Well, it’s been a hell of a year, folks. Between the continued restrictions from COVID and the uncertainty of our times, many like myself have sought solace in music. GWNtertainment would like to thank the many music publicists who supply us with the news we share, and to the musicians battling both employment and the continued devaluation of their art, we salute you. Your music does matter. It does make a difference and it makes writing this column worth every minute.
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One thing the nine months of The Eternal COVID Darkness has given us is a short reprieve from the rampaging assault of shopping mall music. Without the frequent stops at the McMall a few times a week to lose hours of one’s life jockeying for parking, hitting the food courts, and indulging in one’s fetish for window shopping at stores no one can afford, we have been spared music dialed in from Satan’s radio station itself.
Now that I have your attention, let’s talk about music in the time of COVID, shall we?
In the Before Times (March 2020 or sooner) the music industry was teetering on the brink of obsolescence as concert tickets had skyrocketed to the price of, well, a moon-landing, and venues were closing down at a rate equal to Nortel distributors. The music itself had been co-opted by the tech industry through streaming platforms, leaving artists wondering how they got robbed so badly (here’s a hint: you’re the cow, the music’s the milk…insert cliché about not buying the former if you can get the latter for free). On a scale of economics, you’re either a starving creator or a billionaire exploiter. There is no middle class in music. And given that most weasels in the music industry aren’t clever enough to become billionaires, they turn to low hanging fruit and pick the pockets of performers and songwriters for pennies on the dollar.
A Philosophic Moment….
Here we are…..right where we’re supposed to be. Precisely at this spot…..in this instant….this moment in time. Think about it. I’m sitting here typing away. Sometime later today or tomorrow, you’re sitting there reading what I am now typing, while I’m already doing something else. Now, look up and let your eyes roam around. What do you see? I’ll tell you what I see? I see a life that has unfolded and significantly changed over the past five years. I see my kitchen, the twinkle lights, the coffee and tea supplies waiting patiently…. I see my kitchen witch on her broom bringing me luck and the bookcase holding all my cookbooks…..the last thing Chris built for me. I see the sweet potatoes and pears, lounging on their plate until it’s time for the soup pot. I see my drums, piano and guitar……a big comfy couch. I see the home I’ve created and welcomes all who enter. I see my fingers on a keyboard typing inanities and loving every minute of it. How does it make me feel? Happy! I do indeed love my life and all those who have become a part of it. So, as you read this, stop, wherever you are, at this exact instant (your instant in time), take a moment to look around. What do you see? How do you feel? Be Here Now. Continue reading
With my ‘True Tales From a Cemetery Cop’ being released October 3 I’ve finally returned to finish writing the book I promised a year ago – the history of Bullseye Records of Canada.
This week I stepped into a Facebook hornets nest of women commenting on a current concert photo of Tom Jones. The conversation was going along swimmingly as the ladies talked about when they’d seen him perform for the first time, the last time, how great he still sounds and what their favourite songs were. Then it happened. Someone said he was still ‘hot’. And that’s when I lost it. I dove in with a roundhouse to the solar plexis. My response to the thread is the same as it is every time I see a pop star’s picture posted and banal conversations about same. Guys talk about the music – guitar solos, drum technique, wicked harmonies, cool staging and lighting, and the show itself. The ladies, meanwhile, talk about the hotness. The tight trousers, the long, shiny hair, the puppy-dog eyes and kissable mouth. Everything but the music or the performance. And they call guys superficial? If men think with their penises and listen to music with their ears, then women think with their hearts and listen to music with their vaginas.
When I first moved to Canada I was drawn to the music coming out of Montreal. We (The Wackers) had gone there in the first place to record the follow up to our first album, Wackering Heights as a kind of reward for making such a good debut LP. Our producer, the legendary Gary Usher, had promised to take us somewhere exotic to do the next record if the first either sold a pant-load, or the record was really good. The record was really good. Although I had played Vancouver at various times in different bands, Montreal was a mystery to me. Usher told me, “You’ll love it! They all speak French!” Wow, I thought, we’re going to Europe. Then I looked Montreal up in our huge Rand McNally World Atlas. Oh. We’re going to Canada. Fuck!
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 