Roxanne Tellier – Doomed to Repeat

When I was a kid in Montreal, most of the dads (and some of the moms) were veterans of the World War II, and the Korean War, which had ended just a few short months before I was born.

Roxanne Tellier – Watching The Dream Die

If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.”
— Lyndon Johnson, 36th President of the United States of America

Martin Luther King Jr had a dream. And he died for it, along with the many others, of all colours, who fought to bring the civil rights movement to America.

Roxanne Tellier – Mid August

Mid August, and most days I feel like, this year, summer never really got started. Maybe it’s the weather, or the political climate, but something feels off-kilter. My potted veg and herbs are in shock; it’s been either torrential rain or temps in the 90s – sometimes in the same 24 hours – every day since they were planted. Sodden pots sit cheek by jowl with containers so arid they threaten to burst into flame. There won’t be much of a harvest this year.

Frank Gutch Jr: John Stewart— More Than Just “Gold”; Wayne Berry— Welcome Home

I picked up a turntable for my sister a couple of months ago.  She had found what she said was about twenty of her old albums (it was more like a hundred and fifty) and had the urge to once again hear them.  Mostly they were albums I remember her liking— Percy Faith, Rod McKuen, Enoch Light and the like.  She drove me nuts with those albums when we were kids but I secretly liked a lot of them.  (I did truly hate the Sound of Music, Colleen, but the others were okay).

Roxanne Tellier – Blackberries and Entitlement

There is a very nice house on the corner of my street. The back yard is surrounded by a tall fence, but as you walk by, you can peep through, and see that there is a lovely garden inside, with a deck, and a nice patio seating area. It’s all very well kept and tidy.

Plants peek out through the fence, as plants will. There are some flowers, and a few weeds, and some of those long, brambly, blackberry stalks, the sort that seem to go from manageable to ‘ow! that long branch just scratched my arm!” in a matter of seconds.

Frank Gutch Jr: Charlottesville Revisited (Revisited),

The reason Charlottesville is being (Revisited) is because I do believe that somewhere out there in the ether Charlottesville has already been Revisited and, hell, I am sure I confuse people often enough without reusing headers.  It would be akin to writing a book and naming all the chapters “Chapter One,” which, now that I think about it, is a pretty good idea.  But the second Revisited, placed in parentheses, separates the first from the second, does it not?

Frank Gutch Jr: 10 Ways Devon Sproule & Paul Curreri Can Kick Your Ass…..

Devon, you have no idea the trouble you have caused me over the years.  Since hearing your most excellent Keep Your Silver Shined album back in 2006, I have been a slave to your music.  I have written about it and promoted it and played it in the shower.  I have taken your music for long romantic drives and have used it as background music for romantic dinners.  I have listened to it, all of it, enough to have made it part of my DNA and I have even adopted the Smokey Mountains, though mountains they hardly seem to a guy who grew up at the base of the Cascade Mountains in Oregon.  That old Virginia block?  My heart broke when you deserted it.  You had me convinced that you would never leave the Blue Ridge.  I mean, you sang about it!

Frank Gutch Jr: Sheldon Gomberg: One of the Good Guys, Too Slim: Hot!!!, Charlottesville: WarHen and County Wide… The Phoenix Rises, My Father’s Day, plus Notes (you really should be reading them, you know)…..

I wasted 75 minutes of Sheldon Gomberg‘s time last week.  Do I feel crappy about it?  You bet.  I suppose 75 minutes doesn’t mean that much to many of you but then you probably don’t work as much as Sheldon does.  See, Sheldon is a recording engineer and runs his own studio and after talking with many of that ilk, time is always of the essence.  You’re working when you’re not working— going over the day’s session(s), preparing for tomorrow’s, organizing, always organizing.  What?  You think those albums just appear on your shelves?

Frank Gutch Jr: Grown in Charlottesville, An Early Look at Rounder Records (via Warner/Reprise and Peter Stampfel), and Notes…..

When I first started getting into music, really getting into music beyond AM radio and the string of hits I always thought was everything music, there were three cities.  Only three.  Los Angeles, Chicago and New York.  Those were the three graced by the large offices of the major labels and those were the three which produced the vast majority of music which made it to the airwaves.  Or so it seemed.  Isolated in Oregon (and trust me, kiddies, it was isolation), the world looked so simple and yet so daunting, even on AM radio.  Generalizations were common.  Vocal groups all came from or at least came out of New York City.  Soul was courtesy of Detroit and Chicago and Detroit.  Surf music was West Coast and sand-infested.  Country was all Bakersfield or Nashville.  But they all were filtered through the Big Three:  Los Angeles, Chicago and New York.  That’s where the major labels lived.  That’s where the money was.  That was where artists went to make it  big, no matter where they originated.