I met Danny Schmidt at The Sisters Folk Festival nine years ago. He had invited me to attend, though I am sure he forgot it right away. I know I surprised him. My first words to him as he passed by to play a set in a tented area were “The Longhorns suck” which brought the Look of Death for Danny was and is a fervent Texas Longhorn fan, him having grown up in Austin and all. I realized my mistake right off. He had no idea who I was, having never seen me before. And it wasn’t his best day.
I don’t think anyone who has been graced at birth with two properly functioning ocular orbs and even the most unimpressive measure of cognitive facility could fail to notice that this world of ours is majorly fuckoed. To bear witness to this once mighty civilization caught in an uncontrollable tailspin of death; one needs only to cast one’s gaze over to the shocking state of rock-and-roll. No, I’m not talking about how bad music has gotten or how Jay-Z is the devil’s most cunning disciple bent on dragging our youth down into the fiery sulphurous pits of damnation with his piquant lyrical-stylings. What I am bone-chillingly referring to is the ever-swelling tidal wave of do-gooders in the rock and rap community. How bad have things gotten when we have fucking former punk rockers out raising money to save the rain forests!!???
The Easily Off-Track Intro:
I’ve lived in Los Angeles for almost 30 
years now. To quote Donny Osmond, “And that’s a long, long time.” Consider, when I moved to The City of Angels, curling still used actual brooms instead of those ultra-high-tech sweepy things. Am I the only 
traditionalist left on God’s rapidly-warming Earth who misses the majestic “Flappa Dappa, Flappa Dappa” of the mighty besom as stalwart men of iron will guided their beloved “rock” (I really know the lingo) to its date with other rocks of a different color and destiny?
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 