Record Store Tales

#940: My Friend of Misery

RECORD STORE TALES #940: My Friend of Misery

“You insist that the weight of the world,
Should be on your shoulders,
There’s much more to life than what you see,
My friend of misery.”

James Hetfield may as well have been talking about me.  But it’s not that simple.  I don’t insist the weight of the world should be on my shoulders.  I’d give anything to take some of the weight off.  But I have a lot of responsibility.

Having somebody’s dirty bathwater leaking all over my floor and carpet the last two weeks has pushed me to the breaking point.

“These times are sent to try men’s souls,
But something’s wrong with all you see,
You, you’ll take it on all yourself,
Remember, misery loves company.”

Trying to be proactive about my health, I took a hiatus from writing.  We now have the plumbing fixed.  There’s plenty of damage to repair and lots of stress.  But I think maybe it’ll be OK dipping my toe back into writing.  A little bit.  Cross fingers, knock wood that nothing else gets fucked up.

Metallica has been a soothing remedy.  I haven’t listened to old Metallica in a long time.  This 14 CD / 6 DVD / 6 LP box set is something else.  I’ve played all the LPs and now I’m into the CDs.  James’ riffs tapes range from startling to suck!  The initial “Sad But True” riff is painfully badly recorded.  But a 22 second snippet of a punk rock “Unforgiven” is a truly cool moment.  There’s a lot to go through here.  Metallica have been taking my mind off things.

I did discover something interesting about my car stereo.  It seems to be able to read files that have been deleted.  When you “delete” something off a hard drive, it doesn’t necessarily go away unless you overwrite it.  My car appears to be able to read tracks like this.  This weekend I ripped the massive Metallica box set, and replaced the old album on my hard drive with the newly remastered one.  I also took the time to rip all my Load, Reload and Garage Inc. CD singles to the hard drive.  A complete set of singles, I might add.  Up until St. Anger, the only Metallica release I was only missing was The 6½ Year Anniversary 12″ EP and a “Neckbrace” remix of “Whiplash” (still need both).

On to the car.  The easiest way for me to clean up the car’s hard drive was to completely delete the Metallica folder and then copy over a new one.  What I discovered when I jumped in the fire…I mean car…was that the car drive now had two copies of Kill ‘Em All, Master of Puppets, etc.  My original rip of the Metallica CD was still there, even though I deleted it.  So it seems my car can read deleted files, at least until they are eventually overwritten.

The annoying thing about this is that because of the way the car reads the ID3 tags, each song gets played twice in a row.  So when I play Kill ‘Em All, I get “Hit the Lights”, then “Hit the Lights”, “The Four Horsemen”, “The Four Horsemen”, and so on.  I can fix this but it’s annoying.

So much to fix.  And I haven’t touched on the family health challenges of late.  Some things should stay private.

So let’s try a little writing again.  Because I want to give this Metallica box set a good solid listen, and I’m only about 1/6th of the way through, I won’t be writing up reviews for a little while.  Instead I’ll be focusing on Record Store Tales, a real WTF of a comment, and a new feature.  Now that I’m not trying to constantly keep my floors dry, I can try to be creative again.

I can try.  Yoda says “Do, or do not, there is no try.”

I say “Fucked, you must get, Yoda.”  I’m doing the best I can here!

#939: The Frog in the Pool

Cousin Geoff’s grandparents on his dad’s side owned a huge piece of property in the country with a swimming pool, and the most amazing landscape to explore.  Grassy fields gave way to trees, and I don’t think we ever hit the end of the property when we went walking.  It simply went on forever.  Any time we went there, it was a treat.  We spent a few days at the property that summer, swimming and running pretending we were Jedi or superheroes.  The house had an amazing “back yard”.  There was a steep downwards incline, which you traversed via a series of stairs and landings.  To us it was huge!   It seemed like you were climbing down a mountain.  At the bottom: the swimming pool and all the land you could run through for hours. – Record Store Tales #909

RECORD STORE TALES #939:  The Frog in the Pool

The most precious of childhood memories took place around that swimming pool.   I remember my grandpa picking me up like I was a rag doll and tossing me into the water.  Then I’d swim back and ask him to do it again.

There’s a funny old picture of my grandpa at poolside.  I remember that he liked to roll his own cigarettes.  I remember the tobacco tins and my mom having to explain to me what he was doing.  Well apparently he really loved to do it.  In this photo, he obviously packed up all his tobacco and rolling gear, and just sat there at poolside rolling cigarettes!  He looks so happy with a huge pile of tobacco in front of him.  It strikes me as hilarious that he brought all that stuff with him to spend a day at the pool.

Sergeant Winter reporting for duty.

There’s one notable event that happened at that pool that we don’t have pictures of.

I was really young.  Just a few years old.  And I must have had to go bad, so I pooped in the pool.  I remember the little teeny brown nugget at the bottom of the pool.  “Nobody will notice,” I told myself.

Well they noticed a lot sooner than I thought, so I resorted to my “plan B”.  I thought the little poop looked like a frog at the bottom of the pool, so that’s what I claimed it was.  “Just a frog”.  Nobody bought it and somebody got a pool scooper and picked up my poop.  I probably denied that it was mine right to the very end.  This might actually be my first admission that I pooped in the pool!

No it was not a frog.  It was me.  I confess.

#938: Tears of a Clown

RECORD STORE TALES #938: Tears of a Clown

Yesterday, September 10, was Suicide Prevention and Awareness Day.  I was reminded of a good story, about a special young man that I met only once.  It was years ago, but for background, I’m going to tell you some things about myself that I’ve never shared publicly before.

The stigma on people who suffer from mental health issues is real.  We get called “crazy” or “weak”.  In reality we are some of the strongest people you will ever meet because we wrestle daily with things just because the chemistry of our brains is a little bit out of whack.  Every day that we finish is a day that we won.  Support is hard to find.  Everybody here should know by now that I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  This is compounded daily by the stresses of supporting a wife sick with untreatable epilepsy.  Nobody can accuse me of having it easy.  I went to the doctor and got some “happy pills” but they didn’t agree with me.  One day when I couldn’t take it anymore, I went back to the doctor and she immediately put me on a sick leave.  I begged her not to.  I didn’t want my work to have to deal with it.  The doctor talked some sense into me.  I went on sick leave, and I made damn sure I did not waste my time.  As far as I was concerned, I might not have been “at” work, but I had to work, and that meant working on myself.

I enrolled in a class called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.  It’s called “CBT” for short, which means something else too. I’ll get into that in a bit.

The people I met at CBT group were just like anyone else I ever met.  There was en executive.  There was a goth.  There were people who worked in finance.  Parents and grandparents.  People who cared for sick family members.  All walks of life.  Some I’m still friends with today.  We worked through things together and it was heavy.  We had some laughs too, as you should, but we dealt with a lot of things in that group.

One of the ladies I met there, “Katy”, became a friend immediately.  She was an office professional in the world of finance.  I think when she was younger, she worked as stage crew for touring bands.  We knew a lot of the same groups.  She was a fan of the Genitorturers, who I believe she worked for in the past.  One day in CBT class she leaned over and with a sly grin and whispered to me, “Do you know what else CBT stands for?”

I had an idea.  Thanks to some friends in the UK tattoo and piercing community, I knew that CBT also stands for “Cock and Ball Torture”.

She laughed that I knew it, and our bond was cemented.  It was an intense class and I needed a friend.  We got sad and anxious as the weeks wound up, and we were set to go back to our lives.  A bunch of us exchanged phone numbers and made plans to stay in touch.  I was really in a state of worry about heading back to work, as was “Katy”.  I wanted to get some new shoes for the job, and she agreed to help me pick out a pair.

“Is it OK if my son comes along?” she asked.  “You’ll like him.”

I did.  I liked him a lot.

I met up with “Katy” and her son “Kenny” at a central Tim Hortons location.  He reminded me of a young Jeremy Taggart from Our Lady Peace.  We drank coffee for an hour or two, while “Kenny” kept me in stitches with his natural sense of humour.  He reminded me of a stand-up comedian.  He just had the natural ability to make people laugh and entertain.  It was one of the best coffee visits I’ve ever had with anyone.  I asked him if he’d ever be interested in working together.  I didn’t have any clear ideas, I just knew that I wanted to do some kind of video with him.  A commentary, a discussion, a stunt…I knew he’d be hilarious.

After coffee we went to a store looking for my new shoes.  When we got there, “Kenny” asked if he could try on some skin-tight spandex workout suits.  He had no reason to try one on…he was not getting into cycling all of a sudden.  I think he just wanted to make us laugh.  He came out of the change room in this ridiculous outfit that was far too tight.  I’m sure his circulation was cut off and he couldn’t feel his feet.  Seeing him pose around the store in this skin-tight wrapping was both awkward and hilarious.  I recall he had a devil of a time trying to get it off.

I really enjoyed my day with them.  I wore my new shoes on my first day back in the office and it felt good to be in the driver’s seat again.  “Katy” and I kept in touch a little bit.  I knew “Kenny” had his own issues, but I was always a big supporter and fan of his.

Then one day in 2015, “Katy” sent me a message on Facebook.  Her son was gone.  I froze in the shock of it.  One day, I guess he just couldn’t take it anymore.  A feeling that I thought I knew, but had never taken further.  I simply could not believe what I was reading.  It seemed impossibly wrong.  This young man, destined to be someone truly special, who made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe, was gone.

“It’s always the funniest ones,” I thought to myself.  The year before, Robin Williams took his own life.  Iron Maiden wrote a song about it called “Tears of a Clown”.

“All alone in a crowded room, he tries to force a smile.”  Could I ever relate to that.  “Wonder why he’s feeling down, tears of a clown.”

When I think of all those comedians who struggle or have struggled with their own problems, I think of my friend and her son.  Without exaggeration, one of the funniest people I ever met, if only for a few hours.  It was a long time ago but I still talk about that day.  He was a special kid and I’m sorry that you’ll never get to see the two of us in a video together like I hoped.  It would have been hilarious.

 

#937: Bop Was Right: The Best Cassette I Ever Heard

“I agree that most cassettes and decks were crap, but the high end ones such as Nakamichi, Tandberg, Revox, Luxman etc. sound awesome and make great recordings.  The other thing is you can get decent audiophile quality cassette players for a good price, and the cassettes are cheap.” – Boppin, August 13 2015

 

I recently purchased a couple cassettes from Drew Masters of M.E.A.T Magazine, from a band he was involved with at the time.  A band I like a lot called Russian Blue.  It’s a demo they recorded at Cherry Beach Sound studio in Toronto in November of 1991.

Even on my Technics RS-TR272 tape deck that badly needs a servicing, I can hear that it’s the best cassette I’ve ever played.

It’s loud.  Much louder than any other cassettes.  And it’s clear.  Barely any hiss even on this machine.  The dead spots between songs are quiet.  I’ve never heard a tape like it.

The reasons for this are two-fold.  One is that the cassette is a Sony Metal-SR 100, Type IV.  Not top of the line but not a bad tape at all.

Second is that this tape comes direct from the desk of Cherry Beach Sound, a professional recording studio.  Noise reduction set to “B”.  Their recorders are far better than anything I’ve had access to in my life, and certainly superior to the stuff they make mass-produced commercial tapes with.

What can I say?  Bop was right all along.  Cassettes don’t have to sound like shit.  I’ve been schooled.

#936: Captain Crash

RECORD STORE TALES #936: Captain Crash

The summer of ’85 was going swimmingly.  We were on summer holidays at the lake and I was still really into Quiet Riot.  With their two albums (the only two I knew of!) on my Sanyo, and with boxes full of Transformers to play with, I was having a great summer.

Earlier that year, my dad bought for me a minibike from a school kid.  It had a lawnmower engine but could get moving at a pretty good clip.  The cottage was the best place for it, since it was all dirt roads and trails.  I had a hockey helmet and that had to be good enough for head protection.  I loved that bike, but it did not love me back.  The chain had a habit of coming loose, and it was always hit or miss whether it would start or not.

Sometimes I’d ride the bike all the way down to Dead Man’s River, others I’d stick to the roads where it was easier going.  I enjoyed the numb feeling in my hands from the vibrating frame after an afternoon riding.  I also liked cleaning and painting details on it.  But mostly I liked the feeling of getting it up to speed.

I was riding up and down our little road one afternoon the summer when I tried to accelerate, but the chain came off again.  Usually it just fell fell off and the bike went dead, but this time it locked up and I went right over the handlebars.  Worse, the chain had taken a chunk of flesh out of my left leg on the inner knee.  The soft spot where the meat is.  There was an inch-long gash packed with grease from the chain.  My knees, elbows and wrists were all banged up and bleeding from the landing.

I needed stitches so the next obvious thing to do would have been to go to the hospital.  This is not what happened.

A neighbour helped me hobble home where my family frantically began fussing over me.  The next minutes or hours are a blur.  A lot of telling me I had to go to the hospital, a lot of screaming and refusing, my dad promising he would buy me a toy if I let him look at my leg.  I would not let anyone near it.

Eventually, however, I conceded to remove my hands from my bleeding wound, though not to go to any damn hospital.  I let my mom and dad mop up the blood and grease, and bandage my leg.  I demanded my new toy, and knocked out hard to sleep.

The rest of the summer consisted of regular checking and cleaning of the wound, which didn’t fully heal for months.  I was not allowed to swim for fear of infection, and I couldn’t run.  I was regularly reminded that this wouldn’t have been the case of I had gone to the hospital.  But I got my toy.  My dad made sure, and my sister made sure I got the right one.

She returned with the Autobot named Swoop, a Dinobot that turned into a pterodactyl.  He was one of the coolest toys of the entire G1 line, with plenty of accessories, die-cast parts and chromed plastic.  He even had landing gear if you wanted to land him like an airplane.  And he made me forget about the pain in my knee.

I can’t believe how stupidly stubborn I was.  And you have to believe I was impossible if my parents couldn’t force me to go to a hospital.  And that was pretty much it for me and the bike.  The irony here is that I named the bike “Christine” after the car from the Stephen King novel that ultimately gets its owner killed.  I regret that decision too!

 

#935: LeBrain Train Finale Stats and Analysis

RECORD STORE TALES #935: LeBrain Train Finale and Stats

A week ago we wrapped up the weekly LeBrain Train series to take a nice break.  This has allowed me to devote more time to listening and writing and living!

It’s also been enlightening to look at the last 18 months of shows, and the feedback of viewers and my fellow co-hosts.  Harrison the Mad Metal Man went to the trouble of graphing everyone’s picks for favourite episodes — 11 lists total.  Have a look at the stats and click to zoom in for details.

It’s rewarding to see that most of the shows were on somebody’s favourite list.  Even some of the shows I thought were not very good.  Even one of the early shows, pre-Nigel Tufnel Top Ten, made a list thanks to Harrison.  The very first Tufnel list show was Rush, which showed up on three lists.  This must be heartwarming for Uncle Meat, who was the originator of that Nigel Tufnel Top Ten list idea.

In the beginning I was resistant to doing list shows.  “I hate lists!” I complained.  (Because they’re hard — I could do five Rush lists in one night, all different.)  But Meat persisted, and came up with the Tufnel gimmick.  The concept, based on everyone’s favourite scene in This Is Spinal Tap, is that we call it a “top ten” but we really go to 11.  The gimmick appealed to me, and when we actually went live that day, the Meat Man and I had some great lists.  We also had a Rush list from Michael Morwood making it a nice tight three.  The next week we did Kiss and brought more people in.  The ability to bring in participants this way really appealed to me and the show began to take off.

That Rush list show could definitely use a re-visit….

Votes for favourite shows are clustered on the latter half.  The votes focus mostly on shows from late November 2020 onwards.  At that point streams starting getting a lot longer with more guests.  What do you think is the ideal time for a live show?  I think two hours is prime, but we’re a talkative bunch and most of the later shows clocked in over three hours.  Viewers seem to like a variety of guests with a lot of conflicting opinions, but keeping it to two hours is impossible!

Another interesting thing about these statistics is the way the interview shows break down.  Most of us decided to choose only one show per celebrity — so even though Andy Curran appeared three times, we only picked one each.  So it might appear bizarre that some great, great interviews got no votes:  Brent Jensen’s first visit, and Andy’s first and third did not make any lists.  Only because each of those guys did one show that was far and above some of the best stuff we’ve ever done!

Overall there were six shows tied for first place:

  1. One Hit Wonders.  Probably due to Max the Axe’s hilarious appearance that night.
  2. Top Maiden Artwork.  A very visual show with some serious fans.
  3. Andy Curran/Mike Fraser double header.  A magical moment when the two guys got to talk to each other while I just sat back and smiled.
  4. Paul Laine.  Truly a special interview and special moment for John Snow and I.
  5. Top Spielberg Films.  A recent show.  The velvety voice of Erik Woods had a lot to do with this!  But it was also truly a great set of lists.
  6. Top Animated Films.  Another recent show (with Woods!) and one I went into with barely any knowledge of animated films at all.

It’s very pleasing to see those last two shows on so many lists.  It proves we were doing quality work right to the end.  I have no doubt the final episode would have made lists too if we could do it again!

Mostly, Harrison’s graph tells me yet again that it wasn’t for nothing.  It meant something to people, and it was consistent if not growing.  We didn’t do a handful of great shows.  We did a series of consistently great episodes.  Peaks and valleys, yes, but lots of peaks.

 

 

 

#934: What Now?

RECORD STORE TALES #934:  What Now?

I sound like a broken record at the end of every summer.  It’s tough to keep the spirits up at this time of year.  It’s likely I’ve taken my last swim of 2021.  Next time we get to the lake, the sun will be down by the time we arrive.  And then will come the day it is covered with snow, and empty for the winter slumber.

Music helps – music always, always helps.  So does writing.  But it is an annual challenge.

When I was a kid, the end of August would signal the start of the “sad times”.  The back-to-school ads.   Reminders that I was going to have to spend another year with a bunch of bullies again.  Then the colder weather started to roll in.  Our family would take two weeks of vacation in August but back then, they were two cold, rainy weeks. (Not like today.)  You had to start dressing in long pants and sweat shirts.

Shopping for notebooks and new school clothes.  Realizing that a few weeks of warm freedom were about to be replaced by 10 months of misery.  I hated Labour Day weekend.  Back to the “hell hole” as my sister would say.  These feelings stick with me today.  I can’t flip the calendar from August to September without them.

Even though I’m not in school anymore, the heavy heart returns.  I now know that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder and it’s something I need to fight every fall.

Last year was a success!  I avoided the seasonal depression.  I spent my summer making lots of videos, to take me back there in my mind when I needed it.  I also had the show, the LeBrain Train, to look forward to every weekend.  This year is different.  The videos and photos don’t have the same impact two years in a row, and since May the LeBrain Train has become more of a burden than a joy.  I need something new to keep my spirits up this winter, and I don’t yet know what that is.  It is true that we have a long September ahead, warm but shorter days.  I hope this mitigating factor helps.  I think what I really need is some new creative spark to keep me looking forward.  Last year it was the LeBrain Train but the burnout factor has ensured that I need something fresh that I can look forward to from September to May.

What used to cheer me up at this time of year?

As a kid I used to be excited for a new season of the Pepsi Power Hour which hasn’t existed in 30 years.  I don’t watch a lot of TV these days, but fortunately Marvel has constant content forthcoming on Disney+.  We have a new Iron Maiden album to look forward to, but the idea of new music from my favourite bands doesn’t have the same excitement factor as when I was 15 years old.  Yes I’m happy there is a new Iron Maiden coming, but compared to the sheer expectation of Seventh Son coming out in ’88?  No chills.

It feels like…work?  Like I haven’t finished digesting The Book of Souls and here comes another one.  I can’t remember how half that album goes, and now we have a new one to get to know.  It’s not like in the old days when I felt literally starved of Iron Maiden because I’d played all their albums over and over and over.  Now, there are so many that you don’t necessarily even play them all in a year.

Back then, getting a new Iron Maiden album felt just as amazing as a new Star Wars or Marvel movie today.  Something you have been anticipating for a while.  Music videos were like movie trailers.  We’d watch repeatedly, we’d pause, and we’d slo-mo trying to glimpse details.  Costumes, instruments, stage sets, all of it.

When I was working at the Record Store, I still didn’t know that this seasonal depression thing was real and not just me.  It often came and went in spurts.  I used to call them a “big blue funk”.  2003 was a very “funky” year for me.  I’d been dumped (twice) by my Radio Station Girl, and even with a new Iron Maiden in my back pocket (Dance of Death, and also a new Deep Purple called Bananas) I still felt like I needed to do something to help me get through the winter.  And there was something I used to do to pick myself up back then, especially if I had my heart broke.  Yes, broken hearts are for assholes, but I chose to get new holes.  On September 3, I went to Stigmata in Guelph and got my nose pierced.

It was my third visit to the tattoo studio that year.  After Radio Station Girl dumped me, I got my lip pierced at Stigmata.  A couple months later I got my tragus pierced — that piece of cartilage at the opening of your ear.  A friend of mine named Lois Sarah had just started piercing there and if I remember the details correctly, I was a guinea pig.  It’s fun to go back and read my notes!

Lois asked if I was ready. I said yes, and she asked me to take a deep breath and exhale….

I said, “Wow, I didn’t feel a thing.”

Lois said, “That’s because it’s not through yet.”

I felt the needle go through at least 3 distinct layers of cartilage. Each one hurt more than the last. On the last layer, I said, “FUCK” and both my legs shot out. 

Lois did a great job and it’s the one piercing that I do still have.

But September 3 2003 was just my nose, nothing too painful.  It was Labour Day weekend once more, and I decided to go for it.  Normally I went to get a piercing with a “wingman” but this was my first time going alone.  I distinctly remember wearing my Iron Bitchface T-shirt.  An uber-cool looking guy with a massive afro shot me an approving glance, so I felt good from the get-go.

I was led to the back room, but not before washing up my hands with disinfectant gel. I sat down in the Very Big Chair, as I liked to call it, and Lois prepared the goods. She marked my nostril with a dot and got the position right where I wanted it. Then she applied some iodine to the area, both inside and out. She tested out the position of the receiving tube, and finally asked me to take a deep breath.  As I exhaled, the needle went in no problem. Almost no pain at all. I’ve been pinched harder.  (By your mom.)

The rest of the year still sucked, nose ring or not.  It was the year of working with the Dandy, a manchild that drove me slowly mad as he sucked up to the big-wigs.  Work was miserable and not getting any better.  But at least I was proactive, and did something that I thought would help.  Something that helped in the past.

I’ve been there and done that with piercings, and though I like the look of them, I don’t enjoy the upkeep.  I prefer to spend my money on something more permanent, like a tattoo.  That’s something to consider, but I think I need to look elsewhere for a bright spot this winter.  Maybe I will find my joy in the live show once again, but I can’t count on it.  Truth be told, I haven’t been feeling it as much since May.  I remember telling a viewer that I was struggling and he suggested back then that I take a break.  But I didn’t feel like I could take that break until the end of the summer.  And here we are.

So now I search for some new slant on my creative outlet to revitalize me.  Something to look forward to regularly.  I was very lucky during the winter of 2020-2021.  I hope I can pull it off again!

 

#933: Great Steaks, Shitty Music

RECORD STORE TALES #933: Great Steaks, Shitty Music

Two things I take really, really seriously:

  1. How much I love my wife.
  2. Steaks.

We celebrated our latest anniversary at the revered Charcoal Steakhouse.  Last year we didn’t really do anything, this year we said “fuck it” and decided to go out.  Restaurants are not busy right now, which might be bad for business but is good for me.  I’m antisocial on the best of non-pandemic days, so sitting in an empty room suited me just fine.

What did not suit me was the music.  An endless stream of soundalike songs, almost all of which were autotuned.  I identified one that sounded like Maroon 5, and all the rest of the songs were virtually the same.  There was one that went “I’m good, I’m good, I’m good” over and over again.  Another one featured a guy singing “I been messin’ around.”  Great anniversary music!

Jen and I complained about how far modern music has sunk while we waited for our appetisers, some Parisian cheese toast.  Then came the steaks.  She ordered a peppercorn-crusted monstrosity while I went for the wagyu.  The only wagyu I’d tasted before was Japanese A5, the best marbling score in the world.  Charcoal serves an Australian MS7 steak.  Still good, but not A5.  There is simply no comparison between the two.  I like to say that the Australian wagyu was the second best steak I ever had.  It was cooked perfectly medium rare, and was so rich that it really didn’t need that pat of butter on the top!  Everything was rich and I could only eat about half.  The toast was thick with cheese, and my fries were done with parmesan and truffle oil.  Everything was great.  Awesome in fact.  It just wasn’t Japanese A5.

The only thing that wasn’t awesome was that terrible music.  Not one decent song came on the entire time we were there.  I was doing this awkward head-bop dance thing that Jen found hilarious.  The kind of thing I would only do in an empty room!

What I learned tonight was that there is a chunk of modern music out there that absolutely sucks.  Who do I blame?  The Maroon 5 guy?  Why not.  Adam Levine, I have legitimately enjoyed some of your music in the past.  That song you did with Slash was the bomb.  But this shit you’re putting out now sounds exactly like all the other garbage I heard.  Garbage — the same notes, the same voices, no dynamics, no tension, no edge, no nothing!  Just wishy-washy melodies massaged by software to sound exactly like everything else.  It was truly awful.

Thank God the steaks weren’t!

 

 

 

#776: (Wag)yu Shook Me All Night Long [Reblog]

Today is our anniversary!  In this throwback post from 2019, enjoy some wicked looking steaks.

RECORD STORE TALES #776: (Wag)yu Shook Me All Night Long

For highway driving, nothing quite hits the spot like AC/DC.  It feels right.  Who Made Who works as a quickie “greatest hits” selection for a quick spin down Highway 401.  Mrs. LeBrain and I were heading to the GTA to celebrate 11 years as a married couple.  We rocked to “You Shook Me All Night Long” on the dance floor that night, and we were returning to the very same location once more.

Highway 401 is in a perpetual state of construction, but good music helps take the edge off.  This was my first drive that way in the new vehicle, and also the first with my latest gadget, a nifty dash cam that is sure to provide lots of content for my YouTube channel in the coming months.

Sorry, quick tangent:  Phil Rudd is the “man”, but Simon Wright doesn’t get enough credit for his time on the AC/DC drum stool.  AC/DC isn’t an easy beat to get the feel for, and every AC/DC drummer has their own approach.  The 1980s were a period of hard-hitters and Simon Wright was the perfect drummer for that era.  His precision is absolute on “Who Made Who” and it just sounds right.  Compare the original to Chris Slade’s interpretation on AC/DC Live.  That’s all I have to say about that.

We arrived at the hotel mid-afternoon and I settled into the jacuzzi pretty quickly.  I wanted to do a funny gangsta style photo in the hot tub with me holding a couple of American dollar bills.  I was thinking about when Floyd Mayweather threw the $1s at Conor McGregor.  And holy shit did Facebook react.

“Dude you look like if Kuato from Total Recall was successfully removed from his twin, grew up, lived a long and depressing life and got really excited when someone gave him 2 bucks to sh!t in the local YMCA jacuzzi.”

Two things:  Yes, I had pants on.  And yes, that “gang sign” is the Vulcan salute.  Relax.  Let a man enjoy his jacuzzi, publicly on social media like damn 20 year old.  Are you not entertained?!

We did some shopping.  Because, like an idiot, I forgot to bring a nice pair of shoes for dinner, I had to get a new pair just for this one night.  Then we met up with Jen’s best friend Lara for lunch.  Did some more shopping.  I wanted to go to stores that we don’t have at home.  There isn’t much of that, just the same old chains.  We did hit one up cool store, where I bought something called “Jean Guy”, but we couldn’t find any cool music or toy stores.  At least I got my shoes!

So where were we headed?  In ’08 when we got married it was the Pavilion Royale, but now it is a high end restaurant called 17 Steakhouse & Bar.  It’s very different on the inside, but recognizable.  There was the dance floor, where I once spun to “You Shook Me All Night Long”.  But we chose 17 for more than sentimental reasons.  The main draw was the real Japanese A5 wagyu.  And that’s what this chapter is really about.

I’ve never had real wagyu in my life and American wagyu was not going to do it.  You only live once.  Carpe diem.  Go big or go home.  It’s only money.  All that bullshit.  I’d done my research, I knew what I was getting my wallet into.  I’d been planning it over a year.

We started with a simple but delicious field green salad, with incredible goat cheese.  The smoothest goat cheese I’ve ever tasted.  Only when we finished the salads did they began firing our steaks.  None of that “here comes your main dish before you’ve finished your starter” nonsense.  Jennifer chose the US prime T-bone, medium rare, and let me tell you, that alone could have been the best steak I’ve ever tasted.  It was 25 oz, so more than enough to share.  So tender!  With cripsy, tasty fat.

Jen’s steak could easily have been the most tender I’ve ever tried, if not for my Japanese A5 wagyu.  Market price was $30 per oz.  I chose an 8 oz striploin, medium rare.  You should always get a wagyu steak cooked to medium rare.  I was electric with tense anticipation.  The steaks arrived, cooked precisely to order.

I gently cut a thin slice, which came off like butter.  There was a lovely char on the outside, a crisp splash of flat, and then the most tender meat you can imagine.  It was seasoned simply and perfectly, the saltiness enhancing that beefy umami.  On the tongue, it was like butter with only the slightest sensation of a meaty texture.  I probably didn’t even have to chew.

It’s a very rich piece of meat, far more than I anticipated.  I’d estimate that I finished about 3/4 of my meal, leaving a $60 chunk of wagyu in my takeout bag.  And that chunk of leftover wagyu was the best lunch I ever had the following day.

For sides, we ordered the fingerling potatoes roasted in duck fat and thyme, the asparagus with hollandaise, and the scalloped potatoes au gratin.  Of those three, the asparagus was the clear winner, with the potatoes au gratin in second place.  Only I liked the fingerling potatoes; Jen didn’t care for them, leaving her batting average with any form of duck to be zero.

We had an incredible dessert of cheesecake, Crème brûlée and whipped cream which was supernaturally good. Everything was.

Having had probably the most expensive steak I’ll ever buy, was it worth it? If you are a steak lover, then yes, it is worth it.  And I love steaks.  A little goes a long way, but every steak lover should try real Japanese wagyu once.  It’s unlike anything I’ve had before and it is easily categorised as a true delicacy.  Having said that, should we return to 17 Steakhouse in a year, I don’t know that I would order it again, and that is only because there are other interesting features on their menu that I would like to try.  The 36 oz tomahawk would be a sight to behold, though I couldn’t eat it all myself.  I would also like to try the Porterhouse, the lobster bisque, and beef tartare.

Yes, the wagyu was worth it, and I can still taste and feel its texture on my palette.  It won’t be for everyone except in small doses.  They have a 4 oz minimum order, and I suggest that may the perfect size to experiment with.

17 Steakhouse & Bar gets 5/5, and so does the wagyu. 

We started with AC/DC so we’ll finish with AC/DC.  Who made wagyu?  17 Steakhouse did, and it was hell’s bells!  I couldn’t wait to sink the pink steak in my mouth.  It’ll shake your foundations just like it shook mine.  It’s a little bit of a ride on, down the 401, but worth the drive.  Hell ain’t a bad place to be(ef)!*  For those about to rock, I wagyu.

* Courtesy 1537

#932: Ode to Darr

There once was a man,
A mighty beer-drinking man,
His name was Darr Erickson.

Loved watching the train,
The mighty LeBrain Train,
Down the tracks ’til dawn.

Darr loved the Train,
Darr needed the Train,
Could not bear to see it gone.

Darr used his brain,
Darr saved the Train,
And now we all owe him one!

…To be continued…