Pat Blythe – ONES, The LaMagna Cartel, Jully Black and …Music!

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.

Pat Blythe – Sisters, More Indie Week, a Finale……and Music!

Question: How many sisters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

Answer: Apparently two…..and that took over an hour!

Allow me to elaborate. I have a faux fireplace that, when switched on, displays (you guessed it) a faux fire, tricking my brain into thinking it’s warm and toasty on the main floor when in fact it can be, on some days, a tad on the coolish side. So, after a rather late night clubbing followed by a slow rising morning, my sister Chrissie (who is visiting for a couple of days) and I lounge around upstairs until we decide it’s coffee time. Off we trundle into a rather chilly downstairs. Chrissie decides to “light the fire”. She flicks the switch to ‘on’. Nothing. Tries the other switch, then the dial. Nothing. So after much switching back and forth and checking the plug, we determine a light bulb replacement is necessary. How difficult can that be? We were about to find out!

Pat Blythe – Indie Week, Jack The Lads, Loving Vincent…and Music!

 Indie Week in Toronto officially started last night with the big launch party at The Hideout starting at 7pm. Ran into (quite literally) Bruce Bradley of Slammin’ Media, Roxanne Tellier, Peter Montreuil, the man himself, Bob Segarini, photographer Micheal Macisaac, Hartley Pickens, owner of See Rock Live Magazine (whose huge RV was parked out front of the venue), producer/singer/songwriter Chris Birkett, Nadia Elkharadly of Addicted Magazine….and the list goes on.

JAIMIE VERNON – SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

24 hours ago a crowdfunding campaign to bring my old record label, Bullseye, back from the dead ended successfully with over $20,000 in donations from people who passionately believe in not only me and the label but music in general. I’m overwhelmed by the generosity and well wishes. I am truly humbled.

JAIMIE VERNON – THE MUSE STILL LINGERS

There was a scourge of new releases flooding my mailbox the last two weeks from busy rockers who had spent their summer vacation in steaming hot recording studios making the sweaty into sonic saltwater taffy. It’s encouraging to know that despite the bottom falling out of the bottom of the music economy, artists are still optimistically churning out art with the hope that some ear will be turned, some feet will tap and some groins will mobilize all in the name of soothing the soul.

JAIMIE VERNON – TAKIN’ CARE OF BACHMAN (PART 1)

Excerpted from the forthcoming book “Bullsography: The Bullseye Records Story 1985-2010”

JAIMIE VERNON – 29 WITH A BULLET

A major anniversary passed surreptitiously on April 20th. It was the 29^th anniversary of my long-suffering record label Bullseye Records. Normally I’d have shouted from the rooftops and run some kind of anniversary commemoration on Facebook or with musicians I know or privately, silently weeping, into my morning orange juice. But, I actually forgot about it.

So far removed am I from the music world now, and my own legacy, and exhausted from the grind that is my paycheck shackles that it slipped under my radar.

Roxanne – Such a tangled web

I’m getting a lot of requests to carry on dredging old musical memories out of my addled brain. Despite my protests, I’ll bow to that pressure, but I’m moving on now from the terrific bars and clubs of Toronto’s late 70’s and early 80’s, and on to an attempt to deconstruct the very fabric of the groups who filled those venues.

But first … an apology to our fearless leader, Bob Segarini. In an effort not to seem like an apple polisher, I failed to note his presence on the Toronto music scene in last week’s memoirs. Bob played at every venue I mentioned – he was everywhere.  And where he was playing, I’d show up sooner or later. You see, I’ve known Bob for longer than just about anybody who is still in my life.

Roxanne Tellier: My Toronto – Part Two

Toronto was a different place in the late 1970’s and early eighties. Although it’s easy to look back with rose coloured glasses, it was, in fact, a watershed time for Toronto musicians. Everywhere you turned, you were surrounded by outstanding music, made by dedicated and very talented players, who enjoyed the freedom to create their art, and make a living at the same time.

 

 

JAIMIE VERNON – IT’s YESTERDAY ONCE MORE

Well, we survived 2013. Most of us anyway. The entertainment industry lost nearly an entire generation of scenemakers from Jackie Lomax to Ray Manzarek to Slim Whitman to James Gandolfini to Annette Funicello to Peter O’Toole. The people making some of the greatest art of the last century have left it up to us to carry on without them. And we’re failing to do so at an alarming rate. Can you imagine anyone mourning the loss of a Jonas Brother or Paris Hilton in 50 or 60 years time other than their families? The global glue that connects us through the arts has been replaced by the transient flypaper brought to us by Snatch Chat and Twatter.  No wonder we hold onto our pop icons from the past for so long. Once they’re gone, we might very well lose the soul of music, film, stage, etc., forever. And that’s not just me spewing my usual dramatic hyperbole. I usually say let sleeping dogs lie while the new generation wages their own rebellion. Except the new rebellion wears designer logos, auto-tunes and sues the estates of dead soul singers pre-emptively in case the estate sues them first for stealing said dead soul singer’s music [Yeah, I’m talking about you Robin TheDicke].