Editor’s Note – Originally posted on January 21st 2015, this column bears repeating. Proud to say our track record is pretty good for sniffing out greatness in a sea of popular, financially successful mediocrity, but the continued confusion regarding the differences in worthiness and rose-coloured glasses steeped in nostalgia, needs to be addressed. When it comes to Greatness, consider the majority of what you hear on terrestrial radio as nothing more than Alternative Fact.
“What I feel inside I can’t explain. That John Entwistle should die in his late fifties is totally unthinkable. He was the indestructible one. He was the rock. He was the island. He was the fulcrum on which it all hinged.” – Mick Farren
“John was the best. He made “My Generation,” along with the other lads, one of the greatest records of all time.” – Peter Noone
“I think John was the pivotal member of the most exciting rock band to emerge on the British music scene in the Sixties.” – Brian Auger
As most pretty-pointedly shown throughout Martin Scorsese’s remarkable No Direction Home, the ’66-model Bob Dylan was an American idol at the indisputable peak of his powers as the [insert your own convenient pigeonhole here] Poet/Laureate of a Generation, Crown Prince of the (Thinking Man’s) Hit Parade, or – my personal favorite – Snot-headed, Venom-spewing Anti-Rockstar of All Time.
Late one night in very late 1976, a singer acquaintance of mine burst into the (condemned) house I was then sharing with the neighbourhood bar band, shouting “You will never believe what I just saw in Toronto tonight! These four guys with Brian Jones haircuts wearing drainpipe Levis, singing all these really fast, short songs. Lots of ’em, too! And the best part? NO GUITAR SOLOS!”
What with the recent Blackmore brew-ha-ha all over his old pals’ induction – Finally! – into that so-called Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I was reminded to dig out three vintage CD’s from my by-far favorite, as in Mark I version of Deep Purple.
Continue reading
The demise of Rock And Roll has been greatly exaggerated by the likes of Gene ‘I don’t know how to work an iPad‘ Simmons. That’s not to say we shouldn’t have it on suicide watch and coax it back from the ledge where its been hanging by its finger tips since Axel Rose delivered ‘Chinese Grafitti‘ and not ‘Appetite For Destruction 2‘.
Well…. This was supposed to be Part Five of The Women of Rock. However, I’m going to take a break and fill you in on some of the sights and sounds of this dynamic city I call home….Toronto…. Hogtown… Muddy York…. The Big Smoke…. Tdot…. where I’ve been going, who I’ve been seeing, what I’ve been drinking (G&T w/lemon if you must know. Bombay Sapphire is the chosen one.) AND update you about an exciting event that’s coming to Toronto. Yep….it’s another Toronto Scrapbook!
Hello everyone. Let’s give a warm welcome to Debbie and Cyndi. Two unique women who dance to their own drummers and whose talents encompass a variety of musical fields in two decidedly different decades. These ladies can pop and rock, disco down or jazz it up, sing the blues, or pour their soul into a ballad. Their many talents run the full gamut and they have led the way for a new kind of woman in music, adding their own twist and turns to rock and roll. Quirky, outrageous, individualistic, sexy, ballsy, entertaining, exuberant, clever, brilliant, artistic and really, really smart.
It’s 4am on Sunday morning, March 8, and I’ve just arrived home from a long day and night of music hopping….and the damn Queen streetcar short-turned again….and the clocks went forward one hour (OMG it’s really 5am!!)….and I’ve decided to change my tune (so to speak)….and tell you about my “day in the life of….” rather than have our esteemed editor post the article I’ve already filed.
During a recent conversation on writing and music I was asked if I had ever heard of K-Pop. My answer was “no” although I was tempted to say “of course” me being a music junky and all. I’ve been told I don’t get out enough so I’m working on that. In the meantime…
Bullseye Records of Canada
