I was going to write about the psychological impact of current pop music on housecats compared to the physical impact of dropping an armful of classic rock vinyl on them, when The Universe (in its mysterious and drug-addled randomness) conspired to intercede because (apparently) it was bored and felt like fucking with me.
It’s Labour Day! And what better way to celebrate Labour Day than by spending it labouring! While the rest of you lie on the beach, or eat the latest CNE bacon wrapped-deepfried-chocolate covered-peanut butter-dill pickled Midway treat, or sit in traffic on your way back home from wherever you are, I will be moving the last of the boxes and bags from one room to another in order to accommodate a new roommate whose last-minute addition to my life will enable me to keep a roof over my head, food on the table, and who can dial 911 if I accidently lock myself in the bathroom again. Think of me while your ice cream cone melts all over your hand or someone side swipes your car while you wait in line for a burger at Weber’s.
See you tomorrow, when the temperature drops from 100 degrees to ‘Where the fuck are my Ice scraper, toque, and gloves’? Bob – September 3rd, 2018
In preparing The Portable Bob for publication in the near distant future, I find myself digging through boxes and boxes of detritus; Flotsam And Jetsam from a life well lived, badly abused, and singularly unique in it’s constantly shifting course, over which I had little or no control.
Today we share old photos, answer unanswered (and sometimes unasked) questions, set the record straight, and confuse the issues, bite the bullet, and shiver some timbers.
This are some of that….
My CMW wrap up will be posted on Friday. In the meantime, I want to share with you the joys of my life, some interesting music, some snapshots from the far distant past, and a few bon mots culled from endless research and the Facebook Newsfeed. Yes…the Facebook Newsfeed…where rumour, satire, and stupidity are taken as news, fact, and truth. Let the LOLing begin….
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At the beginning of the year I joined a cult. It was the cult of Netflix, and I’ve been a happy convert ever since I made the switch. My television watching habits aren’t like the average user; generally when I’m watching something I’m working, either writing for Addicted, editing photos, editing other peoples articles, the usual. Netflix suits my habits perfectly; I can mainline entire seasons of shows over the span of the many hours I spend typing/reading/clicking away with very little effort. It’s allowed me to catch up on some series that I watched sporadically years ago, one of which, along with some seriously depressing current events, will meanderingly lead to the actual topic of my column.
Over the past 40 years, I’ve been fortunate to interview well over a thousand rock stars, pop stars, musicians, songwriters, session players, engineers and producers. The stars usually have a pat answer (although not always), but I’ve always enjoyed interviewing behind-the-scenes people as they have the best stories and usually don’t get to tell them that often.
It was now late 1970. I’d returned from Los Angeles and was hired back at CHUM as a producer by Program Director J. Robert Wood. I was working with Production Manager Warren Cosford, who’d replaced me when I left for LA in late January. Warren was a Winnipegger and a pretty cool guy.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 