Frank Gutch Jr: O Canada: A Nod to The Great White North— (and more of them goddamn notes)

 I am a lost Son of Canada.  I must be.  I love Canadian bacon, though bacon it not really be (except maybe technically).  I love Jennifer Dale, an actor who deserved much more than she has been afforded,  respect-wise (I reveled in her work on Canadian TV and film during Comcast’s all-too-short span of including CTV and CBC on their cable lineups in the ’80s).  I love Due South, one of the most creative and funny-on-so-many-levels series TV has ever created (the transition of Ray to Ray— David Marciano to Callum Keith Rennie— a work of pure writing craftmanship).

Frank Gutch Jr: Jim Colegrove, Part Two: The End of the Age of Innocence

Jim Colegrove, for those who don’t know, started in the music business before The Beatles were The Beatles— for you young turks, like, the Stone Age.  He has spent his decades in music— making it, producing it, listening to it— doing just about everything one can do with it.  He has forgotten more about music and the business than most of us will ever know.  Lucky for us, though, he took notes.  This is an historical look not only at the life of Jim Colegrove, musician, but Jim Colegrove, human; at the times and the changes both musically and culturally.  It is Part Two if his story.  Before you read this, you might want to read Part 1:  Jim Colegrove, The Early Years (click here—not required, but it would give you some background which might come in handy.

Cameron Carpenter: The ABC’s Of Rock – Missing Music Venues

Let’s continue our journey of missing musical venues. We were (and still are) very fortunate in and around Toronto at the amount of great clubs at our disposal. Some of the best (and worst) are long gone. When all of these clubs were at their heights beer was cheap and usually sold in ten ounce glasses by the tray and there was outrage when the price of cigarettes went up to a dollar in the cigarette machines. The air was thick with smoke and the stale scent of smoke and beer soaked carpets hit you like a ton of bricks when you walked thru the door.