From amongst the many many projects, digital and otherwise, my To M’Lou Music label was involved with at the turn of the last centuries, the one I look back on most fondly – especially this month of all months, as The Man Himself would have, should have turned 82 (!) on the 17th – was/is a project I cobbled together which remains very dear indeed to both my heart and both of my ears.
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Adam Mitchell was an integral new addition to The Paupers on lead vocals and rhythm guitar. Bernie Finkelstein had come on board as manager and wasted no time getting the band signed to MGM Records stateside. It was a springboard for what was to come. Bernie wanted to showcase the band to their new American label. It meant heading to the USA.
Before we get into the meat of this column, let’s talk Winterpills. I have been a fan since hearing their 2010 EP Tuxedo of Ashes and have followed them since. Their one album of covers, Echolalia, was good enough to make me toss aside my disdain of this current trend, their arrangements making up for the usual lack of creativity on most bands parts. No such problem here. Love Songs is an all-original triumph, Philip Price writing his best songs since Tuxedo, and the band is in A-1 shape.
There’s a great time wasting pub game on social media quite popular with my music friends whereby you assemble the ultimate supergroup featuring your favourite musicians past and present.
I’ll be 50 years old on November 19th (send no cards, just cash, please). A half century of fun, frivolity and heart-ache. Fortunately, I’ve had a lot of the former 
and less of the latter. Annually, I chase the notoriety of the JFK assassination by three days…and every f*cking thing The Beatles have ever done. My moments of personal glory will always be overshadowed by what they did on my birthday in various years:
Since very young, I’ve been a reader. Not just casually, as in checking out the latest Stephen King novel, or flipping through the pages of a tabloid, but a hard core, genuinely addicted, unable to live without books, reader. I’m helpless in the face of 
the printed word. My books surround me, on shelves reaching to the ceiling, in every room, on every subject. If I were a literary Scrooge McDuck, I’d be diving into a vault full of books, and rolling in vellum.
It wasn’t “What if they threw a party and nobody came” but it was as close as I’ve ever seen it. I could have the story all wrong because there were only a few record label people I listened to in those days and they were not always in the know themselves (a standard paradigm for major labels worldwide, I do believe), but through a series of happenstances I actually got invited to a party (probably by mistake) and went.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 