Yesterday I went through all of the private messages I’d shared with Frank Gutch Jr, since I’d first encountered him. It was in 2013, just after I’d begun writing this weekly column, and right from that first message, it was as though we were separated at birth.
I know it’s true because I have just had an epiphanic weekend (and a few naps) and can see clearly now (with a nod to Johnny Nash, whose I Can See Clearly Now has indeed stayed the same for decades). It has been a flashback in more ways than one. The music, of course, for I have been handed some of the best retro I’ve heard in some time. A few thoughts came to mind too, thanks to Jaimie Vernon‘s reactivated Bullseye Canada Records and a bit of time trying to figure out exactly what happened to the old music industry paradigm, and while I see a bright future for music I see a constant morphing happening as well. The print side of music is also showing signs of life again, though not yet for writers, who will have to suffer the bread lines for awhile longer if not forever.
Christmas. It’s the time for joy and camaraderie and faith. It’s the time of giving and sharing and, for most, receiving. Debts are forgiven at Christmas, and people too. Indeed, the power of Christmas could almost save the world and would, according to Hollywood, if given half a chance.
I remember it like it was yesterday, hearing that John Stewart had left us. My heart sank and all that was good seemed to disappear. John and I had been acquaintances, of a sort. We had met when a salesman working for a distributor handling Stewart’s own label, Neon Dreams, brought him into the dungeon at Peaches Records in Seattle for a visit. We were introduced and I liked him from the first handshake. I at first felt intimidated, of course. How could you not be when you considered his background— the Kingston Trio albums and before that, The Cumberland Three, and after that, the incredibly huge string of solo albums.
If you have never stumbled through the night listening to something you’d never heard before you’re not going to understand what a thrill this is, but I am right now diving through a string of songs by The Green Pajamas‘ Eric Lichter that I don’t think even he knew were posted. Not that long ago, I was searching Facebook for possible inclusions in the Notes section of this column and Eric posted a couple of songs on a site called Broadjams.com.
I don’t know what youth wants from us old farts, especially when it comes to music. Many mock us for being Boomers, many laugh at our music. I can understand. I laugh at us, too. Our insistence that stars are gods, especially rock and movie stars. Our self-indulgence. Our knowledge that we more than any others are omniscient. God, but there have been times when I wished I had been borne of another generation (until I look at the other generations and realize that they are as fucked up as are we).
We have been standing by the rubble of the once mighty and proud music industry for some time now and while we all have theories as to what happened and why, it does not change what is, and that is a gutted and rotting carcass slowly feeding on itself. Does Universal own everything yet? The last time I looked, they were like vultures, awaiting the estate sales of EMI and whatever other labels were left (I lost track long ago, having tossed major labels to the curb along with their stable of “stars”) and trying to stem the bleeding results of their own ignorance.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 