Record Store Tales

#1110: Happy Winter Memories Vol. 3 – Rocking the Basement

RECORD STORE TALES #1110: Happy Winter Memories Vol. 3 – Rocking the Basement

To an unsporty Canadian kid, growing up in a cold climate had its disadvantages.  I didn’t give a fuck about hockey (to coin a phrase from Gord Downie), and nobody likes to shovel.  The only good thing about fall and winter to me were Christmas and the return of my TV shows, like the Transformers and GI Joe.  Otherwise, it was like hibernation.  There were a lot of things I wanted to do and could only do outdoors, so I passed the time inside with my music and shows.

In a sense, winter was the best time for my friendship with Bob Schipper to flourish.  In the summer we’d be outside a lot, riding bikes or hitting balls.  Or, just getting into trouble as we often did.  During the colder months, we spent more time being creative.

A typical Mike & Bob winter Saturday morning would go as follows:

Around 10 AM, Bob would pop by my place.  Our creative Saturday mornings would usually happen at my house.  Bob’s parents were more strict than mine, and we could listen to music in the basement.  The basement was the best place because that is where the big TV with the VCR was.  That was where MuchMusic lived.  My VHS collection would grow video by video, week by week.  The Pepsi Power hour ran twice a week (“Molten” Mondays, and Thursdays) and I would collect music, clip by clip, on my VHS collection.  It would be my responsibility to show him what was new in music.

We did not always agree!

Savatage struck me from the moment I saw “Hall of the Mountain King”.  It was the riff, the singer, and of course the little guy running through the caves looking for the king’s treasure.  I had to record it.  I thought Bob would really be into this song.  It had a lot of what we both liked:  nice, heavy melody metal with a screamin’ singer.  Disappointingly, he was not as impressed as I was.  He thought the video was less than great, and the singer not as impressive as I hyped him.

On the other hand, one viewing of “We Came to Rock” by Brighton Rock had him hooked immediately.  In this case, singer Gerald McGhee really did blow him away.  That scream at the end of “We Came to Rock” made his jaw actually drop.

If music videos were not on the menu that morning, I would bring my “ghetto blaster” downstairs and we would play whatever newest tape one of us had acquired.  If it was a good one, we’d dub each other a copy.

Then, out came the paper and we would get down to creating.  We were very much into drawing military vehicles, cars, and muscle-type men with warrior’s garb and jagged guitars.  Our self-portraits were always masked, muscled, and flexing.

We would fantasise about being on stage.  We’d picture the drum riser, and why not have it elevate?  We would both be singers and guitar players, sharing lead duties from song to song.  It had to be democratic.  We came up with cool melodies and song titles.  Mostly though, we sang our lyrics to other peoples’ songs.  Of course, I can’t repeat the lyrics to anyone.

The two of us had enough creativity to power the world for decades.  If only we had the technology to do the things we really wanted to do!

Still, it was in that basement during the coldest of months that Bob and I amassed binders full of drawings and cassette tapes full of our goof-offs.  I kept everything I could.  Of course, some things couldn’t last forever, such as the cardboard guitars or silly sketches.  As unofficial archivist, I kept a lot.  I have almost all my VHS tapes with those special music videos.  When I play them, the memories return.  These things matter to me.  They show a snapshot of the best childhood anyone could have.

#1109: “Marillion Sucks”

RECORD STORE TALES #1109: “Marillion Sucks”

Friends, what would you do if you ordered a used CD from a small chain, only to find somebody defaced the artwork with black magic marker before sending to you?  What if that defacement was specifically aimed at you?

My love of Marillion was known far and wide at the Record Store.  Nobody else liked Marillion.  I’d play them when I could, but everybody I worked with hated Marillion.

Everybody.

But I never found out who hated Marillion so much that they would ruin a CD just to tell me that “Marillion sucks”.

I wish I had taken a picture, but here’s the story.  After I quit the Record Store and became a regular customer, I still received preferential treatment for a few months.  They would often set stuff aside for me and call me asking if I wanted it.  That was very cool of them.  They didn’t have to do that.  Other times, I received treatment that was simply unacceptable.

One day in 2006, a few months after quitting, I placed an online order for some used CDs.  Free shipping, no fuss no muss.  I found three discs I wanted.  One of them, which I was buying just “for the collection” was Gene Simmons’ spoken word CD, Speaking in Tongues.  I didn’t plan on playing it every day, but I did plan on cherishing it as part of my Kiss collection.  Everyone at that store knew my favourite band in the world was Kiss.   They all hated Kiss about as much as Marillion.  That said, I ordered Speaking in Tongues and awaited the arrival of my mail.

Discs from my old store often arrived in broken cases; that was par for the course.  They also often arrived more scratched than I liked, but I wasn’t going to be as picky about what I bought as I was when I worked there.  What was unacceptable and tantamount to sabotage was what I saw when I got my Simmons disc.

Everything appeared fine.  The case was cracked, the disc was a little scuffy, but it should play fine, right?

I never got that far.

After removing the disc from the case, I saw that someone wrote on the inside back cover “MARILLION SUCKS” in big, black indelible magic marker.

Hah, hah.  Funny.

Who does that to someone they know is a collector?  Who does that to someone they obviously knew personally, since they knew I loved Marillion?

I never found out.  I complained and nobody ever told me.  I returned the disc immediately, unplayed.  I was really pissed off.

The fact that this happened at a Record Store that preached “professionalism” was absolutely shocking.  I remember getting in shit for telling a customer I hated Radiohead when asked!  Did this person get in shit for writing “MARILLION SUCKS” on my CD?

I wonder if anyone will ever own up and tell me who wrecked my Simmons CD.  I doubt it.

#1108: Oojaboojagan

RECORD STORE TALES #1108: Oojaboojagan

Creative relationships are something I have always craved in my life.  In these pages, we’ve shared the stories of the legendary Bob Schipper, my childhood friend with whom I created so many adventures, games, characters and art.  Our media was written, it was drawn, it was recorded to audio and even video.  Any way we could create, we did.  We made music videos, documentary style videos, comic books, audio skits and so much more.  When childhood came to its inevitable end, a hole in my life broke open.  I had no creative partner anymore, and I still craved to express myself with someone.  As many friends came into my life, I failed to find someone who wanted to sit down and write or record.

In 2023 I met a new friend named Jex Russell.  We “officially” became friends on social media on February 5 2023.  Even though there’s quite an age difference between us, we get along well and have great creative chemistry.  Although distance defies us, we have managed to make some fun videos together, and have also collaborated with the written word.  He reminds me a lot of Bob Schipper.  Like Bob, we’ve invented some of our own gibberish.

Bob Schipper example:  when we were kids, around 1983, Bob created a character named Ooja.  Ooja was a monster we had to defeat.  In our winter adventures, a giant snowbank worked as an Ooja monster we could pummel.  That kept us going for an afternoon.  I found out later on that the name Ooja was based on the Ouija board that Bob found in his basement.  It once belonged to his older brother or sister.  He didn’t know how it was pronounced, so he called it “Ooja”.  That became a word for us to use.

Jex Russell example:  upon our first works together, Jex began co-hosting episodes of Grab A Stack of Rock with me.  On his first real co-hosting gig, he was on his way to his parents’ place to stream from their house that weekend.  He sent me updates via videos of his travels that day.  Passing theough Haute-Aboujagane, New Brunswick, I had a giggle at the name of the place.  It sounded funny to me.  I sent a message back to Jex:  “What was that place called, Oojaboojagan or something??”

Jex found my mangling of Haute-Aboujagane to be funny in return, and suddenly, we had our own word:  “Oojaboojagan”.

You may have heard us use this word before if you’ve been paying attention.  Once again, I twisted it around and gave it a new meaning.  I started calling Jex “my Oojaboojgan”, meaning “brother” or “friend”.  Now, he’s my oojaboojagan.  A creative partner that I value for friendship and the ability to collaborate with my scattershot mind.

Check Jex out at Jexcalibur.wordpress.com, and tell him that Oojaboojagan sent you!  You’ll be seeing more of our creative uniqueness in 2024.

 

#1107.5: Fairway Road Fail

Regardless of some decent rare scores this weekend, I was very disappointed with the old Record Store I used to manage.  I have an advantage here, since I know the rules and everything the staff should and should not have been doing.  We ended up having to go twice.  Here’s where they failed:

  1.  Nobody greeted us at the door (twice) – this was compulsory.
  2.  Nobody asked us if we wanted help (twice) – also compulsory.
  3.  Two guys just chatted behind the counter, never once came onto floor on either visit.
  4.  Sold me two discs without CDs in cases, forcing me to return and pick up the CDs.
  5.  Did not issue me $3 credit / apology letter for forgetting.
  6.  Put price tags directly on cardboard sleeves of rare Marillion 3″ singles.  This tore the cover art upon removal attempt.  Damaged packaging thanks to shoddy pricing work.

Added kick in the nuts:  Chris from Encore contacted me to tell me that my Iron Maiden – Number of the Beast vinyl is almost $10 cheaper at his store.  Why do I still go back to my old haunt?  Standards sure have fallen in 20 years.

A failing grade for my old store.

#1107: Dark Clouds & Silver Linings: CD & Vinyl Haul, and Grab A Stack Of Rock spotted on WWE Wrestling

RECORD STORE TALES #1107: Dark Clouds &; Silver Linings:
CD & Vinyl Haul, and Grab A Stack Of Rock spotted on WWE Wrestling

Jen has experienced a few health setbacks.  Last week, she took another hard fall.  It wasn’t a seizure this time, but a pothole in the sidewalk.  She took a tumble, busted her expensive therapy glasses, and ended up with a bruise on her forehead that became its dominant feature.  During a moment of levity, I dubbed her Mikhail Gorbachev, which she took to heart with a comedic post on Facebook about her resemblance to the former Russian president.  You have to laugh sometimes.  Despite this, all the setbacks have taken a toll on my own health, and I really have not been doing well either.

One night last week, I was so stressed out that I slept for 10 hours and still woke up feeling like a zombie.  My head banged and every limb ached.  I really struggled to come down after some of the recent events and scares.

However, as always, there are good things amongst the rest.

I took Jen to the eye doctor after her fall, and killed some time at the local Record Store.  They had a bunch of cool Marillion and Fish in stock, so I snagged all of it.

  • Marillion – “Incommunicado” 5″ CD single – damaged packaging, but this is a duplicate CD and will be donated to a worthy friend
  • Marillion – “Freaks” (Live) 5″ CD single
  • Marillion – “Hooks In You” 3″ CD single
  • Marillion – “Uninvited Guest” 3″ CD single
  • Fish – “Big Wedge” 5″ CD single
  • Fish – “A Gentleman’s Excuse Me” 5″ CD single
  • Boston – Greatest Hits CD
  • Iron Maiden – The Number of the Beast 40th anniversary LP

I’ve been wanting a complete collection of classic 80s Derek Riggs Iron Maiden on vinyl, so why not.  I remember when Sam the Record Man had Powerslave, brand new, for $5.99.  Beast was $39.99.  Holy moly.  The total haul was $92.

New music is good for the soul, so this haul, expecially the 3″ discs, was especially satisfying.  I did notice a few things about the Record Store.

Back in my day, there was a “not hats” rule.  That was hard and fast.  I had bad hair a lot of days and couldn’t hide it under a hat.  On this visit, one guy had a touque, the other a baseball hat.

Neither guy asked me if I wanted any help.  That also used to be a hard and fast rule.  You had to ask every single person who walked in the door.  Give ’em a minute, and ask.  Neither guy bothered.   Things sure have changed in the last 20 years.

I had to laugh at a couple things though.  An older man came in and asked about a movie on DVD.  The guy at the counter told him the movie was still new in theaters.  I remember having that very conversation in my days at the Record Store.

I also observed people coming in with boxes and tubs full of CDs, movies and videos games, reminding me of my busier Saturdays in the days of yore.  I really didn’t enjoy buying used CDs by the tub, but in came the discs regardless!  By the tub, bag or box, the CDs came in a never-ending stream of media.  I spotting a woman bringing in a Tragically Hip Phantom Power CD from 30 feet.  I still got the skills.

I think I did well at the store today.  I did even better after.  Cooler than a CD haul at a Record Store though, was the surprise that Johnny Clauser had for me.

John Clauser, from My Music Corner on Youtube, is one of my favourite music people.  He was off to a televised WWE event, Road to Wrestlemania Smackdown, in Birmingham Alabama.  Johnny had ringside seats.  Rumour had it that Dwayne “The Rock Johnson” was going to be there that night.  He was.

On national television, John Clauser can clearly be seen, wearing his Grab A Stack of Rock shirt.  It’s there for the world to see.

When the Rock enters, it appears he sees the shirt, and stares at it for a few seconds.  John says he was staring directly at the shirt…the Grab A Stack of Rock shirt!   You can see it happen on video.

Regardless of the rumours, John planned two weeks in advance on wearing my Grab A Stack of Rock shirt to the event.  I didn’t know of his plan until he started sending me pictures from ringside.  By the next day, people were sending me screenshots and video clips of John at ringside, on national television.

John, I cannot tell you how much this means to me.  To see my shirt on your chest on national television.  To have this image of the Rock and my shirt together…it is beyond words.  I cannot express my gratitude to you.  It’s beyond measure, sir.  I’m sure John has plenty of shirts.  Thank you sir, for making my day a little sunnier.

As it turns out, the sun came out Saturday for the first time in many days.  It was glorious to behold.

Spring is closer and closer.  Better days ahead.  I smell the what the future is cooking!

 

 

 

Check out the Rock spotting my shirt at 14:50

#1106: “The Entire Population of the World Can Fit in the State of Kansas”

A sequel to #893: Damien Lucifer, and #1104: …Parental Guidance…

RECORD STORE TALES #1106:  “The Entire Population of the World Can Fit in the State of Kansas”

Not all of us have been this lucky.  I had a fortunate and free childhood.  I was allowed to listen to whatever I wanted to:  AC/DC (oh no, “Anti-Christ/Devil Child!”), Kiss (“Knights in Satan’s Service!”), Ozzy Osbourne, Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest…all the bands that the TV shows said were bad influences on kids.  They would lead us to drink, drugs, violence, and worst of all…Satan.

I went to a Catholic grade school where wearing a Judas Priest shirt to class earned scornful glares and harsh words.  I also had several friends in highschool from other religions with strict views on dress, music, movies, and TV.  I knew how good I had it at home.  I never had to hide my Guns N’ Roses tapes from my mom.  I didn’t have to crop my hair short like a couple of the highschool kids.  There was a family though…oh, there was a family across the street.  And this is a story about those strange characters that I loathed, then and now.

Now, keep this in mind:  I have no issues with faith.  I do have issues with dogma and assorted silliness.  So if you’re offended, I am sorry.  I’m cool with Jesus but not so much with strict, outdated thinking.

With that in mind, let’s push play on Ghost’s Opus Eponymous CD and dive on in.

Let’s call these people the Davids.  Mr. and Mrs. David, and their two kids, Boy and Girl.

Mr. David was a teacher.  I have rarely encountered such a dumb educated person in my life.  Maybe dumb isn’t the right word.  Airheaded?  Scatterbrained?  Moony?  Oblivious?  I once saw him pull out of his driveway, realize that he forgot something, stop his car in the middle of the road, run in to get whatever he forget, and get back in his car.  He used to park on our side of the road because he liked our shade tree, but he would park his car backwards against traffic, which drove me nuts to no end.  I would purposely park as close to his bumper as I could get without pissing off my own parents.

They had embargoed all kinds of fun stuff in their house.  One day we were out tobogganing.  Mrs. David was driving a car full of kids.  I was talking about how much I loved Doctor Who, in particular the villainous Daleks.  They may have looked like little pepper pots with a plunger sticking out, but their cries of “EXTERMINATE!” rattled the bones of every kid.  They were awesome!  Mrs. David simply said, “We are not allowed to watch the Daleks in our house.”  Ouch!  Talk about a buzz killer.  What the hell did she have a problem with?  Intelligent science fiction with badass villains, I guess.

In 1984 they all went to go see Bruce Springsteen. His music was allowed.  Helix was not.  I can remember Boy David coming over and watching the Pepsi Power Hour with Bob and I on television.  He was absolutely terrified from the “Rock You” music video.  I seem to remember him bailing and running home when it came on.

‘Twas Mrs. David who spied my MAD magazine and was so offended by the cover story about “Damien Lucifer“, lead singer of “Antichrist”.  She reported the offending magazine to my mother, who asked me about it.  I laughed and took great joy in telling my mom that Mrs. David thought a MAD Magazine was real.  Mrs. David was a child psychologist.  She fell for an obvious parody.  Directly below the Damien Lucifer picture was a contest, with the prize being getting trampled at a Motley Crue concert.  There was a “six page fold-out” of Gene Simmons’ tongue.  I mean, come on.

The weird thing is this.  About a decade later, Boy David was blasting Savatage’s “Hall of the Mountain King” from his front window so loud you could hear it around the corner.  Banning music didn’t really work for the David family.

Through the years, my parents have maintained suffering contact with the David family.  They always come home bitching about them, but haven’t been able to completely get themselves away.  I sense that they wouldn’t mind if they never had to socialize again, but don’t want to be the ones to make the break.

One night while I was still working at the Record Store, my parents came home from dinner with the Davids, and my mom immediately started with the stories.  The things these people would say!  My parents would sit in stunned silence, sipping drinks and nibbling food, but not really reacting.

“You wouldn’t believe what Mrs. David said at dinner tonight,” began my exasperated mother.

“You’re going to like this one Michael,” nudged my dad as he walked past.

“Tell me!” I squealed in delight.

My mom set up the story.  Mrs. David was on about the state of the world, natural resources, overpopulation, and lord knows what else.  Malthusanists, they were not!  You see, they adhered to a particularly hard (but traditional) interpretation of God’s infallibility.  Because God is incapable of error, the Earth that He created is flawless and perfectly made for us to use.  Hard-core Catholics used to believe that extinction was impossible, due to this perfect intelligent design.  Equally impossible is overpopulation.  God told us to “go forth and multiply,” did He not?  Therefore, overpopulation is absolutely impossible.

“You know, the entire population of the world can fit in the state of Kansas?” asked Mrs. David to my stunned mother and father.

“How the hell did we get on this topic?” they thought to themselves as they concentrated on their food.  My mother told me this in the kitchen that night, and I just laughed uncontrollably.

“Sure, if you packed them in like sardines!  What is wrong with those people?” I asked.

“I do not know,” said my mother in a flat, tired tone.

The last time I saw anyone from the David family was in the 1990s.  I’d like to keep it that way.

#1105: Happy Winter Stories Vol. 2 – Snowforts With Bob

RECORD STORE TALES #1105: Happy Winter Stories Vol. 2 – Snowforts With Bob

A sequel to #972:  Snowfort Hippies

There is a saying that the indigenous peoples of the North have umpteen words for “snow”.  While there may be a kernal of truth to that, kids living in Canada know that there are in fact lots and lots and lots of different kinds of snow.

There’s wet globby snow that melts as soon as you pick it up.  There’s packing snow, perfect for snowballs.  There is light powdery snow that won’t clump together.  On one particular winter day in the early 80s, we had hard brick-like snow that allowed us to build an awesome snowfort.

Together with my sister, Bob Schipper and I ventured out one weekend morning with the intent to turn this snow into an igloo.  An igloo of sorts.  We didn’t have the snow or skill to do the roof properly, so we cheated a little.  My sister had a “Mr. Turtle Pool” — a green plastic pool about four or five feet wide.  Flipped upside down, that would make a perfect roof for our igloo.

Side note:  I keep thinking about how good our parents were to us.  We had everything we needed.  Turtle pools, bikes, video games, and most of all, freedom.  Freedom to make a mess of their yard and build this igloo right in the middle of the front lawn.

Snowpants on!  Boots, gloves, scarves, hats, and we were ready.  We had kiddie shovels at the ready.  The three of us started in the morning, and kept going for what seemed like the whole day.  Kids lose track of time, and moments become frozen.  We didn’t wear watches, and I rarely knew what time it was.  We just went out and didn’t come back in until we were bored.

Bob and I began collecting large brick-shaped clumps of snow, and assembling them in a circle – the rough outline of our igloo.  Then we began stacking them, and packing the gaps with more snow.  The snow was not easy to work with that day, and we frequently had to rebuild what we had started, but eventually, layer by layer, our igloo began taking shape.  We left a gap for the door and tested our construction to make sure there was room for three.  Time for a break.  We had a little shelf on one of the inner walls, perfect to hold a couple soda pop cans or drink boxes.   Up and up we built.  Good snow was in short supply as we got higher and higher, and we eventually capped it off with the turtle pool.

We were so proud of our little igloo!  We called mom and dad outside to look.  Unfortunately, they didn’t take any pictures.  It wasn’t like today.

The three of us huddled inside the igloo and relaxed after a day of hard work!  Soon it would be dark and we would have to go inside, but there was always tomorrow!  In the meantime, we sipped our drinks and enjoyed our fort.  We’d pretend there was a roaring storm outside and we were taking shelter from the elements.

The best kind of fun was the kind we made on our own.  We let our creativity flow, we burned our energy up, and we let our imaginations take us wherever it could.  Winter offered opportunities different from summers.  You could build a fort in the summer.  That was the exclusive property of the cold months.  It enabled us to use a different side of our creativity.  Later on, Bob studied architecture.  Take from that what you will.

 

#1104: We Don’t Need No, No No No, Parental Guidance Here

RECORD STORE TALES #1104:
We Don’t Need No, No No No, Parental Guidance Here

In our house, we always had the utmost support.  It didn’t matter if my parents liked the music.  Like it or not, they provided it in spades.

My dad fully enabled my early John Williams addiction.  I had a good collection of Star Wars and Indiana Jones music.  The only way for me to listen to them was on the big family stereo in the living room.  My parents had a good pair of headphones, so noise wasn’t an issue.  There I would lay, my Star Wars toys scattered about, as I read the liner notes to  The Empire Strikes Back, LP spinning at 33 1/3 rpm on the turntable behind me.

Nothing lasts forever but the certainty of change, and in 1984 change was afoot.  Star Wars could not last forever without films to sustain it, and the Kenner action figures were scraping the bottom of the barrel for Ewoks, and other creatures with mere seconds of screen time.  It was, for all intents and purposes for this child, over.

Enter Bob Schipper.  December 26, 1984.  The album was called Masters Of Metal Volume II.

My exposure to music up to that point had been pretty mainstream.  There was an earlier dalliance with AC/DC’s “Big Balls” and some “Mr. Roboto” by Styx earlier, but otherwise I only knew John Williams and whatever MuchMusic was playing those days.  Billy Ocean’s “Loverboy” was a big one.  (The rock connection there was production by Robert John “Mutt” Lange.)  I had Michael Jackson and Culture Club cassettes, but neither were played beyond the big singles.  I loathed slow songs.  I spotted John Fogerty’s “The Old Man Down the Road” and thought it was pretty cool.  My biggest dip into heavy metal to date was Quiet Riot, but that day in 1984 changed the course of my life.

Suddenly the vacuum was filled by Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, W.A.S.P., Motley Crue, Helix, Lee Aaron, Triumph, and Kiss.  Especially Kiss.

So what did my parents do?  They bought me some of my first music cassettes. Powerslave, Walkin’ the Razor’s Edge, Asylum, Condition Critical, and all those seminal albums that shaped my first year as a real music fanatic.  Just as I was obsessed with Star Wars and collecting, now I had a new focus and I was on it like a laser.  My earliest purchases in the field of rock music were magazines:  Faces, and Hit Parader.  I had a Faces Kiss special, catching me up on all the essential facts into 1985.  (Interestingly, the Faces special talked of the next studio album, which was to be followed by Alive III, they said.)  I taped all the music videos off the Pepsi Power Hour like a maniac, soaking up everything I could that wasn’t too scary.  (Venom were scary.  So was Motorhead.)

My parents relinquished control of the VCR to me during the Pepsi Power Hour broadcast time.  5:00 PM, one day a week and then later on, two days a week.  This was seemingly set in stone.  The basement gradually became a music den for me, and Bob Schipper would join me as often as possible as we watched all the latest music I had captured on magnetic tape.  Bob would offer his opinions, pro and con.  We didn’t always agree.  He loved Skid Row, and I was more into Badlands.  He was early on to D-A-D, but didn’t really get what I loved about Savatage.

Whatever demons and dragons were on the covers of the albums I wanted, my parents would buy them for me.  Whether Ozzy was dressed as a priest on the sleeve, or if a guy in a metal mask was being held in a psych ward, they bought the albums.  They never said no.  They never blinked at titles such as Live After Death or Screaming For Vengeance.  I remember my mom once asked me if it was true that AC/DC stood for “Anti-Christ/Devil-Child”.  I kind of laughed.  She let it go.  I think my mom knew how silly all those stories about “satanism in music” really were.  It always seemed so far-fetched, and far removed from the songs I was enjoying in the basement with Bob.

His parents were pretty much the same, except he was older and had to buy his own tapes.  They didn’t mind the shirtless Vince Neil poster on his wall.  Me, I just wondered if he really had a crossbow launcher on his right gauntlet.

A lot of these rock stars looked like wrestlers or apocalyptic warriors from Mad Max.  All these influences poured together in a potpourri of hard rock and heavy metal bands, marketed through the TV and magazines that I was consuming, to appeal to my age group.  I was the target demographic, and it was working.  There’s nothing particularly “evil” about that.  That’s the world of capitalism that I was born into, and that record label executives hitched their wagons to.  I suppose my mom had probably endured something similar when she was a young Beatles and Elvis fan.  Her younger brother, my Uncle Don Don, had Led Zeppelin records.  I was just listening to the next generation of rock down the line.

My parents’ support reached its zenith in 2021, when they bought me the Judas Priest box set, 50 Heavy Metal Years of Music.  Easily the biggest music gift I ever received, it just proved how far they’d go to enable my musical habits.  They don’t understand it, but they support it.  That’s a pretty amazing thing, isn’t it?

 

#1103: Tough Decisions! (First song of 2024)

Date:  Jan 1, 2024.

Time:  7:46 AM

Sometimes it’s fun to make a big deal out of something that doesn’t matter.

Let’s figure it out.  What should the first song of 2024 be?  I just woke up, I have not played any music yet in the new year.  This is the kind of thing that music nerds make a big deal out of.  The first song of the year!  As if it sets the tone for the next 366 days (leap year!), let’s pretend that the first song played in 2024 is somehow really, really important.

How we do make such a decision?  Let’s narrow it down step by step.

1. Let’s start easy.  Should we play the song currently stuck in my head from yesterday?  That would be “Past Life” by the Arkells with the Cold War Kids.  Thematically it works.  It’s all about moving forward instead of backwards, which works well with the whole “new year” thing.  “I’ve been running from a past life, I wanna live this life instead!”  Uplifting, and also I get that “scratch that itch” feeling of playing a song stuck in my head.

2. However, 2024 is the 40th frickin’ anniversary of a very significant year in my life.  1984:  the year I committed to music as “my thing”, specifically heavy metal.  The exact date was December 26 1984, Boxing Day.  Perhaps I should play something from that year to commemorate this occasion.  “I Wanna Be Somebody” by  W.A.S.P., “Run to the Hills” by Iron Maiden, “Rock You” by Helix, or “Heaven’s On Fire” by Kiss would be appropriate.

3. Or, we look ahead.  There are albums to come in 2024, and we have heard some of the new music already.  Judas Priest have released two singles from the forthcoming Invincible Shield.  That would be a great way to start the year right — by looking forward.

4. …Buuuut I’d be starting the year by playing a song to which I have no emotional attachment yet, if I played the new Priest.  That doesn’t seem like the right note to kick off a new year.  Also, do I really want to start the year with a song about a “Panic Attack”?

5. Kiss is my favourite band.  I first got into Kiss during that mythical year of 1984.  And, the debut album Kiss came out 50 years ago, in 1974.

6. I prefer to listen to albums over songs.  1974’s Kiss gives me an excuse to play a whole album.  Playing that debut would be a way to honour both my roots in 1984, and the album’s 50th in 2024.

7. …However, I didn’t know that album in 1984.  I was just getting into rock, and I only knew two Kiss songs at that point:  “Heaven’s On Fire” (1984) and “Rock and Roll all Nite” (1975).

8. Just a side note:  this is the longest I’ve sat at my desk writing with no music playing!

9. The way I see it now, we can go one of two ways.  1984’s “Heaven’s On Fire”, which commemorates its 40th anniversary, and my discovery of heavy metal music the same year.  Or, 1974’s Kiss.  50 years of Kiss is a big deal, and they were one of the first five bands I ever liked back in ’84.  I prefer playing full albums, and overall I have more nostalgia for it.

10. Flip a coin.  Heads:  “Heaven’s On Fire”.  Tails:  Kiss 1974.

Time:  8:07 AM.

Time elapsed deciding:  21 minutes

The coin toss is:  Tails

Kiss it is.  Welcome to 2024.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#1102: My Favourite Hat – An Uncle Paul Story

Uncle Paul’s absence was felt this past weekend, as we gathered with Aunt Maria to celebrate Christmas.  It was an emptier space, but a warm one full of light and happy tears.

One of our Christmas traditions in past years was pizza.  In the olden days, Aunt Maria would bring a pair of big, square homemade pizzas to feed us for a busy Christmas lunch.  This time the pizza was round, and provided by Dominos, but that didn’t dull the experience.  It was delightful just to be having pizza together.

I have a lot of pizza memories with Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria.  The date would have been June 29, 2009.  The day I helped them move into their new home.  I remember the date, because unexpectedly and coincidentally, Michael Jackson died that day!  We all had pizza on their awesome back patio after moving about 20 boxes of Christmas ornaments!  Happy day, and so pizza is always an appropriate meal to share.

We went down into the basement to look at my uncle’s incredible collection of model and die-cast cars.  Hundreds and hundreds of cars, some boxed, some on loving display.  Some looked recently dusted, others not.  A dust mitt lay on a shelf, its job interrupted and unfinished.  I spotted two ancient vehicles from the 1950s, that were once passed down to me, and then passed back to my uncle:  a blue Meccano car-carrier, and an orange Meccano crane.  They were well loved and handled by me, but restored and displayed by my uncle.  It was bittersweet, but the memories were all good ones.

At the end of the night, with pizza consumed and hugs exchanged, Aunt Maria presented one final gift from Uncle Paul.  She brought out four of his favourite hats that he wore all the time.  My dad, my sister, and Jen and I all selected a hat.  You can see that some of them had a lot of sun, some were newer, and others were well loved.  I selected a black hat with a red Mopar logo and wore it the whole way home.

Thank you Uncle Paul and Aunt Maria.