I must listen to hundreds of albums a year— at least sample that many— and there are few which really floor me. I try to write about the ones which do, though even then the words sometimes escape me and those reviews remain unwritten. It isn’t easy, writing reviews on a constant basis, so when an album comes along which I not only love but wish I could have been part of— or at least been privy to some of the creative process— it is rare.
I’ve been pretty much off the ‘net and the grid for the better part of a month. Call it ‘interesting times,’ but damn, I’ve been keeping busy!
When we sold the house last fall and moved into a suite of rooms, it was with the fervent hope that we could stay put for a while. But it was not to be … a girl needs her kitchen and her ‘things’ around her, and my poor cats were traumatized by the presence of another cat in the residence. it was all too much.
A simple recipe it was. Sprinkle a few hundred radio stations throughout the United States and Canada, mix with rock ‘n’ roll and stir. Stir up would be a more apt term because when the music hit the airwaves, the shit hit the fan— the music fan, that is. Not a big deal, you say? You’re probably right. In the grand scheme of things, a handful of traditionalists screaming McCarthyisms in a world already changed beyond their understanding would turn out to be flies on a horse’s ass, so to speak, and to scream them at teens plugged into a jukebox or record player at full volume was, well, laughable, but scream them they did and, as they say, the rest is history.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 