’t giving out advances anymore. Work at Burger King. Save your money. Record your demo. Then repeat until you’ve got a sellable widget – or digital equivalent – retail ready to be unleashed on the world. If it’s good enough…a label will come to the door (see above). At the end of the day you can use the label to distribute your release and you won’t have to sell your soul to do it. And you’ll still own your album after the deal goes south after the label warehouses the disc in a different city and the marketing department buries the retail release sheet promoting the new album on page 342 of their monthly catalog. In other words release the album yourself. You’ve got as good a chance as anyone to get people’s attention among the 40,000,000 other upstarts competing against you for ear time.

9. Tell the record label/publisher you’ve written 100′s of songs.
You need to tell the label/publisher you’ve written 10 songs that are the BEST representation of your work from years and years of writing and refining your craft. Those first 100 are sketches. We don’t care about them because they’re representative of the OLD you. What we care about is the last 10 songs you’ve written that are your greatest, sellable tunes NOW.

PS – and when a label person tells you your demo sucks, it really does. We’re not here for the good of our health…we’re here for the good of our bottom line. If you had something sellable we’d be all over you like a grey-haired, pony-tailed, tweed-jacketed former A & R lacky from a failed major label who is still carpet crawling Canadian Music Week.

10. Tell the label you’re willing to do anything to make it.
Really? Anything? Like coming to my house and mowing my lawn or washing my car? Walking my dog? Re-shingling my house? Have some effen self-respect and some boundaries. The only thing you should be willing to do is work hard at your craft and not compromise your principles.

Getting a record or publishing deal is not the be-all but it could be the end-all. It could ruin your hopes, dreams, career…and even your life [just ask Amy Winehouse or Whitney Houston]. Every day you need to continually examine your career choices and decide whether you want to take the first offer handed to you from a pariah driven industry or live a perpetual fool’s dream. Statistically there’s a high probability you will starve and waste a good portion of your life on getting nowhere. If you still want to do that – for FREE – then you just might be right for a career in the loveless, disrespectful, back stabbing, heartbreaking, divorce-inducing music business.

However, if you’re just in it for the cash, by all means…whore yourself right up the music industry food chain. There’s any number of pimps and vampires willing to do a Crossroads deal with you.

Don’t miss next week’s column where I show you how!

Jaimie’s column appears every Saturday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Jaimie “Captain CanCon” Vernon has been president of the on again/off-again Bullseye Records of Canada since 1985. He wrote and published Great White Noise magazine in the ‘90s, has been a musician for 33 years, and is the author of The Canadian Pop Music Encyclopedia. He keeps a copy of Lightfoot’s “Sundown” under his pillow at night.

The latest infiltration took this form. There I was sitting at home, semi-employed, and doing my customary best to be utterly oblivious to the annual ritual which I had long (long) ago concluded had nothing do with the genuine appreciation of good movies. This was a conclusion I came to at the wise old age of twelve, when I realized – without seeing any of the movies inv0lved – that the Academy Awards were a sham because the Best Actor nod had gone to John Wayne – whom even I could imitate, so how good could he be? — for True Grit and not Dustin Hoffman or Jon Voight for Midnight Cowboy. This was clearly an outrage of the highest order, and I lay in bed staring at my Peter Fonda Easy Rider poster until I angrily dozed off.

So here it is, forty-two years later, and the phone rings. CBC radio is calling to see if I might pinch-hit for their regular movie reviewer. They’ve got a couple movies already lined up, and I happily sign on and run off in pursuit of screening information. A day later, the phone rings again. A mistake has been made, and the item I’m signed on for has changed. It’s now to be an Oscar picks preview.

I gulp. Can I get back to you on this? Absolutely. Running to the lists of nominations – to which, as usual, I’ve paid utterly no attention – my worst fears are confirmed in seconds. I haven’t seen most of the movies nominated in the major categories, and those that I have seen – like The War Horse and Extremely Loud and Dangerously Close, for an earlier CBC pinch-hitting gig – had somehow failed to alter the course of my life. Indeed, I couldn’t even get them straight in my head, and kept imagining a movie in which a talking horse gallops around New York in a state of high post 9/11 anxiety. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Because I am a fundamentally decent sort of guy, I decide to just fess up and admit to the producer that I’m happy to do the item, but I haven’t seen most of the movies. Would this be a problem? (I know what you’re thinking, but standards of journalistic integrity in the field of contemporary entertainment reporting aren’t exactly rigorous.)

As it turns out, it would be a problem, and within a couple of minutes I’ve been dropped as a commentator and lost the gig to someone else. That’s another few hundred bucks unearned by yours truly, and another perfect kick in the cubes scored by Oscar. Meanwhile, I’m all up to speed on who got nominated for what, and I don’t even care.

I leaned back to ponder this dark history. Back in my teen years, I’d alienate just about everyone around me by being the guy who was already notorious for being obsessed with movies but who didn’t give a shit about the Oscars. Which is to say weird.

Then, as a film student at university, I’d show up at the annual Academy Awards booze-up and rant about what a scam the whole thing was, only to be subsequently disinvited from the annual Academy Awards booze-up.

As my reviewing career gathered a modicum of momentum, I accepted the fact that Oscar was part of the devil’s handshake: if I wanted to work as movie critic, I had to pass through the Oscar tollbooth every year, kind of like a tax levied for the privilege of doing what I wanted to do. It seemed reasonable.

Besides, I could use the opportunity to make the case that Oscar really didn’t have anything to do with good movies, and was ultimately a big, fat, terminally overblown TV show in which Hollywood advertised itself to the world, unfailingly celebrated the earnest, middlebrow and dull, and was most deserving of our collective thanks as an opportunity to get together with friends on a work night, get drunk, and not miss anything as we talked our way through the interminable ceremony or excused ourself to stare grimly into the toilet bowl.

But this, understandably, grew a little thin. Although I’d continue to get calls from radio and TV shows to provide Oscar commentary, and although my rather late-in-the-game job as a movie critic with the Toronto Star ensured that I remained in the game even though I was very happy to be parked on the bench, I could tell people were getting less and less patient with my annual Oscar contrarian crabbiness. (My spiritual arrangement with myself was this: as long as somebody was paying me to pay attention, I’d pay attention.) To them, Oscar was not only fun but self-evidently important, and who wanted to hear some cranky oldish fart talking about what a elaborate mass-media boondoggle and boil on the face of art it all was? Jesus, not even I wanted to hear myself any more.

Editors grew increasingly disinterested in my obstreperousness, one even going to far as ordering me to pretend to think the Oscars were important because everybody else – especially, I presume, his bosses — thought so. (Incidentally, I mark this as a signal moment in the decline and fall of so-called entertainment journalism, or at least my involvement in it.) I’d receive increasingly ugly e-mails in increasingly larger number from readers who either just wanted me to shut up about the whole thing or thought there was absolutely no way I could possibly be considered a qualified commentator on the cinematic arts if I didn’t take the Oscars seriously. Essentially, no one wanted to hear.

And that’s cool. While I still choose to ignore the event and respectfully reserve the right to believe that it’s got nothing at all to do with what’s best, most vital and eternally transfixing about the most seductive art form ever created this side of music, I don’t take the Oscars personally any more. Unless they come into my home and mess with me on my own turf, which they did this year. Then I think I’ve got a right to rant.

So thank you all. And thank you Mom.

– 30 –

Geoff Pevere’s column appears every Friday.

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Geoff Pevere has been writing, broadcasting and teaching about movies, media and popular culture for over thirty years. He can’t help himself. His column appears every Friday.

Television

There are very few albums that come out of New York in the seventies that can hold a candle to Television’s “Marquee Moon” and I could argue that they A-side of the original record is the strongest side on vinyl to ever come out of the seventies scene. I started reading about the band in the mid-seventies in Rock Scene Magazine. Rock Scene was half fanzine and half magazine and the likes of  writer Lisa Robinson and photographer Bob Gruen covered the New York underground and gave ink to bands like The New York Dolls , Television, The Ramones and Talking Heads before they ventured past north of Houston Street.

When they released their first single “Little Johnny Jewel” in 1975 they were still a five piece band with Tom Verlaine, Richard Lloyd, Fred Smith, Billy Ficca and Richard Hell. It came out on the tiny Ork Label and was impossible to find in Toronto. When I finally heard a cassette of the song I really couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, very minimal and no balls as far as my 16 year old years could tell. Richard Hell split from the band in 1975 and formed The Heartbreakers with Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan from the New York Dolls and that was a bit more up my alley. In 1977 he formed a new band and released the seminal “Blank Generation” under the banner of Richard Hell And The Voidoids. Its sound and sense of fashion launched a thousand safety pins across the pond. It is also the title of great 1976 hour long movie of the scene at CBGB’s directed by Ivan Krall.

Now down to a four piece, and signed to Elektra, Television released “Marquee Moon” in 1977. I decided to give the band a second chance and as soon the needle dropped on my glorious green copy of the album and “See No Evil” came pulsing out of the Lloyds stereo it was pretty evident that the group had elevated their game. This was not punk, not glam, not like anything else out there. Richard Lloyd and Tom Verlaine weaved guitar licks around each other like cigarette smoke crossing a spotlight while Fred Smith spat out a bass line that seemed to work both  independently and totally in synch with Billy Ficca’s drumming. On top of that Tom Verlaine’s vocals were just so “I could care less” New York affected. On the next song “Venus” the vocals are even more distracted as he seems to be carrying on a conversation that we are not a part of. That song contains the classic lyric “I fell right in to the arms of Venus de Milo”. “Friction” is probably the closest thing to punk on the album “I get your point you’re so sharp” and picks up the pace before the ten minute masterpiece that is the title track. Two guitars duel over a punchy bass and rolling drums while Verlaine does his best Patti Smith style vocals. There is a huge jam in the middle of the song but it is so sparse it breathes as it builds to the finish. According to legend the song was produced in one take,

Side two is better than most of the stuff that came out during that era with “Elevation” and “Prove It” being two of the best songs in the bands library but it is the first four songs on the A-side that make this album a classic. Looking back it is interesting that so many of my favourite records had favourite sides as I was either too lazy to flip it over or may have only had time to listen to one side in a sitting, Portable music was a transistor radio and your sure didn’t hear bands like Television on radio. At least we had whole sides to listen to as opposed to the single songs we listen to today.

The Tubes

One of the best live shows of all time. When the San Francisco/Phoenix band first rolled in to Massey Hall in the fall of 1975 no one knew what to expect but we knew it was going to be memorable. With the A&M Records local promotion team running at full throttle and plenty of rumours about nudity, bondage and drugs the very staid Toronto community was on guard. The group had just released their eponymous debut album (produced by Al Kooper) and although no one was playing it (it was before MTV/MuchMusic and the language was a tad salty for radio) there was a huge buzz surrounding the live show. All told there were two dozen different band members and performers on stage that night, front man Fee “Waldo” Waybill went through eight costume (and personality changes), there were seven female performers in various stages of undress, walls of TV screens and amps and an overall production that was Busby Berkeley meets John Waters. Songs such as “White Punks On Dope” (featuring Waybill as a seven foot tall lame’-clad rocker by the name of Quay Lewd playing a toilet seat or Q-shaped guitar). “What Do You Want From Life?”  and Mondo Bondage” were built for theatrics.

Lyrically the group were too full of wit and satire to be accepted by the masses and much of their audience missed the point. The first album had moments of musical greatness (and one of the cleverest covers ever) but it was on the second album “Young And Rich” that the band came in to their own as songwriters satirizing upper middle class America with songs such as “Young And Rich”, “Proud To Be An American” and “Don’t Touch Me There”.  Their next four albums included a decent live album, two duds and a “contractual” greatest hits and seemed to spell the end of the band. Enter Canadian producer David Foster and the band breaks in to the mainstream with “Talk To You Later” and “Sushi Girl” from their “The Completion Backward Principle”.  Here the band go toe-to-toe with Gil Fisher (John Candy) on “The Fishin’ Musician” show from SCTV in 1981. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcFXdLY6Z-0.

A band just a little too clever and a little too ahead of their time.

The Targets

One of the best new bands I have seen in a long time. From Winsford, England (close to Liverpool) the three-piece “Mod Punk” band calls Toronto their second home and are music festival faves. They have released two EP’s “These Grey Times” and “The Toronto Tapes” and destroyed every stage they have played. You can check them out at http://www.thetargets.co.uk/. Bassist Sam Bell portrayed George Harrison in the overlooked Beatles/John Lennon “Nowhere Boy” in 2009.

Tenpole Tudor

Sometimes you just need to blast a song on the iPod as you head downtown to go and see bands and Tenpole Tudors 1981 classic “Swords Of A Thousand Men” is one of those songs that get you in the mood for a night of carousing. Here’s a clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mANx3L-N0y

Lead singer Edward Tudor-Pole can be spotted as an actor in such rock classics as “The Great Rock And Roll Swindle”, “Sid And Nancy”, “Straight To Hell” and “Absolute Beginners”.

Treble Charger

Congrats to my boys in Treble Charger for their induction in the Indie Hall Of Fame this year at the upcoming CMW. I tried to sign them to MCA when the were NC-17 and later got to work with them at BMG during the “Maybe It’s Me”/”Wide Awake Bored”/”Detox” days. Great guys, great songs and a whole lot of fun on the road.

This Weekend

After selling out their show in Ottawa, Amos The Transparent hit Waterloo (tonight), Hamilton (tomorrow), the Horseshoe in Toronto on Saturday and Montreal on Monday. If any industry folks need to be on the guest list let me know.

As always if you are in Toronto and looking for a cool rock’n’roll diner please visit our friends at Shanghai Cowgirl 538 Queen Street West. It is right beside the world famous Bovine and around the corner from Cherry Cola’s.

Cam’s column appears every Wednesday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Cameron Carpenter has written for The New Music Magazine, Music Express, The Asylum, The Varsity, The Eye Opener,  The New Edition, Shades, Bomp!, Driven Magazine, FYI Music News, The Daily XY and Don’t Believe A Word I Say.

I started small with Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple and the like and when the popular began seeming mundane to my ears, I expanded my tastes.  Bands like Wishbone Ash and Sir Lord Baltimore and May Blitz began getting airplay on my system and then Ursa Major and others.  Oh, it wasn’t all headbanging stuff, but it was all guitar.  Without the crunch and sometimes that progressive edge, music just did not feel right.

I carried that with me to Los Angeles in the mid-Seventies and then San Diego in the late-Seventies, always with an ear toward something new.  I found A Foot In Coldwater and, yes, they were not really headbangers but when they cranked it up, I got the same thrill.  I became a Stray fan and followed them to The Starwood in Los Angeles. mainly to hear Caravan who had just released what was to my ears their most commercial album, Cunning Stunts (To this day, I think radio missed on that one).  The evening was unforgettable thanks to Stray‘s vocalist/guitarist who kept pointing at the sound man, urging more and more volume until most people left the room just to protect themselves.  I had my hands over my ears towards the last and even at that felt blood trickling from my ears.  Needless to say, Caravan‘s first set was forgettable, mainly because none of us could hear them.  Still, Stray cranked!  What an experience!

As I’ve attempted to point out, there is something in my blood when it comes to hard rock and I felt it this last week.  I was becoming weary of Americana and acoustic music.  I needed an electric fix and the more electric the better so I went on a quest— a quest for music to quench my headbanging thirst.  Okay, hard-rocking thirst.  Look, if it walks like a duck, okay?  And I didn’t look back.  As much as I loved Ursa Major and Stray, I needed something new.  I mean, bands still rock out, don’t they?

Indeed, they do.  A visit to Freedom Hawk‘s website proved it.  But before we go there, allow me to introduce many of you to one of my favorite hard-rocking bands of all-time:  Era For a Moment.  They’re out of the Boston area and a handful of years ago won this contest to open for Bon Jovi at some big East Coast wing-ding and you might think that that would have been enough to give them the push they needed, but it didn’t.  I’m sure they rocked the place because I’ve heard these guys, both live and on record (the ‘live’ recordings via the Internet), and they can rock.  Boy, can they rock!

There is nothing quite as satisfying to me as finding music which really takes hold and finding them was a thrill and a half.  After contact, they sent me a review copy of their then fairly new album, When Earth Meets Sky, with which vocalist Shelby Carcio included a nice message.  The CD jumped immediately to the top of my listening list and when I sat down I referred to them, I believe, as Heart with balls.  There was just enough of an Ann Wilson tone to Carcio’s voice that I couldn’t help it.  Seattle was committed to Heart during that band’s tenure there every bit as much as L.A. was to Joni and Ronstadt and Jackson Browne and The Eagles during theirs.  I waited what seemed like forever for Heart to break their mold but they never did.  I didn’t hate them.  I just tired of hearing them (and about them).

Oh, what I wouldn’t have given for an Era For a Moment to occasionally blow the dust off of the same old, but they were trapped in my future.  That future was captured on two prime albums of guitar-saturated hard rock.  After receiving the one, I bought the other.  They remain dustless, pulled out whenever the hard rock bug bites, never more than a few months after last listen.  Nothing shows respect more than repeated listens (unless it is showing up at a live gig).

And before your limber fingers start pounding the keys, that was not meant as disrespect for any of the artists named above.  If I heard Cargoe or Research Turtles everywhere I went, I would include them as overplayed as well, I am sure.

Let’s see.  Where was I.  Ah.  As I was bouncing around the Net looking for another EFAM or new Black Sabbath, I fell upon a mention of a band called Exfixia.  This four person band is out of Bend, Oregon, just over the mountains from me and I’m thinking, no way!  Bend is hardly a town to hold the likes of metal outside of the teenybopper high school variety.  So I head over to their ReverbNation page for a listen and, sonofagun, they are from Bend and they do rock!  They rock just to the left of EFAM with a right turn on the first off-ramp.  Crunchy guitars, odd chord changes (well, not odd for the style of music they play) and a female voice to soften the blows.

Amanda Sillas is no Shelby Carcio and for that I am happy, for Amanda fronts Exfixia and not EFAM.  Her voice is antidote to the band’s near death metal guitar/bass/drums blast, a saving grace as far as I’m concerned.  A couple of my friends are always telling me I am prejudiced against the genre but what I really dislike are the vocals which pretty much always sound like the overamplified voices of hell.  Screaming loud enough that you lose all sense of musical compass is not singing to me but noise, and not a good noise at that.  Topping their pounding rhythms and shredded guitar with Amanda is just the right touch.  A bad haircut and a swath of the devil’s tattoos do not a rock band make, if you get my drift.

I see that they have a gig coming up in March.  It would be a hundred-plus mile drive one way but if the weather is nice, that is a drive I would make in a second.  With Exfixia as incentive, I’m almost there.

It’s quite a jump from Bend, Oregon to Buenos Aires but damned if I didn’t make it, thanks to Tom Huergo, guitarist for Mothership.  He’s been bugging me for the past couple of months to listen to their new album Lemniscate and after hearing it, I wondered why I waited (actually, life and a crashed computer got in the way).  If you had told me back in the early Seventies that not only would I be digging hard rock at this late date but that it would be Brazilian, I would not have listened.  Well, I’m listening now.

I was a bit surprised when I opened the file because what they had sent me over a year ago was much harder and much more rhythm driven, but they do that on the new album, too.  Like most bands, they honed their licks while honing their writing style and actually upped their game.  What we get is arena rock of a very high caliber— rock ballads mixed with choppy early Scorpions and Judas Priest licks, but more American.  I could probably tell you exactly what comes to mind but my mind is blank right  now and I can’t even remember my name, a malady both David Crosby and I share.  Suffice it to say that it is bic-lighter-over-the-head music with a little swaying action on some of the eight tracks.  And I dig the nine-plus and eleven minute-plus times on three of the tracks.  It brings back the days when rockers tossed anything less than five minutes overboard.  Good times.

Seattle remembers The Sins, I am sure and they now have a chance to hear Prelude to a Pistol.  When The Sins imploded after their long run, guitarist Lee Tillman, electric violin player Jyri Glynn and  sticks man Chris Womble emerged from the dust cloud as Prelude after finding and adding vocalist Ray “Riot” Clark and bassist Daemon Chadeau.  While they didn’t completely abandon The Sins‘ musical style, they have opted for a denser sound which shows promise.  Of course, they only have demos up at this point, so don’t expect finished product.  Still and all, the three tracks they have posted are plenty good.  You can compare them yourself—The Sins— Prelude to a Pistol.

I must confess to being in tune with Tillman’s guitar, but what caught my attention with The Sins was Glynn’s competition blue (is there such a color?) electric violin, not unlike those of the violinists in the original lineup of Lunic.  For all of you dinosaurs, allow me to reference the violin of ELO‘s Mick Kaminski (who I knew first from his work with Joe Soap).  Sometimes, the beauty is in the equipment as much as the music, you know?

Which brings us to Freedom Hawk, the State of Virginia’s answer to all things Black Sabbath and Status Quo and even Stray.  You want to destroy some brain cells, crank these guys up to ten and try to stop that head.  It will bang on its own.  This is what I was looking for.  This is straight ahead balls-out rock!  They don’t say Rawk With the Hawk! for nothing.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it one more time— Virginia is topheavy with world class bands and musical artists.  They rival Texas (and that’s saying something!).  Charlottesville is a center of the musical universe and it doesn’t let up outside the confines of that fair city.  Folk, Americana, Rock & Roll, Rap, Hip Hop, Jazz— man, that state has it all.  Hard Rock Cafe?  Ha!  Hard Rock State here!

Look.  Why am I wasting my breath telling you about these guys?  You don’t have to read about Freedom Hawk.  You can watch their video of Stand Back.  Click here and be ready to be transported back to the Seventies when hard rock was finding its way.  Scroll down to the bottom of the page.  It’s waiting.  This is good stuff.  And the video is a killer, too (no pun intended).

Jon Gomm— A lesson learned?

You’ve never heard of Jon Gomm?  Well, you bloody hell will!  Of all of the artists fighting to break out of the white noise, Gomm is one of the few who will make that leap.  Has made it, actually.  After all of the attempts to turn people on to this amazing musician, it took one article in a major UK paper and Simon Cowell to do it, but Gomm is now on his way to being the next big thing.  I can see him cringe at that because he is not an overblown ego attempting to conquer the world.  He is a simple musician who finds himself sucked so far into the musical vortex that he could not find a way out if he wanted to.  He is fascinated by guitar and music.  He has been experimenting for years.  He is an adventurer!  Writers have been saying that for quite awhile now and yet few paid attention.

It will seem like it happened overnight, but it didn’t.  Gomm worked his ass off (and still does so as I type).  He, like so many others, struggled to gain respect, fought for every gig (so many of which drew so few) and clawed and scratched his way to where he is.

Where is he?  On the cutting edge, of course.  He displays an affinity for guitar like you can’t believe and has videos to prove it.  He records for himself but plays for the people.  I get the feeling that nothing thrills him more than turning a room of non-believers into fans (and that is just what he has been doing).  He even went to fans for help designing his new website (the old one evidently did not fit his vision), allowing them to call the shots.  Gotta love that sense of democracy.

I tried to tell people about Gomm but no one listened.  I said, hey, this guy is worth hearing, evidently to an empty room.  I mentioned him to friends and wrote a review which only relatives and a few friends read.  I’m proud of that review.  I got it right.

I contacted Gomm when I saw that he had pulled his songs from Spotify and wrote a segment of a column around that rejection.  It was worth writing about.  For Gomm, it was a matter of ethics.  Sometimes life can be so simple.

I laugh because I now know that all it takes is a “fuck you” to Simon Cowell and all people like him to get attention.  Okay, Gomm didn’t say “fuck you” to his face, but he might as well have.  In not so many words, Gomm simply said “my music is not for sale— not to the likes of you”.  Gomm didn’t do it for the fame.  He did it because that is who he is.  Simon Cowell embodies everything both of us hate about the music industry these days— greed, ego, pomposity, that basic Nazi attitude toward the arts.  Cowell survives and thrives on the backs of a public so easy to lead by the nose you no longer need nose rings.  I do think that he actually believes his shit doesn’t stink.  And he is an idol.  Mothers rank him right up there with Jobs and Gates.  *Shudder*  If you can’t see what is wrong with that picture, you must be blind (or heartless).

Those videos?  Start here.  If that doesn’t dent your head, there is no hope for you.  Be forewarned, though.  If you love guitar, it is that potato chip you can’t eat just one of.  If you love guitar, you’ll be hooked.

Notes…..    That Teen A-Go-Go DVD I have been talking about which chronicles Sixties’ Fort Worth Rock & Roll?  Producer Mark A. Nobles says it will be available for sale at retail outlets nationwide on March 13^th.  Watch the trailer.  It’s classic stuff!…..  On a related note, you might also want to check out words of wisdom from musician and chronicler Lenny Kaye, who states that “For me, the teen scenes, in any form, big or small, is where it all begins”  He should know…..  If you haven’t heard me mention Sydney Wayser, you haven’t been listening.  Sydney won my support with her last album, the superb The Colorful, and has just completed a new album, Bell Choir Coast.  Normally, I wouldn’t plug a pledge drive but Sydney wants to go vinyl on the album and it ain’t cheap.  You can check her out and, if you want, pledge toward that album here.  If you haven’t heard her, do yourself a favor and take a listen…..  It seems forever ago that Bob Segarini was plugging the Internet station Radio That Doesn’t Suck in his columns and I have to admit that I heard a lot of under the radar artists there, but I have gone even deeper lately.  I have been tuning in to Scrub Radio and hearing the deepest of the Indies.  You have to pick your time slot carefully but when you find it, you will be bombarded with music you more than likely would miss, otherwise.  It may not be everything for everybody, but they’re trying hard.  Know what?  Internet radio sounds like a good subject for a future column.  Stay tuned…..  It’s no secret that I am backing Bright Giant and Research Turtles to the hilt.  They are without a doubt two of the best of the indie bands to come down the pike.  But lately I have been drawn to a Segarini favorite, Poor Young Things, who unfortunately (to my way of thinking) have major label connections.  Regardless, the music is there and a professionalism besides.  What they play would have been pure mainstream back in the early Seventies and it strikes a chord with me.  A minor, I think.  Take a listen to three tracks here and catch this video from what I have labeled The Stairwell Sessions…..  When I picked up on The Violet Archers‘ Sunshine at Night album, I thought I had really found something, but I had no idea.  I have since stepped backward to their first and even better album, The End of Part One, which would be completely frying my brain except that I stepped even further back and am now swimming my way through a whole series of The Rheostatics albums.  Why didn’t someone point these guys out to me years and years ago?  Like Segarini says, “Gotta Have Pop…”…..  Speaking of pop, Shade‘s Jane Gowan just today posted a new video of False Start, a track from the fairly recent One Last Show of Hearts album.  Gowan is one of my favorites over the past years due to her pop sensibilities (she writes and sings in a pleasantly unique fashion, a thrill to hear in this age of autotune and studio-altered voices) and lack of pretension.  Shade‘s Highway is on my list of all-time pop classics.  Of course, you can hardly miss when you team up with ex-Rheostatics and Violet Archer, Tim Vesely.   If you like this video, check out their video of an alternate instrumental version of Peace of Mind which was included on Show of Hearts.  I can’t help but get the same vibe I got from Neil Young‘s The Emperor of Wyoming, though the songs are world’s apart….

Frank’s column appears every Wednesday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

“Frank Gutch Jr. looks like Cary Grant, writes like Hemingway and smells like Pepe Le Pew. He has been thrown out of more hotels than Keith Moon, is only slightly less pompous than Garth Brooks and at one time got laid at least once a year (one year in a row). He has written for various publications, all of which have threatened to sue if mentioned in any of his columns, and takes pride in the fact that he has never been quoted. Read at your own peril.”

That blog became my outlet for all my musical musings, but today while going through some old files on my computer I discovered something.  I always had it in my head that my blog housed my first music reviews, but I was wrong.  In the fall of 2009, I went to probably one of the most amazing concerts I’ve ever been to:  the first appearance of Them Crooked Vultures in Toronto.  That show blew my mind to the nth degree, so being the aspiring writer that I was even back then I of course came straight home and wrote all about it.  At the time, I’d written a couple of pieces for a friend of a friend’s website, Iheartthemusic, a couple of interviews, and I think a stab at a review.  I’d approached the editor to post my TCV review but it never worked out.  At the time, I was so sad that I wasn’t able to share that incredible experience with the world (even though I got to share it with my good friend Aleks, who came to the show with me).  Months later when I started my own blog, I didn’t even think to post it.  But lucky for all of you DBAWISers out there, I thought about it tonight!  So, here, in its original and heretofore unpublished form, is my first ever, super music geek live show review.  Enjoy!

It may be safe to say that the super group to end all super groups has finally arrived.  Them Crooked Vultures is a veritable rock and roll hall of fame on stage.   Dave Grohl (Foo Fighters, Nirvana) commandeered the drum kit and provided background vocals.  The legendary John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin) picked up his bass and tickled the ivories.  And Queens of the Stone Age Front man Josh Homme covered vocals and guitar.  They were accompanied on Stage by Alain Johannes (Eleven) on guitar and vocals.

Formed earlier this year in Los Angeles, Them Crooked Vultures has taken the music scene by storm.  Fans of the individual members have been whispering among each other for weeks, scouring the internet for teasers and clips, and clandestinely trading bootleg recordings pilfered from previous shows on their tour.  For the most part however, concert goers who rushed to snap up tickets genuinely had no idea what they would get when TCV hit the stage.  Expectations were high.  Playing to a packed house Toronto’s Sound Academy last night (October 9^th), Grohl, Jones and Homme did not disappoint.  It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that today many people in Toronto now have a new favourite band.

The show can only be described as seductive, leaving the audience spent, satiated, and still wanting more.  In this day and age, where most music is over manufactured, over produced and overconfident, it was refreshing to hear.   Songs went on for upwards of eight minutes, kicking our current ADD music culture’s 2 minutes or less per son square in the ass.

Somehow, music that was unmistakably Queens, Foos and of course Zeppelin fused together to create a decadent new, but still old sound.  Homme’s smooth and mellow vocals satisfyingly contrasted the guttural guitar riffs and pounding drum and base lines, particularly on the psychedelic “Calligulove”.  During “Daffodils” Grohl attacked his drums with an astounding ferocity that was exhausting to behold.  And watching rock legend Jones play his bass AND THE PIANO AT THE SAME TIME was enough to make one feel both insignificant, and inspired.  All icons in their own rights, Homme, Jones and Grohl shared the stage with a harmony and camaraderie that was contagious.  Strangers in the crowd were sharing their awestruck feelings, high fiving and dancing together.  You could have never heard a note these guys played before that night, and still come away a die hard fan.

It truly was a show that music lovers and fans will be talking about until their dying days.  It was the kind of show that made even the least talented musical neophyte wish that he or she could create music.  It’s music that actually improves your life.  As one feverish young woman in the audience was heard to say “This is better than sex”.   And it really was.

Ever been to a show that was so awesome you couldn’t wait to tell people about it?  Tell me about it now!  Comment below, or email us at the provided address.

Until next time,

Xo

N

Nadia’s column appears every Tuesday

Contact us at: dbawis@rogers.com

Nadia Elkharadly is a Toronto based writer with a serious addiction to music. Corporate drone by day, renegade rocker by night, writing is her creative outlet.  Nadia writes for the Examiner (.com) on live music in Toronto and Indie Music in Canada.  She has never been in a band but plays an awesome air guitar and also the tambourine.  Check in every Tuesday for musings about music, love, life and whatever else that comes to mind.

Before radio, if you wanted entertainment in your home, the only choice you had was this; A Short History of the Phonograph Record, and as you can see, it was more practical to have a boatload of kids and force them to learn how to play musical instruments, put on plays, and comb the neighborhood for gossip and news, then make the little hiccups share the wealth, or they wouldn’t get dessert, or in extreme circumstances, dinner.

Radio changed all of that. With the turning of a knob or the push of a button, entertainment and information of all stripes spilled out onto the living room rug in abundance. You would never be alone again. No matter how cloistered away or hermit-like you were, you were never more than an on/off switch away from companionship or company, music, drama, comedy, or news.

Hard to imagine now, but think of the impact this miracle of science must have felt like after a lifetime of static newspapers, monthly magazines, and having to head out into the night to hear music, see a play, or hear a friendly voice other than your family’s. Suddenly, complete strangers became personal, trusted friends, news became almost immediate, and the changing face of contemporary culture was not only spread to the hinterlands and the general population with lightening-like speed, radio even helped change that culture by exposing more and more choices to more and more people. When the public embraced anything that radio put in the spotlight, well…pop culture, political viewpoints, and every other facet of our daily lives were impacted, and radio, initially sparking the latest trends or interests, would shift gears and follow the public down whatever path they had set them on. A symbiotic relationship more powerful than any that had existed up to that time. Television and movies would have a similar impact, but until the Internet came along, radio was alone in its immediacy and ability to be wherever the public wanted it to be. We listened and radio followed. Radio listened and we followed. A perpetual motion machine whose intricacies and borders became blurred over the years until you couldn’t tell who was influencing who.

If you have ever wondered about the evolution of radio, look no further than this legendary outlet that has been on the air in one form or another since 1921. In this well written (and voiced) tongue in cheek history, you’ll learn the reason radio started broadcasting overnights, how radio promoted their on-air personalities into the public consciousness, and how their exciting presentation of the current pop culture created legions of fans and listeners. Every jock had his own personal theme song? How cool is that? And notice how every new voice they brought to bear was nothing like the one before it. Watch this (and all the vids we post in these columns) full screen. One of the best promo pieces I’ve ever seen and full of radio history. The Incredible History of WABC

Ever want to be in the studio where this magic takes place? Here’s an up-close look at WABCs current set up. Nice to see tape machines still have a place in broadcasting. Inside the WABC Control Room 2008

At one time, radio had a sense of humour about itself. Before the complete capitulation to political correctness and the ‘one letter’ policy (a single complaint can bench an on-air personality, song, or program) radio accepted the possibility that tongues would slip, taste would falter and fires would break out. They would handle it with an arched eyebrow and an eye to conventional thinking, but still manage to support their broadcasters, apologize for their missteps, and wink at the listeners at the same time. Stern and Imus: WNBC Apology

Over the years, radio would every now and again discover a voice so unique that even people who didn’t listen to the radio would know who they were. The last great example of this is the unflappable Howard Stern, a man who survived multiple firings, visionless bosses, and an ever growing list of rules and regulations, to become one of the great interviewers and pop culture pundits of our time. You either love Howard or hate him, but his impact on radio (and on his listeners) is incalculable. There was a time when every station sought out a Howard of their own. Now, they avoid this kind of loose cannon like the plague because not many can do what Howard does, and the political climate is such that the less adventurous are terrified to be associated with someone this outspoken, candid, and honest. Howard made the wise decision to abandon traditional terrestrial radio, where his kind of behavior and fearless communication skills are deemed inadvisable, prosecutable, and potentially fatal to stockholders, board members, and legal departments at Radio Conglomerates everywhere. You will NEVER hear this kind of radio on a terrestrial station, and if you ever did, it wouldn’t be presented as well or entertainingly. Howard’s ability to use the justifiably vilified word in this clip is couched in the context in which it is used. It takes intellect to approach this subject and intellect to appreciate the point. The people who watchdog terrestrial radio would only hear the word. Songs That Sound Like They Have The N-Word

What Howard does prompted the wide spread use of the phrase ‘Shock Jock’, a moniker that Stern has outgrown, but still stands as a label for those who followed in his footsteps. There are still those who can rankle plying the airwaves. Here’s a list of some of the better known culprits. The 10 Most Controversial Shock Jocks

Radio has also become enamored of tightly formatted, limited playlists, much to the delight of their stockholders and an audience who have more interest in hearing hits than exploring other avenues of music. This current playing field is held in high regard, but lately some smaller stations and radio companies have been quietly and slowly exploring a looser approach. Here in Toronto, it could even be called a movement.

Toronto has an assortment of ‘hit’ radio stations, a few nostalgia stations, and some interesting and refreshing outlets that mimic no one. When it comes to rock, we have 2 stations, neither of which is like the other, although they are owned by the same company. One is a classic rock station and the other is a modern/alt/hipster take on what passes for rock these days. Just outside the city, however, it’s a different story.

The standout is a station in Oshawa Ontario, just East of Toronto, known as The Rock. Here’s a look at their ‘Recently Played’ list from earlier today. 94.9 The Rock

They do indeed, ‘rock’, and they do it with a playlist that seems to go deeper (and wider) than their contemporary brothers. The on air jocks feel connected to the music, and they will play an unproven record before most stations that play similar music. Here’s the rather odd and winding road the station took to become what it is today. The Rock’s History.

They also lend support to those new acts they play, and further their connection to the artist and the audience by going the extra mile to feature them with a personal commitment. Here’s a terrific clip of Scott Holiday and Jay Buchanan from Rival Sons performing live at the station the last time the L.A based band was in the area. Rival Sons on 94.9 The Rock

More importantly, The Rock has taken the perceived risky attitude that the format can be interrupted with something totally different and actually benefit the station. On Saturday and Sunday nights, they let loose a Canadian icon whose unique and unusual persona counters every other ‘proven’ approach to contemporary radio, and let him play the music he loves regardless of its genre or ‘hit’ value. What you hear is a machine gun spray of stream of consciousness ‘Theatre of the Mind’ verbiage, and music that continually presses that ‘Oh Wow’ button we all possess. Oh that other stations would at least give this breath of fresh air approach some consideration and add at least one game-changing rebel to their mix. From all indications, the audience, the station, and the creators of this radio show are happy with the results. Marsden Montage.

Other signs point to the beginnings of a shift from cookie cutter formats and sound-alike jocks in other markets as well. How long before this thinking spreads and infiltrates even the tightest of corporate playlists and formats? Back in the ‘80s a new idea was put forth that apparently held steady for about ten years, even though it flew under my radar. I don’t think the format ever reached Canada, but if it did and you heard it, please let me know. In this clip, you’ll hear the passion and the belief that drove the idea. The Z Rock Story

You’ll also see the background and how intent the creators were in bringing this format to radio when ‘deeper playlists’ and an unproven format were virtually impossible to float. To see what Z Rock was all about, go here.

It would be even harder now, but something is happening out there. A restlessness, a feeling within the industry that it may be time to look in new directions, but too soon to know exactly where to look. Change, as they say, is inevitable. They also say that the pendulum always swings back. Between those two time worn cliches, it appears as though it might be time to turn your radio on again, have a look around, and see if you can spot another sign that new paths may be opening in the broadcast jungle.

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Just For Fun

Here are some lists I came across in my research. I couldn’t find ‘Top DJ’ lists for the decades after the ‘60s, and the ‘World’s Most Famous’ one contains only one jock that’s on the radio, and that is Satellite Radio, not terrestrial. The only famous terrestrial jock I can think of is Ryan Seacrest. How sad.

Top DJs of the ‘60s

Top 20 Black DJs of All Time

Top 25 Talk Show Hosts of All Time

World’s 8 Most Famous DJs

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 Segarini’s column appears every Monday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Bob “The Iceman” Segarini was in the bands The Family Tree, Roxy, The Wackers, The Dudes, The Segarini Band, and Cats and Dogs, andnominated for a Juno for production in 1978. He also hosted “Late GreatMovies” on CITY TV, was a producer of Much Music, and an on-air personality on CHUM FM, Q107, SIRIUS Sat/Rad’s Iceberg 95, (now sadly gone), and now provides content for radiothatdoesntsuck.com with RadioZombie, The Iceage, and PsychShack. Along with the love of his life, Jade (Pie) Dunlop, (who hosts and writes “I’ve Heard That Song Before” on RTDS), continues to write, make music, and record.

Exactly a week ago the golden voice of Whitney Houston was silenced forever in what appears to be an accidental drug overdose. Toxicology is still in turn-around so I maybe eating my words in 6-8 weeks but it didn’t stop the misguided Tony Bennett from issuing a statement that drugs should be legalized. Poor Tony – do you think legalizing drugs would have saved your old friend Judy Garland? She wasn’t smoking reefers and pounding back a few beers. She, like Whitney and Marilyn Monroe and a host of others (including millions of NON-celebrities)  were as misinformed about their prescription medication and cocktail stew as you are about what constitutes ‘drugs’. Needless to say, we will never know if Houston could have had the great comeback story many had hoped for. We only have the amazing musical legacy she left behind. Here’s an inspiring a cappella tribute from The Pentatonix to the voice that launched a thousands divas: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmJUAzxvBYQ

Houston’s career was initially set in motion by Arista Records’ sven gali Clive Davis whose pre-Grammy Awards party was the place where Houston was supposed to be that evening. Ghoulishly, the party carried on as celebrities wandered around with Blackberry’s tweeting how bad THEY felt about Whitney dying. There’s always time for a little self-pity promotion when you’re a superstar, I guess.

By invitational happenstance CNN’s Piers Morgan was on the scene getting testimonials from party goers who looked truly stunned at having to talk about something other than themselves particularly Latoya Jackson who was ready to hold a press conference but was denied access to the party. The network scooped everyone. Morgan happened to be in the right place during the wrong time.

Meanwhile, music radio stations, who you’d expect would have jumped on top of a chance to boost ratings and draw listeners to the breaking news and exorcise their dusty play lists were….sleeping. With radio’s ‘canned’ weekend programming rarely featuring live on air personalities they completely lost the chance to connect with a now long gone audience. Here’s an excellent piece about what DIDN’T happen on radio stations last Saturday night: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/blackberry/p.html?id=1283340

And sarcastic kudos must go out to Whitney’s record label, Sony (in the UK), for not missing a beat and raising the cost of her dormant greatest hits package from ₤4.99 to ₤7.99 overnight. This is how dead artists become best selling artists. Death as a career benefit.

Sony’s initial reaction to the outrage from fans and the media was that they were adjusting the retail price because they had discovered it was originally posted too low. The fact that the pricing was adjusted within hours of Houston’s death –into the wee hours of Sunday morning – when a phone call to Steve Jobs in the afterlife would have been necessary to get iTunes to alter their database means this was a military grade executive approved decision…not someone in the warehouse correcting an inventory pricing glitch. Sony finally copped to t heir guilt earlier this week. Nothing like having your label go all necrophilia on you before you’re even buried.

Flash forward to Sunday night where the Grammy Awards now have to deal with this last-minute tragedy. Singer Chaka Khan was approached to sing a tune that had been written for her but Whitney turned into a hit. Khan outright refused saying it was disrespectful to those who were grieving. Jennifer Hudson, however, who has had her fair share of personal grief in the last few years plucked up the courage and did a heartfelt (and rather subdued performance by HER standards) re-reading of the Whitney arrangement of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You”.

The night was an emotional roller coaster between soul and R & B’s tributes to Houston (including LL Cool J’s ad libbed prayer off the top of the show) and rock and roll’s last kick at the can. And poor Etta James. Booted from the tribute memoriam reel so they could make room for Whitney Houston. Maybe a few less minutes of Nicki “Bimbo The Clown Whore” Minaj would have been more appropriate. Sophistication is not in Minaj’s repertoire (nor her dictionary). Her cameo as a ‘Hood ornament on the Madonna Superbowl extravaganza the week before was her 15 seconds of shame. The only thing more tasteless on stage that night was domestic assault poster boy Chris Brown’s two performances and his affirmation from the audience.

Adele was gracious enough to stop by during downtime from her day gig appearing on BBC TV’s ‘East Enders’ to accept six Grammy Awards and sing her chart topping “Rolling in the Deep”. To celebrate the monumental victories she announced the following day she would be taking five years off to work on not fucking up another relationship – the inspiration for BOTH of her hit albums ‘19’ and ’21’. Her handlers went apoplectic when they realized that her next album will be ‘28’ – the one where Adele is pregnant, happy and living in the gardener’s 9,000 square foot cottage on JK Rowling’s estate.

Meanwhile, the aging Sesquicentennarians of pop – Springsteen, The Beach Boys, and Sir Paul McCartney – dusted off their ukelele’s and accordions to kick rock’s ass but for one more fleeting moment. They then passed the torch to Dave Grohl whose acceptance speech during yet another Foo Fighters’ Grammy Award pricked up a few ears in the music industry. He unapologetically drew a line in the sand between the longevity of REAL musicians versus the world we now live in – the computer driven, ProTooled, Auto-Tuned creatively depleted vacuum occupied by the losers of the night: Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Nicki Minaj, Drake, et al. Check out Grohl’s ironically Auto-Tuned acceptance speech here.

It’s so cute to see that your dream is to join The Who when you grow up, Dave. But it’s too little too late. With Adele heading to the Cotswalds to use her 6 Grammy statuettes as garden enhancing standing stones, your vision of being the King & Queen of Analogland has been scuttled. Katy Perry’s tits will continue to ejaculate projectiles and Lady Gaga will still undermine her own talent by gluing latex cod-pieces onto lobster trap headgear. “And in the end…the cash you make, is equal to the cash you take….”

Of course, Whitney’s untimely passing and the 54^th annual Grammy Awards overshadowed the 2012 nominee announcement by the JUNO^TM Awards during one of Mayor Rob Ford’s weekly weight loss press conference revelations [PS – he didn’t lose ANY weight last week].

There are 41 categories for the JUNOS^TM  this year  including the newest addition/reworking/apology category for ‘Metal/Hard Music Album of the Year’ where Anvil will finally be recognized for never surrendering to trends or ever having a hit record. Conversely, The Sheepdogs pop up in a number of categories having done nothing except win a Rolling Stone contest that made them magazine rack superstars before a single person outside of Saskatoon had ever heard them play. What the JUNOS^TM really needs is a category called ‘Hype of the Year’ and ‘Waiting to Pay Their Dues’. This would also allow karaoke TV ‘talent’ to also get a “participation” ribbon for ‘Best in Show’.
Let’s be realistic here. The  JUNOS^TM  are Canada’s little Grammy farm team especially when you look at coinciding nominations for Deadmau5, Drake, Justin Beiber, and Michael Bublé who dominated Billboard’s Hot100 last year. We keep building them and the Americans keep rewarding them…with nothing. I think it’s out of spite. We’re still too cute and polite and wholesome. Even Arcade Fire are adorable in a 1967 Haight-Ashbury ‘unwashed hippie’ kinda way.

The encouraging part of this year’s JUNOS^TM is that the inclusion of old sawhorses like Nickelback, Hedley, Sloan, Jim Cuddy, Feist and Avril Lavigne is limited to but a few predictable nominations. The remainder of the categories is wide open to new and fresh talent like Mother Mother, The Deep Dark Woods, Bruthers of Different Muthers, Exco Levi, Melanie Fiona, Catherine Major, Mike Murley Septet, Marianas Trench, Alyssa Reid, Hey Rosetta, Braids, and Dan Mangan. But, as we’ve seen with the two year promo cycle of Canadian music, these artists will be up for the same awards for the same releases next year. Until, of course, Nickelback recreates last year’s album under a new title so we can start the hatefest anew.

The most pleasant surprise was seeing legendary French singer Ginette Reno up for a FAN CHOICE Award. Should any of the other nominees win – Arcade Fire, Avril Lavigne, City and Colour, Deadmau5, Drake, Hedley, Justin Bieber, Michael Bublé, or Nickelback – they’d best serve their careers and their country graciously by deferring the award to her or at least grovel at her feet as their Lord and Master.

The festivities are in Ottawa this year which will be a nice change of pace. The only thing that would make it better would be a wintery live broadcast, outdoors from the steps of Parliament Hill. It would greatly reduce the length of the acceptance speeches from the accounting firm of Kroeger-Lavigne LLP.
Here for your derision, scoffing and eye-rolling is the 2012 JUNO^TM Awards nominees: http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/story/2012/02/07/juno-award-nominees-list.html

Finally, my column last week about The Top 20 Greatest Canadian Love Songs spurred a flurry of traffic from my, ahem, fans. There was no end to the caterwauling about who I snubbed. So, in fairness to those who chose to respond (positively or counter-intuitively), I hereby offer up the ‘Revenge of the Son of the Greatest Top20 Canadian Love Songs of All Time’ list in no particular order:

1) Night to Remember – PRISM
2) When You and I Were Young, Maggie – JOHN McDERMOTT
3) You Needed Me – ANNE MURRAY
4) Sweet Surrender – SARAH McLACHLAN
5) Right Before Your Eyes – IAN THOMAS
6) Dream Come True – FROZEN GHOST
7) From This Moment – SHANIA TWAIN
8) The French Song – LUCILLE STARR
9) Chantal – GODDO
10) You Were On My Mind – IAN & SYLVIA
11) When I’m With You – SHERIFF
12) I’ll Never Smile Again – RUTH LOWE
13) Love Me, Love Me, Love – FRANK MILLS
14) Stay Awhile – THE BELLS
15) Which Way You Goin’ Billy? – THE POPPY FAMILY
16) Maybe Your Heart – CHRISTOPHER WARD
17) Lovin’ You Ain’t Easy – PAGLIARO
18) She’s So High – TAL BACHMAN
19) Walk Hand In Hand – JOHNNY COWELL
20) Play With Me – BOOTSAUCE

Finally, tireless Canadian music industry flag waver and all-round nice guy Eric Alper is up for a ‘Shorty Award’ from Twitter for his prolifically pro-active prose and often hilarious 140 character Tweets.
Vote for him here:  http://shortyawards.com/ThatEricAlper

Jaimie’s column appears every Saturday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Jaimie “Captain CanCon” Vernon has been president of the on again/off-again Bullseye Records of Canada since 1985. He wrote and published Great White Noise magazine in the ‘90s, has been a musician for 33 years, and is the author of The Canadian Pop Music Encyclopedia. He keeps a copy of Lightfoot’s “Sundown” under his pillow at night.

I’d had dogs before Bella, but nothing prepared me for this one. The two border collies I’d owned previously were relative pieces of cake in comparison – if you’ve owned one of those extraordinary creatures, you know that they largely come pre-programmed to obey – and almost none of the training I’d had raising them bore any application here.

As far as we know, Bella was abandoned very early in her life and caged. When we found her picture on the Petfinder website – she was staring from behind a fence, amber eyes brightly flashing at the camera – she was in an American facility that was about to euthanize all seventy-something of the animals therein. Those angels of mercy who do such things had intervened and dispersed as many of the dogs to foster homes as possible, and that’s where we met Bella: in her temporary home in Waterloo.

Following an application and interview process that made we wonder if adopting children wasn’t easier, the dog was handed over and we brought her home to Toronto.

It quickly became apparent that Bella probably hadn’t ever been to the city before: buses, bicycles, garbage trucks and skateboards were terrifying to her, and the simple act of walking her around the block became a suspension-wracked ordeal of sometimes hackle-raising proportions.

It wasn’t just that Bella got scared, it was that her response to being scared was aggression: she’d pull on the leash – and believe me, this dog was nearly forty pounds (since upped to fifty-five) pounds of pure, concentrated muscle – and she’d lunge at anything that struck her as threatening. And at the beginning, that was just about anything.

Suddenly I was that guy: the guy with the dog you have to worry about when you see him coming, the guy you wonder if he’s ever bothered to train his dog to do anything and, if not, why he even bothered to get a dog.

We called in professional help, and it was helpful up to a point. Every time the trainer showed up Bella was responsive, submissive and largely obedient, but as soon as the trainer split the so-called Singing Frog Syndrome (I refer here to a Chuck Jones cartoon some of you have probably seen) would kick in: she’d revert to her old ways. So we’d summon the trainer once more, and once more Bella would be the best dog in the world until the trainer left.

It may seem obvious, but the conclusion I came to was nevertheless revelatory to me. I realized the only things that were going to work with Bella were patience, persistence and acceptance of who and what she was, and if we were to keep her – which we had to, for the chances of a behaviourally challenged rescue dog being re-adopted were mighty slim – we were going to have to get very Zen about it. Bella was going to be a one-day-at-a-time work-in-progress, and progress itself wasn’t going to be constant. Some days were going to be more progressive than others, but we couldn’t give up.

So I started to appreciate the fact that this animal had had to learn survival skills in that kennel that were based in dominance. In order to eat, sleep and live from one day to the next, Bella had to make it clear to all animals around her that she wasn’t to be messed with. This, it seemed to me, was at the root of her aggression with other animals and people on the street who aroused her suspicions – usually men with hoods or caps, people pushing carts or approaching us too quickly from behind, and anyone who dared pass us on a skateboard – and so the task was clear: the dog had to be made to understand that her life was secure and taken care of, and she didn’t need to be dominant any more. That was our job, and she was free to relax.

The problem is, you can’t just sit down with a dog and explain it to her. And her programming was deep; it had been implemented during her puppyhood, and it was probably going to require a lifelong alertness to this formative behavioural material to keep it in check.

Meanwhile, of course, she was lovely: a terrific animal to have around the house, and demonstrating daily the calming effects of finally having something like a routine in her otherwise turbulence-charged life. After a while, the walking became easier: she’d actually let people pass us, she’d respond when told to chill and sit, and even skateboards became less of a provocation to war. I’d take her to off-leash areas so she could indulge her all-time top-favourite activity of running and wrestling with other dogs, and I’d watch carefully for any signs of imminent danger: too many dogs in one place, too many dogs crowded into a corner or against a fence, or – perhaps the thing I learned to be most alert to – owners who freaked out at the merest hint of dogs pretty much being dogs. Things would escalate as they do with dogs, and every time they did I’d do my best to pull Bella out, sit her down for a moment, let her regain her canine composure, and extract her from the environment. More than once, we were told by owners that we weren’t welcome there, and in those cases I’d make a point of not taking Bella back. For this was one of things the dog had taught me: don’t argue even if you think you’re right and your dog is being persecuted, because it’s not about you. It’s about the dog and being in an environment where she feels comfortable and secure, and that’s not anywhere you’re losing your temper or confronted by someone who’s acting aggressive (reasonably or not) to you. Clip the leash and walk away.

When I think back on the dog Bella was when she first arrived, I think I’ve done a pretty good job. She’s now walked three or four times a day, gets a couple of opportunities to run in an area with lots of space and other dogs, and doesn’t even flinch when passed by a skateboarder, snowplough or other form of outrageous urban provocation. And when I’m with owners of other troubled-history rescue dogs (and most rescues have troubled histories), we can usually work it out if something breaks out: we pull the dogs apart, let them sit for a moment looking at each other, then let them go to play like nothing ever happened. Because that’s possibly the most amazing thing that Bella has taught me, and that keeps me committed to doing what I need to do for as long as it takes: dogs don’t hold grudges. Most importantly, they’re very, very patient trainers.

Geoff Pevere’s column appears every Friday.

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

Geoff Pevere has been writing, broadcasting and teaching about movies, media and popular culture for over thirty years. He can’t help himself. His column appears every Friday.

Thoughts

Seems to be a theme with most of those this week. I wrote this on Monday morning.

I couldn’t let this week go by without a few thoughts about both Whitney and the Grammy awards.

I was one of those folks who saw her first Toronto performance (to track) back at Club Bluenote in 1985. If I am not mistaken I was there with Raymond Perkins from Roots as we used to have Motown/Roots events at the club (which was across the street from the old Roots headquarters and  infamous “Coach House” on Avenue Road) and an invite for free drinks to see an upcoming artist was always welcome. It was pretty evident that night that this girl could sing. (Ed. Note: I introduced the very young Whitney at that promo party on Pears Street in Toronto, just her and a reel to reel tape recorder which played the backing tracks. The album wasn’t out yet, but she was an incredible singer and performer even then, and we all knew we were in the company of greatness. After her presentation, she came over to me and thanked me for my introduction and kissed me on the cheek. I will never forget that moment.)

In 1998 I was working with BMG and one of my projects was the “My Love is Your Love” album from Whitney. I flew down to New York for a media day and had scheduled in an interview with CBC. Things went a bit crazy in NYC and it was apparent that Whitney was not at the top of her game. I am pretty sure we had to cancel the interview.

I was a little worried when Whitney came to the Molson Amphitheatre in the summer of 1999. We had set up a meet’n’greet and those can always be hit or miss. I spent some time with her and her assistant Lynne and went over the details of who was going to be backstage, when the presentation would be, and how long she needed to be there. She was in a fabulous mood and gladly agreed to all of our wishes. The show was great and Whitney was in fantastic voice. The meet and greet went off without a hitch (other than the fact I snuck in Premier Mike Harris much to the chagrin of my record company President), awards were given; photos taken and everyone went on their merry way.

This weekend word started to vibrate on Twitter that Whitney had died. I searched for more reliable sources and pretty soon it was obvious the rumours were true. I was saddened but not shocked. Just the day before I was reading stories, and more telling, looking at the pictures, of her partying in L.A. before the show, and it was apparent she still had demons. I watched as “death porn” overtook social media and everyone put in their two cents about what went wrong. Me, I will keep that to myself and sadly acknowledge that another great talent is gone too soon.

As the annual Grammy Awards were the next night you knew that Whitney’s passing were going to have a profound impact on the show. As much as they frustrate me at times I do feel it is my duty to watch the major awards as I am in this business. Things got off to a strong start with a good performance by Bruce Springsteen. I loved seeing the joy on Little Stevie’s face as he traded riffs and sang back-up. Old time rock’n’roll. LL Cool J was the host of the show, and even though I have major problems with the networks schilling their series stars on their awards shows, at least he is an artist first and actor second. Apparently he went unscripted with his acknowledgement and prayer for Whitney at the top of the show. Although I am not a religious person I thought the words were heartfelt and appropriate. As for the rest of the performances there were some highs and lows as always. The Foo Fighters brought the rock in a big way (twice) and Dave Grohl gave one of the most passionate acceptance speeches of the evening. He is exactly as he comes across in concert as he is in real life. It was worth enduring the McCartney ballad just to get to the jam of “The End” at the conclusion of the show. It was guitar heaven as Springsteen, Walsh, and McCartney. Grohl and Brian Ray duked it out in a scene more worthy of a smoky bar than an L.A. hockey rink. Chris Brown, Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj were all flash and little substance and seemed to be the type of artists that Grohl was eluding to in his acceptance speech. Somewhere in the middle was Bruno Mars.  I still have not bought in to him and the performance was half old Motown and half Morris Day. Good, but nothing original. I would still take Terrance Trent Darby. Adele was everything she was supposed to be both performing and accepting. Talent with no gimmick will always shine a little bit brighter. The Glen Campbell and Beach Boys segments were decent but I would have preferred Glen to sign a different song and also to have grabbed a guitar and played with The Beach Boys but I imagine his current condition would not allow for that and we should be thankful we got to see him in the spotlight one more time. I am not a huge fan of Foster The People but was charmed by them in the Beach Boys segment. Sure they were nervous but I though they pulled it off and loved the fact they rocked the classic Pendleton shirts. Speaking of charming The Civil Wars took their sixty seconds and made a Mumford & Sons-sized impression and next day iTunes charts attest to that fact. Perhaps every year a complete unknown band should be given 3 minutes to shine and the public can decide. With the money that could be saved from the production and salaries of such overblown shows as American Idol, The Voice and X Factor  you could record thousands of local bands. Hey Juno Awards, wanna give Amos The Transparent a three minute shot on the show this year? They are from your host town of Ottawa and they have a banjo (a recurring theme in this year’s Grammys). Speaking of banjos hats off to Taylor Swift for a fine performance as she rocked “Mean”. Maybe because I am knee deep in the series “Carnivale” right now but I thought she sounded and looked great. Jennifer Hudson did a nice job on the Whitney tribute but I might have preferred Dolly singing her hit as well. Coldplay were decent but I have had enough of the neon (but glad they have stopped taping their fingers) and Rhianna just does not do it for me.

All and all it was one of the better Grammy shows and it seems like people were watching as they had their highest ratings since 1984.  Let’s hope the Juno Awards can do the same. Last week they announced the 2012 nominees in the very funky setting of the Design Exchange. No real surprises and some enthusiasm for what William Shatner will do as the host. In June he gave the commencement speech for my son’s class at McGill and he was pretty entertaining so I am willing to bet he will do a good job at the Junos. The last time the awards were in Ottawa one of the highlights was the Juno train and I hope they plan on bringing that back this year. The awards will air Sunday April 1st on CTV.

Now I know that some of our writers don’t care at all for sports but you can all be good sports (and support a very good cause) but watching this short video by two of my favourite people in the Canadian music industry producer  Garth Richardson and  54.40’s Neil Osborne.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12aCLfBO5H0

Cool Planet News

Our company Cool Planet Entertainment/45 Records does not have any Juno (or Grammy) nominations this year but we are gunning for 2013. This week sees the release of Goodnight My Dear…I’m Falling Apart from Amos The Transparent on glorious vinyl. If you happen to go to a Cineplex Theatre during the month of March you might see them before your film. If you are near a radio Friday morning you can tune in to Q with Jian Ghomesi on CBC and hear them perform a couple of songs.  I will be in Ottawa at Ritual this Saturday night for the record release party (there is a Toronto show February 25th at The Horseshoe) and then travelling to Montreal  Sunday for the record release party of our new band M.T.L at La Sala Rossa. Produced by Justin Gray (who wrote a track on the new Glen Campbell record) this five piece Montreal band has topped the Quebec charts in French and will soon be on the English charts as well. Our very own Morgan Cameron Ross will open the show Sunday night and his new video “Johnny” has just been added to MusiquePlus. His new album is available from Sparks Music/Universal. Also on Sparks is the debut album from Papermaps which I highly recommend.

Congrats to my boys Gloryhound for playing four sold out shows with the legendary Deep Purple on the east coast last week. These kids have been fighting the uphill rock’n’roll battle for the past two years and things are finally starting to happen as their single “Electric Dust” is being played from coast to coast and charting nationally. They will be heading to Ontario for the month of March and there will be lots of shows across the province. All stacks, no Mac’s as we like to say.

As always if you are in Toronto and looking for a cool rock’n’roll diner please visit our friends at Shanghai Cowgirl 538 Queen Street West. It is right beside the world famous Bovine and around the corner from Cherry Cola’s.

Cameron Carpenter has written for The New Music Magazine, Music Express, The Asylum, The Varsity, The Eye Opener,  The New Edition, Shades, Bomp!, Driven Magazine, FYI Music News, The Daily XY and Don’t Believe A Word I Say.

Oh, I’m always ready for a go at the old days.  In the Pac Northwest, we had our own teen scene full of packed out National Guard Armories and the few teen clubs which existed in the day.  I remember being fascinated and regaled by the likes of Paul Revere & the Raiders and The Wailers and The Sonics and Don & the Goodtimes (not to be confused with the East Coast group of the same name— these guys were originally from Portland, Oregon).  I also remember the dark underside of the music scene, inhabited by the likes of Paul Bearer & The Hearsemen and The Live Five and Mr. Lucky & The Gamblers and so many more lesser knowns, which is who turned up at the armories in my part of the world (Mid-Willamette Valley, Oregon).  I remember cracking my window open to hear The Moguls as they played a gig at the American Legion Hall, or was it the VFW, in my Sweet Home, my home town.  I got a listen to every band who played there because it got very hot inside the club in the summer and they were forced to open windows and, man, the sounds that carried from window to window!

Of course, where I was, it was mostly guard armories and high schools.  I thought it was that way everywhere, so imagine my surprise when I found out that every little and big burg in the States had their own scene which didn’t revolve around armories, even if most did revolve around high schools.  Wayne Proctor (We The People) played mostly at youth centers and community centers, evidently the Central Florida equivalent of armories.  The L.A. Scene, according to Steve Young, revolved around actual clubs, most serving alcohol.  And Fort Worth— Fort Worth had A-Go-Go‘s, complete with dancers and music to blow the teen mind.  Dancers!  If they’d have tried that in Oregon, every conservative and church organization in the state would have been yelling for heads to roll because, really, who knew what could go on in such establishments?  What the hell is an A-Go-Go anyway?  (Us teens didn’t know, but had we known, we would have been lobbying like crazy for A-Go-Go’s— call it a learning opportunity)

Look, I am not new to Fort Worth.  I spent three years putting together a story of a shining example of success unrealized (Lost In Space:  The Story of Fort Worth’s Space Opera).  I heard about the A-Go-Go‘s.  I heard about the scene.  I heard about and heard much of the music.  I thought I understood, but hearing and knowing are two completely different things.  After watching the trailer for Teen A-Go-Go, I realize that I will never really quite know, but I’m having the time of my life learning.

In my limited existence, go-go was tacky New York clubs and Goldie Hawn between jokes on Laugh In.  It was, thanks to Hollywood, tinny canned music from would-be musicians who wished they could be in bands but were stuck cranking out generic instrumental licks for supposedly wild and cool parties which may have existed but to which no self-respecting teen would have gone (unless their hormones made them, because there were always beautiful model-types shagging (don’t laugh, kids, it was a dance) and frugging and even twisting their way through and around the swimming pool or beach or club).  But a go-go girl at a teen dance?  Only in our dreams.

Elaine McAfee Bender, an honest-to-God go-go dancer from the teen scene in Fort Worth, lived that dream.  She danced at the A-Go-Go‘s and danced in the A-Go-Go‘s.  She saw the bands, danced alongside them and was a fan.  She got the job through a Beatles fan club she had started with three of her girlfriends and that somehow got her a weekly stint at reporting the latest Beatles news on radio station KFJZ and that somehow got her the job as a go-go dancer.  She became a hostess for the station which was by then sponsoring dances and concerts in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.  She met many rock stars of the time— Jim Morrison and Paul McCartney and Peter Noone (Herman’s Hermits) and the members of bands like The Dave Clark Five and The Byrds.  Oh, she didn’t dance with any of the stars, but she did dance with their opening bands like The Elites and The Barons and her personal favorites (she was going with the band’s guitarist, Bill Ham) The Nomads.

That’s heady stuff, looking back.  That is equivalent to dancing with The Dynamics or The Viceroys or even The Kingsmen in the Northwest.  The bands?  Line ‘em up.  Along with the aforementioned Elites, Barons, and Nomads, she shared the stage with Space Opera‘s predecessor The Mods and Larry & The Blue Notes and The Jades and a slew of other bands, all cut from the same cloth— Sixties’ rock.  Who did she like best (besides The Nomads, of course)?

“The Elite were probably the most popular band in The Fort Worth area,” she said.  “I use the word ‘popular’ because that was truly what they were.  They had an advantage over many of the other bands because they had backing, possibly through their families.  Their startup seemed to be effortless whereas some of the guys were totally on their own.  Those guys were always begging and borrowing to go to Sears to pick up that little piece of equipment that The Elite already had.  Keep in mind that this is just my impression from being around the bands in their early days.

“But they also had girl appeal and I think they really worked at that, trying to sell themselves to the fans.  By this I mean they made a point of visiting and mingling with their fans.  They had printed photos and PR material.  They seemed to have mature guidance in marketing themselves.

“Because of this initial popularity, they had a real edge over the other bands.  As far as the other bands were concerned, it seemed that it wasn’t so much about gaining fans as it was playing the music that they loved.  Or getting gigs or a record deal.”

Still, playing dances was what made the bands and The Elite were much in demand.  They were early and they were extremely popular, packing in sometimes upwards of 1500 kids on a good night.

There was recording going on, as well.  The Elite recorded as did The Barons and The Jades and most of the bands playing the circuit of the time.  Radio was the key.  If you got on radio, you had a chance.  Otherwise, you either had to have connections or— there was always the Battle of the Bands.  At some point, promoters realized that putting four or five bands on a bill and making it a contest was a moneymaker, so they would throw the occasional rock ‘n roll gala.

“The Battle of the Bands was a neat way to do things,” Elaine said.  “As a fan, you got to sample a number of bands while it gave the guys a venue in which they could play to more people.  For the guys struggling to get known, the Battle of the Bands was about the only place they could go.  You had to be good to play an A-Go-Go.  You had to be a star because there were so many good bands that the A-Go-Go‘s didn’t have to just dredge up whoever was available.  They took the cream of the crop.

“Of course, The Elite always won every Battle of the Bands they played.  The voting was based  upon purchased tickets and they had the largest fan base.  I mean, when you have the fans there who are going to vote for you no matter what, you didn’t even have to get up and play.  The fans would have voted them in anyway.  I’m not saying they weren’t among the best.  I’m just explaining the way things worked.”

Indeed.  Had Paul Revere & The Raiders played a Battle in the Northwest, the results would also have been a foregone conclusion.

As for the A-Go-Go‘s, there were evidently two major players— KFJZ and The Beard Brothers.  According to Elaine, KFJZ was first out of the box, opening what became Holiday Hop (later named Holiday A-Go-Go) at the Holiday Roller Rink.  The Beard Brothers stepped in shortly thereafter and opened Teen A-Go-Go in an upscale area and after that, the race was on.  A-Go-Go‘s started opening everywhere.  There was Action A-Go-Go and  Irving A-Go-Go and, later, Panther A-Go-Go and a handful of others.  I have no idea how many are covered in the rockumentary.  I have only seen this trailer, but I have a copy coming and can’t wait to plow my way through it.

Was Fort Worth one of a kind?  May-be.  I know the Pac Northwest lived in a rock ‘n roll bubble, to a large degree.  I can tell you this much:  For a town that size, Fort Worth had more than its share of music and bands and, hey, go-go girls.  Makes me wonder why we didn’t get some of that go-go action up here.  Check out the trailer (click on “this trailer” in the preceding paragraph— you do know this, do you not?  Links are color-coded?).  If you’re as much a fan of the Sixties as I am, you’ll end up ordering it.

Oh, yeah.  I almost forgot.  Mark Noble, one of the main men behind the video, has written a book titled Fort Worth’s Rock and Roll Roots (Images of America) which is available at Amazon.  I’ll be checking that out as well.

Oh, and before I exit, stage left, be aware that Fort Worth’s Sixties bands’ music can be purchased.  Norton Records released three volumes of songs in a series titled Fort Worth Teen Scene 1964-67.  It will complement the video nicely, I am sure.  And if you have a yearning for Pac Northwest music, Norton also has a lot of product available from the old days— music by The Wailers and The Sonics and others.  Check them out here.

ROCKIN’ IN LAKE CHARLES…..

I know.  More Research Turtles.  I told you I wasn’t going to let it go until you checked these guys out.  Right now, there are two rock bands which have a good chance to make it if only people give them a chance— Des Moines’ Bright Giant and Lake Charles’ Research Turtles.  While Bright Giant is making waves in the midwest with their crunchy and very impressive Kings & Queens of Air, Research Turtles are either waiting for the right moment to release (or are possibly fine-tuning) the second part of their latest project, Mankiller Pt. 2 of 2.  While they’re working on the new stuff, they have made their primo Mankiller Pt. 1 of 2 EP a free download, so I suggest you head on over and download that sucker.  If you haven’t even tried, you’re missing out.  If you have and are awaiting Part 2, welcome to purgatory.  Download it at www.researchturtles.com….

Notes…..    For those of you who have been reading this column (and those of you who don’t, why not?), you may have noticed that I have been raving about the moderately successful and amazingly still undiscovered in many parts of the country Winterpills.  Well, to celebrate the release of their new album, All My Lovely Goners, they are offering a free download of one of the tracks from that fine, fine album.  It will be up for only a limited time.  I suggest you take advantage.  This band is one of a handful I cannot get my fill of (Did I just end a sentence with a preposition?  Sorry, Mr. Daghlian)…..  Nothing  makes my eyes roll back in my head as far as does the realization that Audrey Martell is not a major star.  She put together an incredible album, lifeline, which never fails to floor me.  That album, as obscure as it is, is major label great.  One reason I hate the majors is that they pass on completed projects which completely blow the artists they have signed and are promoting to oblivion.  Just follow this link and click on Heaven Is Hell and be ready to be impressed.  She is amazing…..  If you want to know how to make a name as a guitarist, you need go no further than watching the latest Jon Gomm video.  The guy has skills and a whole set of ethics many musicians would toss aside  in a second for a recording contract.  Gomm does it on his own.  And can he play!…..  .  I didn’t even know who Terri Tarantula was until Gary Heffern recently went on a rant.  She plays with The Walkabouts (who just released a very good album themselves), has one album on the market (self-titled) and is working toward the next which should be coming over the horizon any minute now.  Not quite like anything I’ve heard before and yet so familiar.    Check out a video of what I really hope will be on the new album, Paraffin Man…..  Heffern, by the way, is from San Diego via Finland and has returned to Finland to rediscover his roots.  He has been working on some new tracks with his band, Beautiful People.  Check out their last album, distributed by Glitterhouse.  It is something else…..

Frank’s column appears every Wednesday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

“Frank Gutch Jr. looks like Cary Grant, writes like Hemingway and smells like Pepe Le Pew. He has been thrown out of more hotels than Keith Moon, is only slightly less pompous than Garth Brooks and at one time got laid at least once a year (one year in a row). He has written for various publications, all of which have threatened to sue if mentioned in any of his columns, and takes pride in the fact that he has never been quoted. Read at your own peril.”