If I didn’t know any better, I would say I am the victim of a Gypsy Curse.
Lately it seems that just walking down the hall has become an obstacle-laden course of Rube Goldberg slapstick and Orwellian conspiracy. Getting from Point A to Point B without slipping on a banana peel, having a piano fall on me, or tripping over my own two feet and landing in an Acme Wood Chipper has become totally impossible.
…and I’m not even chasing a road-runner.
There were at least ten of us sitting around the restaurant table. It was an impromptu dinner, decided upon on a whim. No vote, no forethought, just a bunch of like-minded people who found themselves together and decided they were hungry.
There was Steve Lalor, a guitarist from Seattle who was in a band we were all sure was going to make it, called the Daily Flash. There was Chris Ethridge, multi-talented bassist for the Flying Burrito Brothers and studio cat who had played with a lot of our favourite artists. Chris was a good old boy who lived in the canyon and whose door was always unlocked, always inviting.
One of the jobs I have laid out before me is writing reviews, not just of music I love but books and other things which give me delight. It is fun most of the time but lately I am beginning to wonder if I have not taken on more than I can handle. Mentally, I find my self flagging, stacks of CDs and numerous digital files and the occasional vinyl LP/EP, ready to review when I first received them, still there, not reviewed. I want to get to them but for some the words don’t come and for others there is just not enough time. The problem is the listening. I have always prided myself on listening to each album numerous times before putting word to paper, as it were, but if I continue that I will eventually either quit out of frustration or guilt.
There were at least eleven of us sitting around the restaurant table. It was an impromptu dinner, decided upon on a whim. No vote, no forethought, just a bunch of like-minded people who found themselves together and decided they were hungry.
I’m about to go off on a diatribe involving Neil Young (quelle surprise). If you’re a fan of Shaky you best leave this blog, get out your gatefold vinyl copy of ‘Harvest’ – yeah, the one you used to separate your weed seeds on and is stained with hash oil – click on a black light and tune out. This note’s definitely not for you.
Last week Neil Young – a Canadian that hasn’t lived in Canada since 1967 – decided to come home to play a few shows in an effort to raise 
money and awareness about (among other things) global warming, carbon footprints, fossil fuel, Corporate Oil gluttony, and the rape & pillage of land that Canada’s national people were handed in antiquated treaties back when White Man’s Guilt was an honourable profession for enterprising transplanted Euro-Dandy’s.
Jaimie’s great column this week (125 Influential Albums) got me to thinking about the music that impacted on my life over the years. There are far too many to name-check, so I came up with the following, which is an updated column from 3 years ago when I was writing for the dearly departed FYIMusic. These albums not only engaged me when they were released, but continue to entertain and educate me now, decades later.
I’m not sure if these LPs are even available on CD or for download, but if they are, seek them out and have a listen. They are, without exception, the jumping off points for entire long lasting careers and even genre changing sub-streams of musical exploration. The long awaited conclusion of Segarini: Stockton, Daring-Do, and Cruisin’ the Miracle Mile runs tomorrow…finally.
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There is nothing wrong with popularity or financial success. In fact, both are pretty damned sweet. Some popular and financially successful music artists are deserving of this, and the great ones not only live up to our expectations, but grow their status into a career and continue to reward us with brilliant music and performances. The Sinatra’s, the Presley’s, the Bennett’s and the Martin’s. The Lennon’s and McCartney’s and Harrison’s. We not only grow to love and respect them, they reward us with more greatness, sometimes for years to come…and their music lasts through generations. But what about the ones who fail to achieve popularity and financial success, but are no less deserving?
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Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 