In 1970, Mary Richards and The Mary Tyler Moore Show debuted to a changing world. Women like my mum, who had left school in grade 9 during the Great Depression, were watching the rise of feminism, and wondering how the heck they were supposed to react and behave.
At a recent jam, a bunch of the players got to talking about songs that had surprised or shocked our sensibilities, either at first listen, or upon reflection. As vocalists or musicians, we had learned the actual lyrics, not just taken the overall gist. It’s different, when you have to memorize lyrics, rather than just bop along to a current song.
At the beginning of the year I joined a cult. It was the cult of Netflix, and I’ve been a happy convert ever since I made the switch. My television watching habits aren’t like the average user; generally when I’m watching something I’m working, either writing for Addicted, editing photos, editing other peoples articles, the usual. Netflix suits my habits perfectly; I can mainline entire seasons of shows over the span of the many hours I spend typing/reading/clicking away with very little effort. It’s allowed me to catch up on some series that I watched sporadically years ago, one of which, along with some seriously depressing current events, will meanderingly lead to the actual topic of my column.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 