Tuesdays are “writing day”…..supposedly. Then all hell breaks loose. Why can’t it be on Monday, or even Wednesday AFTER I’ve filed my column? Deep breath…..inhale. It’s the exhale I sometimes forget. Okay, crank up the music. Ah, there’s nothing a little two-step around the kitchen floor that won’t cure whatever ails ya. ….and breathe….. Way behind on photo reviews and albums, so much to do, so little time. …and now for the column, something a little different.
Let’s go back to September 25 and a late night visit to Cherry Cola’s Rock ‘n Rolla Cabaret and Lounge. With my sisters in tow, we ducked into the club so I could introduce them to the exquisite Cherish Stevenson, the club’s owner and gracious hostess, and give them a small taste of the nightlife in Toronto. Cherish pulled me aside to let me know Cherie Currie was playing the club and would I be interested in shooting the event. It took me a nanosecond to say yes, I’d love to.
The big Indie Week finale is tonight at 6 p.m. at the Mod Club, where one of the acts that won their nights at the various venues will become “The Best of the Fest,”and earn the grand prize of a trip to headline the nextIndie Week Canada. Good luck to all the finalists; Ivy James, Uniter,Kendal Thompson,Gold Complex, The Reklaws,BlakDenim,Aaron Pollock Music, The Killing Floor,&Amberwood!
Ch-ch-ch-cha-changes
I have been slowly getting to know my fellow writers, conversing with them through Facebook, email and over the phone. A what! Yep, a real live telephone. You know, those devices that allow you to actually hear what the other person sounds like while enjoying honest-to-goodness dialogue. Fingers seem to do more walking and mouths less talking these days. We are no longer an oral society. The world of banter, tete-a-tetes and nattering have gone the way of such foods as pineapple upside down cake. (remember those) Mmmmmm……
The impetus, for what has now become a series, was my discovery of an old vinyl record by Maggie Bell. I came across it going through one of my many purge cycles. Suicide Sal, released in 1975, was my introduction to the blues….I just didn’t know it then. I wasn’t in the habit of labeling types of music in my younger years, I just knew what I liked. Greg Simpson, who happened to be managing the now defunct Records on Wheels in London, Ontario, recommended the album, thinking I might like it. I loved it and still do. Thank you Greg!
Lord Farlsworth, that magnificent cougar-faced beast, has been waking me up at ever earlier hours (4:15 a.m. today … a new record!) with yowls that pierce through a sleep-sodden brain. If ignored, Lord F pounces on little Jay, my delicate flower of a girl cat. Since he outweighs her by 10 
pounds, and she can’t stand him, a classic cat fight, complete with Siamese screams, ensues, and I’m getting up, damnit, like it or not.
But the crazy thing about the Jay/Lord F battles is that, once physically separated, the tiny Jay will then search the house to find him. It’s a classic “good girl” love/hate relationship with a “bad boy.”
I definitely go to more concerts than the average person. Some are small scale, like 25 people in a tiny bar. Others are huge, like selling out huge sports arena huge. Sometimes it starts to wear a little thin, the constant going out to different venues night after night, seeing band after band. Don’t get me wrong, I still, and will always, love live music. But as I mentioned in my last column, the excitement waxes and wanes when it comes to all the shows I go to. But sometimes a special show comes along that really rekindles my passion for live music. One of those such shows happened just the other day.
I’ve been posting a steady stream of travel pictures on Facebook both for posterity and to entertain the millions of ‘friends’ I have online who might be tired of my abrasive and often hostile status updates. From these postings came comments from people who dream of traveling or visiting such exotic places as Flin Flon, Manitoba or South Bend, Indiana.
It’s that time of year again; let the debates begin as the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame ready their class of 2013. There is no pleasing everyone and the HOF is no different. Now even calling it the “Rock And Roll” Hall of Fame is a bit of a stretch. My definition of rock is pretty narrow and would not include 90% of hip-hop, 99% of disco (I will give a pass to “I Was Made For Loving You” by Kiss), very little funk and almost no folk. Their definition seems to be constantly fluid and I can only agree or disagree with their choices by means of my own internal rock’n’roll barometer.
Feminism can be a rather abstract concept. There’s a huge spectrum, from the convenient feminist, who embraces the notion when it suits her, to the militant angry feminist who spells woman “womyn” and eschews the masculine in everything except, apparently her appearance. But something that everyone should be able to agree on is that feminism, at its core, is about equality for women. A woman can and should be able to do everything that a man can do.
Bullseye Records of Canada
