Frank Gutch Jr: Generation Found; It Was a Long Walk Home (Thoughts Spurred By Separation From Viet Nam-Era Army); plus N-n-n-n-notes…

 

For years I have been telling you that music isn’t just music.  Some of you understand, mostly musicians who spend a lot of energy and time helping out those in need.  Others shrug it off because they know either that there is no good music anymore so what good would it do, or that musicians are either children avoiding growing up or are millionaires waiting for the train.  Don’t tell that to the people at Sweet Relief or Musicares or any of the other charity organizations out there.  There is a lot of hard work being laid down by scores of musicians and music people, aware that good fortune can turn sour at the drop of a hat.

Frank Gutch Jr: Earlier, On Planet Normanium (Part One)— Research Turtles Redux and Baseball As We Never Knew It; Plus N-n-n-notes!

Some things just will not let go.  Seven years ago I discovered the Research Turtles.  For the last two, I had hoped for a reunion.  I now know it will not happen.  Even if they got back together, they would be a different band.  They have grown as individuals and probably matured musically beyond that band and could never capture what they once had, but for five years I envisioned success and that period gave me hope in a world pretty much without hope, the music business morphing into something beyond my recognition, the Eks and the Westergrens of the world using what I consider stolen music to build huge bank accounts for themselves and others off of the labor of musicians.  That Research Turtles do not today exist is not surprising, for who would want to hand their creations to someone else for a pittance while they made millions.

Frank Gutch Jr: The Beginnings of Christian Rock— erm, Contemporary Christian Music, plus Notes…..

Yep.  Braindead again.  After struggling for four days and working my way through four— count ’em, four starts, I find myself without a column and already an hour past deadline.  How do these things happen, I keep asking myself, but they do and when they do I wish I was drinking again.  Back in the old days, if I couldn’t get something down in a certain period of time I would pop a cold one and before the six-pack was done, I didn’t care anymore so I would type until it looked like there were enough words (or I couldn’t see the keys anymore) and would hit ‘send’ and to hell with it, you know?