Andrew and I had been ensconced in the fire-hazard hills above the City of Angels for about a week and fortune had smiled down upon us like it thought we were somebody else. I’d shared a chat and a giggle with a half-naked woman, we’d eaten at The Sizzler and my apartment in Oshawa began to seem like a badly decorated, foul-smelling dream. By the time The Fifth Estate arrived, Nicholls & Vickers had become as Hollywood as a high colonic gift certificate.
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I don’t know about the rest of you but I could sure take a break from what is going on in this city (Toronto) and the constant wave of recent passings.
In the sixties and seventies the comedy album was king. Teenage beer drinking parties were not complete without someone slipping on a George Carlin or Monty Python record, while stoners tended to listen to Cheech & Chong. Pot humour just wasn’t for me. Some of the older crowd would listen to National Lampoon or Firesign Theatre records but their humour was a little to advanced for me at that point in my life.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 