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 was sitting here navigating the social media this past week when I noticed a rockumentary I thought I had seen before— one on Ed Dougherty, who had headed up Oregon’s connection to rock music back in the sixties, booking acts both local, regional, and national in the Pacific Northwest. I was sure I had seen it, having written about it in more than one of my columns, but I was feeling nostalgic and took the plunge anyway.
If you live in the States or Canada, you can be forgiven for not knowing about Majors Creek, for there are plenty of people who live in Australia who know little or nothing about it. Here is a DBAWIS primer for those in the dark.
I wrote half a column about my father before I realized it was way too personal to put out in the Net, so I’ve decided to glean what I consider the best Notes I have posted over the past few years. Notes, for those new to my process, are the small items I usually place at the end of each column, usually the more newsy or just musical items. Lots of videos, a bit of news and a lot of fun to put together.
But before I begin passing out (No, wait! There is more!) awards and kudos to those who made a huge difference in my attitude and my life, let me point you all to a problem we in America (including the hat— that be Canada) should embrace— the media. Not that the media itself is the problem, but (as pointed out by Roxanne Tellier‘s DBAWIS column of just two days ago) how we have allowed politics to destroy it.
Shari Ulrich, in her latest blog, talks about the future from a perspective of the past, her point being that she had not even an inkling of what was to happen while it was even happening. To live in the present is, in essence, to live in the future because time has no on and off buttons. Every second we live is another second into the future and another second away from the past. We experience it on an ongoing basis, the seconds ticking away into minutes and then hours and then days and then weeks until we are at a point we stop (though it never really stops) and look back, wiping our brows and wondering, where did it all go? And wish that we had maybe paid more attention.
God, but I love Australia. I love the openness and the freedom and the idealism. I love their uniqueness— I mean, what other continents have such cool animals as the duck-billed platypus and kangaroo and koala. What other continent has the history, much of it forgotten outside that country’s boundaries— the penal colonies (Did you know that England sent their undesirables to the soon-to-be United States before diverting them to Australia? Colonies were colonies to those inbred bastards back then, eh?), the rabbit roundups (The newsreel clips are pure science fiction! Check out the little video I found on Youtube which highlights the problems of invasive species down under), the flying doctors, the centralization of schools. The Outback. Uluru (Ayers Rock to those outside Australia), The Great Barrier Reef.
I thought Research Turtles had a solid chance. I really did. They had everything going for them— solid music, a great attitude, a growing following. Evidently, though, you need more than music and attitude in today’s music world. You need a honey boo-boo (whatever that is) or need to be a two year old master of the guitar or something. I told Jud that. He said it was too late, that he was already past the age of incredulity. It ain’t easy being an adult.
I sit in a small enclosed room and await the first rain in a few months, feeling sorrow for those who live in drought-infested areas and have to wait for the life-giving water which falls from the sky. It is a wondrous thing, rain. I cannot imagine living without it, having grown up in the Pacific Northwest where rain and indeed weather is such a factor in life. In the past more than the present, of course, because the State of Oregon depended upon farming and logging for so many decades and God knows that farmers and loggers constantly looked and look to the sky, hoping that the gods are friendly.
Before we dive in to that 800 pound gorilla, Spotify, I want to point out that Toronto has two more chances to catch one of the most impressive bands to live within Canada’s borders. I caught Picture The Ocean‘s set in Portland a week or two ago and I couldn’t have been more impressed. Impressed enough to keep the new album on heavy rotation, listening-wise. Impressed enough to relive many of the outstanding moments of the band that night. Impressed enough to trumpet the band to any and all who will listen. This band is the real deal, my friends, and they are holding down a “residency” (whatever the hell that is) at The Cameron House the next two Tuesdays and will be playing from 6-8 PM. Now, I don’t jump up and down for that many artists and/or bands (okay, I do, but it’s only because the bands I love are bands you need to hear), so take my word for it. If I’m wrong, I’ll give you ten free whacks at the whipping post. I’m telling you, these guys are good! An antidote to the musical blahs. An argument against there being no good music anymore. You can thank me later. And now…
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 