Archive for The Dementians

Frank Gutch Jr: Rain Perry, Mark Hallman (The Shopkeeper), and Congress House Studio; Spotify Once Again; and Notes Hitting the Spot

Posted in Opinion, Review with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 27, 2017 by segarini

You can file this one under “and I thought I knew something.”  I just watched a documentary which starts “When I was a kid, music was everything,” a statement as acute to me as author Scott Turow‘s line “It suddenly hit me how much I missed music for which I once felt a yearning as keen as hunger.”  It struck a note so deep in me that I watched  all one-hour-and-thirty-one minutes feeling a kinship with the narrator (and, as it turns out, producer of the film), almost relieved that I was not alone.

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Frank Gutch Jr: John ‘Buck’ Ormsby: Maybe Out of His Tree, But Never Out of His League; Plus, Artists Who Should Have Made It (A Musical Roundup)

Posted in Opinion, Review with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 1, 2016 by segarini

Frank Gutch young

This morning was cold and wet with a chill that went to the bone, the clouds threatening, the rain off and on but somehow consistent.  I knew it would be.  Yesterday, my friend John Hicks had posted a message that Buck Ormsby had died.  No way, I thought, because I had had contact only a few days previous— just a note, but contact.  When I approached Hicks, he said that he had found out from Ormsby’s son’s page.  He sent me the link and there it was.  We are sorry to report… and the words became a blur.   While it hardly seemed possible, Buck was gone.  Is gone, for none of us will hear from him again and that is truly a sad thing.
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Frank Gutch Jr: M-M-M-Metal Is All You Ever Play, Get Research Turtles’ Mankiller Pt. 1 of 2 While You Can— Free! and Notes, Notes and More Notes!!!!!

Posted in Opinion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 12, 2012 by segarini

With apologies to The Records (that’s the band, sports fans) and their song Teenarama.  I was sitting here plowing my way through one of my more favorite albums of the past few weeks by one Sandrider and wondering what it is that makes us turn right or left when mood strikes us— to bang heads with Freedom Hawk and Sandrider and then slither into the sixties and early seventies pop garden with The Records and The Shoes.  It’s a hell of a jump from “Cut down these heathens” to “C-c-c-c-c-cola is all you ever drink,” from “Hold not your blades to our sad thirsty throats” to “Teenarama/All that melodrama/Gimme gimme gimme gimme/Teenarama” but it is a jump I make all the time.  It’s no wonder I’m screwed up.  I can’t walk a straight line.  Hell, sometimes I can barely walk!

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