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.
Someone once told me I was eccentric. I laughed out loud because I am the least eccentric of any people I know. I am, in fact, so normal and middle-of-the-road that I occasionally label myself boring. I am. Boring, that is. I am a puddle of mediocrity in a pool of ordinary. The jack of all trades and master of none. Neither the dimmest bulb nor the brightest. Plain yogurt. A one dollar bill. I am as exciting as baseball in the off-season and Christmas in July. I have been the second choice of too many girls to recount (Gosh, Frank, if it wasn’t for— insert name here— it would be you) and the tenth choice on a team of nine. I write because I have no other talent. I am the sponge which lives vicariously. Even the kids who love me abandon me when they are old enough to realize…
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.
It has been another one of those days. I struggled with what I thought was a good idea all day but it turned to dust in my hands. Pure drivel. Which leaves me with what I consider the best part of my column anyway— The Notes. Feel free to take your time, enjoy the news and videos, maybe take it a step further if you have a mind to. The artists I feature in my columns are always meant as a fingerpoint. Seriously. I am still searching for the music of Lisa LeBlanc, one of my discoveries from last week. The good ones deserve the scrutiny. For right now, I am going to take my tired carcass to bed. It has been frustrating, to say the least. I only wish my dog had eaten my homework.
Fall is a beautiful time of year. Leaves turn color, the air gets crisp. It’s football time and the kids return to school. Hunting season is just around the corner. I have lived through more than a few and can attest to the fact that it is not like any other season, but then I say that about all the seasons. I love them all but I learned to love Fall best when I worked retail in the old music stores of my past for that was the time record labels came alive. It was their last chance to release the albums they wanted to push before Christmas needing the two or three months to gain traction for the big push, for there was no other season like Christmas season when it came to hawking music wares. Well, those days are past but it seems like they are back because some of the best have chosen this Fall to release their new albums and, man, am I pumped!
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.
Before we get into the meat of this column, let’s talk Winterpills. I have been a fan since hearing their 2010 EP Tuxedo of Ashes and have followed them since. Their one album of covers, Echolalia, was good enough to make me toss aside my disdain of this current trend, their arrangements making up for the usual lack of creativity on most bands parts. No such problem here. Love Songs is an all-original triumph, Philip Price writing his best songs since Tuxedo, and the band is in A-1 shape.
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.
One hell of a year for music. Not so much for musicians— at least the musicians no longer with us. Hard to balance a year like that, pluses and minuses popping up like ads from a virus, canceling one another out or piling one on top of the other ad infinitum until the system collapses from the weight. We all felt the weight whether we all know it or not. So many musicians now on the other side but, lucky for us, so many new musicians taking their places. Jesus. My head spins.
Christmas. It’s the time for joy and camaraderie and faith. It’s the time of giving and sharing and, for most, receiving. Debts are forgiven at Christmas, and people too. Indeed, the power of Christmas could almost save the world and would, according to Hollywood, if given half a chance.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 