Christmas. It’s the time for joy and camaraderie and faith. It’s the time of giving and sharing and, for most, receiving. Debts are forgiven at Christmas, and people too. Indeed, the power of Christmas could almost save the world and would, according to Hollywood, if given half a chance.
I’m sitting at the computer this morning listening to Cincinnati’s Mad Anthony (on off-pink vinyl) because I am lucky enough to have people out there who have my interests at heart, this time DBAWIS‘s own Roxanne Tellier. A few weeks ago, the band’s name came up in conversation (on the computer, of course) and Roxanne put a bug in my ear. If they ever play in your area, she said, miss at your own risk, which is akin to a dare in my neck of the woods. Put Roxanne’s weight behind it and it becomes a double-dog dare.
You can thank Chris Ashford at Wondercap Records for this preemptive strike on your Christmas lists. You do have a Christmas list, right? What?! You don’t! Well, maybe it’s time you did because that really cool gift you want to give your girl or guy or your best friend could very well be gone by the time time the turkey hits the table and the really mad rush begins (or, in the case of the States, continues). What could possibly be the cool gift item this year? A hybrid car? If you’re rich. A handmade macaroni-trimmed picture of you and the wife on the first date? (If you want to kiss that sorry marriage goodbye) A box of chocolates?
I wasted 75 minutes of Sheldon Gomberg‘s time last week. Do I feel crappy about it? You bet. I suppose 75 minutes doesn’t mean that much to many of you but then you probably don’t work as much as Sheldon does. See, Sheldon is a recording engineer and runs his own studio and after talking with many of that ilk, time is always of the essence. You’re working when you’re not working— going over the day’s session(s), preparing for tomorrow’s, organizing, always organizing. What? You think those albums just appear on your shelves?
A simple recipe it was. Sprinkle a few hundred radio stations throughout the United States and Canada, mix with rock ‘n’ roll and stir. Stir up would be a more apt term because when the music hit the airwaves, the shit hit the fan— the music fan, that is. Not a big deal, you say? You’re probably right. In the grand scheme of things, a handful of traditionalists screaming McCarthyisms in a world already changed beyond their understanding would turn out to be flies on a horse’s ass, so to speak, and to scream them at teens plugged into a jukebox or record player at full volume was, well, laughable, but scream them they did and, as they say, the rest is history.
I don’t know what youth wants from us old farts, especially when it comes to music. Many mock us for being Boomers, many laugh at our music. I can understand. I laugh at us, too. Our insistence that stars are gods, especially rock and movie stars. Our self-indulgence. Our knowledge that we more than any others are omniscient. God, but there have been times when I wished I had been borne of another generation (until I look at the other generations and realize that they are as fucked up as are we).
Good ol’ Pandora. Just when it looks like the whole digital music service thing is about to fade into the background, those asshats raise their whine level a few decibels. This time, they’re asking to take a portion of the musicians’ cut from them, claiming that the musicians are cutting into their fair share. Wait a minute! Wha-a-a-aaat??!!!!!!! Okay, they didn’t put it in those words, but you have to know that’s what they’re telling legal eagles behind closed doors. I have to wonder about the reasoning, though.
Before we dive in to that 800 pound gorilla, Spotify, I want to point out that Toronto has two more chances to catch one of the most impressive bands to live within Canada’s borders. I caught Picture The Ocean‘s set in Portland a week or two ago and I couldn’t have been more impressed. Impressed enough to keep the new album on heavy rotation, listening-wise. Impressed enough to relive many of the outstanding moments of the band that night. Impressed enough to trumpet the band to any and all who will listen. This band is the real deal, my friends, and they are holding down a “residency” (whatever the hell that is) at The Cameron House the next two Tuesdays and will be playing from 6-8 PM. Now, I don’t jump up and down for that many artists and/or bands (okay, I do, but it’s only because the bands I love are bands you need to hear), so take my word for it. If I’m wrong, I’ll give you ten free whacks at the whipping post. I’m telling you, these guys are good! An antidote to the musical blahs. An argument against there being no good music anymore. You can thank me later. And now…
With apologies to Jim Carroll, of course. Had I used his actual lyrics, it would be “Those”, and until today I have to confess I had no idea what the song was about. I bobbed my head and listened to the beat more than the lyrics the many times I heard the song and I now wonder why because I am a day closer to that day, every day, and am just now seeing death for the loss it really is.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 