It’s a long weekend, and here in my little corner of the city, it’s sunny and warm, with just a gentle breeze ruffling the ferns. My ‘regular customers’ – the little birds, Blue Jays, and squirrels – have already been by for their morning treats and have now gone off to hide from the local felines.
During a recent conversation on writing and music I was asked if I had ever heard of K-Pop. My answer was “no” although I was tempted to say “of course” me being a music junky and all. I’ve been told I don’t get out enough so I’m working on that. In the meantime…
After years of touring up and down the West Coast in The Family Tree, with forays into Montana, Idaho, Nevada, and Arizona, I thought I was a seasoned professional when it came to rock and roll touring.
I knew to take an empty suitcase so I’d have a way to bring all the crap you get on the road home with me. Promotional T-shirts from radio stations, books and comics and magazines you’d buy to read to stave off the road crazies, decks of cards, clothes bought from hippie clothing stores, hand made by beautiful, free-loving girls named Sunflower, Moonchild, and Debbie, hotel and motel towels, unsent postcards, souvenir ashtrays, gig posters and handbills, albums, assorted snacks indigenous to wherever we were, gifts from fans, and once…a big jar of homemade dill pickles.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 