Mikeladano.com will return after a brief hiatus.
At LeBrain HQ this summer, we have been burning the candle at both ends. Caring for a sick family member is not easy especially when they are out of town.
Mrs. LeBrain has been on trains and busses for half of every week, going up to Toronto to provide love and support. She can’t drive because of the seizures so she’s at the mercy of bus and train schedules. One night she spent five hours getting home from Toronto.
I’ve been given strict instructions from her aunt: “Don’t let Jen burn herself out”.
Easier said than done!
She’s been doing an amazing job. Since I work full time I am only free to drive down to Toronto on weekends. That’s exhausting too, though not as much as public transit.
We haven’t had as much time to recharge our own batteries. It’s sad to say but we won’t be going to the cottage at all this summer. On the hot days, we would love nothing more than to jump in the refreshing waters of Lake Huron. It’s not happening this year.
And I haven’t had as much time to work on my reviews here at mikeladano.com. I come home from work mentally wiped out. I’m still playing and enjoying music every day but not writing about it very much. Thankfully guest writers like Holen MaGroin, Kovaflyer, Harrison Kopp and Derek Kortepeter have stepped up to provide some content and relief! (And there will be more content from Mr. MaGroin soon.)
My job, supporting Jen, is the easier of the two. I go to work, get paid, drive her where she has to go when I can, and try to take care of her. She’s got the harder job. If I’m not around these parts as much, or haven’t responded to your comments, that’s why. The struggle continues and the battle rages on.
We are not quitters!
GETTING MORE TALE #697: Kiss My Ass
An unemployed 21 year old student not-yet-named LeBrain was having a particularly lazy summer. In a year I would graduate. I didn’t have a lot of spending money.
There was a CD store at the mall. The owner was a friend of my dad’s. It was within walking distance. I wandered in once or twice a week. but their prices were too high. They had a “buy 10 get 1 free card”, and I’d redeemed one of those (for cassettes) already, but in general I couldn’t afford to buy things there. Most of my music was coming from Columbia House.
July rolled around, but I hadn’t been to the mall in a while. There was a bunch of new stuff I was curious about. David Lee Roth had an album out, and the new Soundgarden was supposed to be incredible. Kim Mitchell had something new, and there were a bunch of 1993 albums I still wanted. I took a walk to the mall.
Something was different at the CD store. Where there were once these red wire clearance bins, there was now a display of…used CDs!? Quality guaranteed?! Woah! I could afford these!
I saw it immediately: a brand new release sitting there used for $11.99. Kiss My Ass. It was only out for about two weeks! I didn’t care why it was there, it was MINE! I hated spending full CD prices on a “various artists” album. In general I’d only get three tracks per album that I wanted. I preferred to buy stuff like that on cassette, just so I wasn’t paying 20 bucks or more for three songs. Twelve bucks for Kiss My Ass? Stop twisting my arm!
I remarked to the owner how excited I was to get this brand new album at such a great price! He told me they just started selling used CDs. I learned later the now-legendary story: it started with about 10 CDs that he brought in from home to sell. People wanted more, and so he began buying and selling. So far, it was working well. He had a few hundred on display, and there were already some great titles in there!
I ran home excited about my score. The three tracks I was interested in were Lenny Kravitz, Extreme, and Shandi’s Addiction. I got my required three songs. Over time, the rest began to appeal more, but I mostly played those three. When I learned that Kiss themselves played on the Garth Brooks song, I upped it to four.
About a week later, my dad came home from work and instructed me to go to the mall the following morning. The owner of the CD store wanted to talk to me.
“He’s interested in hiring you,” said my mom.
“Nah,” I answered. “I ordered a Japanese version of Kiss Alive III. I bet that came in.”
“Just go to the mall and talk to him,” they both said, and so I put on some nice(r) clothes for what was in effect an interview. I wore cowboy boots because I didn’t have anything else but sneakers. He already knew me as a customer, and trusted my dad as well. We just chatted for a bit. He told me that his employee Craig would be leaving for school at the end of the summer, and he needed a replacement. There were only the two of them, so it was actually a bigger deal than just “working at a CD store”. Craig opened, closed, did bank deposits, and everything else that needed doing, and eventually so would I!
He told me the job was a lot of fun, but also a lot of work. Sure, sure, stop twisting my arm!
Therefore, the CD copy of Kiss My Ass (that I still own today) is the very first used CD I bought at the store I would eventually work, and also the last one that I bought before actually being hired! And he was right about the job. It was hard work, and it was fun. When I began working there, I used to show up about 30 minutes early just to flip through all the new arrivals. If something jumped out at me, I’d put it in the front row. If something was priced too low, I’d tell him. “This is really rare”. I impressed him by knowing the details of who was in what bands, and their different side projects. I told him I learned this stuff by reading the Columbia House catalogue every month.
What an awesome time to work! The used CDs were on the ground floor. Soon they’d be 99% of what we did. I was there for many releases of what are now classic albums. I’m really proud to have been there for those times, even if not everybody gets that. It was work and it was fun. Not everybody gets to have a job they can be passionate about. When I was there at the beginning, putting in 200% every day, it was simply an amazing time to be alive.
TRIGGER WARNING: Emotional material ahead.
GETTING MORE TALE #696: Confession
Music is the most wonderful of hobbies. Scratch that — it’s not a hobby when you love music. It is your lifestyle. It’s healthy, it’s fun, and it can open up feelings you didn’t know you had. I’m glad that music is my life.
As much as I cherish music, and try to spend some time with it every single day, there is one huge hole in my life: The concert experience.
You could argue that music is best enjoyed at a good concert. There is magic in a live performance; a kind of telepathy that occurs between the players on stage. Then their collective sound and vision is pumped at 120 decibels to the hungry audience. The crowd is like a single entity with one voice. There is no substitute for the live concert experience. No Blu-ray could ever hope to match it, not even at 1080p with 5.1 surround sound.
Yet, I’ve seen only a few dozen concerts over the years. I can’t even remember my last one.
I would love to have new concert reviews for you every single week. The most popular post on this site in its six years of operation is a concert review.
It’s true that I don’t get out as often as others might. Some of this is because my beautiful wife has been battling with uncontrolled epilepsy for the last decade. Her health struggles have turned me into a bit of a homebody. I’m not complaining. Being her support is a privilege. I’ve always been a bit of a homebody, but it’s certainly gotten worse as her health got worse. The good news is that not only has Mrs. LeBrain beaten cancer, but she has also managed to reduce her seizures to one or two a week. A regular week, anyway. A week with stress or lots of travel can cause more.
How has she managed to handle her epilepsy so well? Lots of self care. Plenty of pre-planning for every outing, a few taxi cab rides, lots of caution, and a little bit of Canada’s best prescription marijuana. I’ve seen it work.
She can’t go to movies and she can’t go to concerts, and we’ve accepted that. It hasn’t been easy. When Jen worked at Research in Motion, their free company concert was U2 in Toronto. She wanted to go so badly. She was willing to go blindfolded if she had to. Every U2 Blackberry ad on TV was a bitter reminder that Jen could not do what other people take for granted.
But that’s no excuse for me missing out on shows. Maybe I lost my concert wing(wo)man, but I’m a grown up. Right?
So we get to the crux of it: my confession.
I’ve never really gotten into any of this in public before. A few friends know. I’ve lived with it long enough. I used to care what friends, random strangers, or potential future employers would think of me. I was ashamed of myself.
Over the years I’ve developed a severe fear of crowds. It’s always been there, but it got a lot worse in my 20s. If I was with people I knew and trusted, I could control it. I first confessed my fear of crowds to T-Rev back when we were roommates in 1998. He used to like to go clubbing at the Flying Dog up in Waterloo. I went with him twice, and it was OK. I had a good enough time. But I needed my wingman. T-Rev was wise. “The best way to beat your fear of crowds is just to face it. Try to have fun.” He’s right to a certain degree. The Flying Dog just wasn’t the best place to try and beat a fear of crowds. Packed with douchebags and girls that I thought were way too hot for me, anxiety piled up on top of more anxiety.
I did better at small concerts. There was a joint in town called The Banke. A lot of our friends played there. The more often I went, the more comfortable I was. You start to recognise other faces, and familiar faces and places are soothing for anxiety. It was good while it lasted. T-Rev’s life path took him to a lovely wife and two kids, three hours away in Sarnia, Ontario. He was a good wingman, because he understood me.
Having a wingman is really important. A few weeks ago I went to TF Con in Toronto. My buddy Jay asked me, “So how does this make you feel with your fear of crowds?” I told him it didn’t bother me at all because he was my wingman. (Also it’s not a very intimidating crowd. I could bowl them over with a sneeze.) I’ve had a panic attack at a farmer’s market, but not a TF Con.
There have been a couple incidents that happened at concerts. Jen had a fall at Rush — that one was upsetting. She had a seizure at Trailer Park Boys, which was the last time she went to any kind of show. The association of these events with concerts just made me…more sour.
When Jen got sicker and sicker, so did I. I became a tense, nervous mess, and it was almost all the time. Something had to give, so when I couldn’t take it anymore I sought help. Family and friends made sure that I did. It took some pushing, because I am stubborn by nature. Help is available, but you have to work at it. Medication doesn’t fix everything, and it has its own costs on both your body and your wallet. You have to unlearn what you have learned. Then, you have to practice better ways of dealing with situations. It’s hard work. It’s also life long work. You will stumble and there will be pain.
In spring 2016 I was in Ottawa visiting family. By coincidence, both the Killer Dwarfs and rock journalist Mitch Lafon happened to be in town that weekend. The Dwarfs were playing the Brass Monkey, and Mitch was going to check them out. Knowing I was in town, Mitch asked me if I wanted to come and meet him at the show.
It’s painful remembering this.
Of course I wanted to go see the Dwarfs. Of course I wanted to meet Mitch! I have been a fan of both for a long, long time! Mitch is the premiere go-to guy in hard rock today. Not only would it be a personal thrill, but meeting Mitch and taking a selfie with him would have been a fantastic bonus to top off a Killer Dwarfs concert review.
I turned him down.
Out of respect for the man, I told him the truth. I wasn’t prepared to handle a crowd that night.
Mitch promised to keep my secret, and he’s been really supportive to me.
It might be frustrating for some, but it helps me a lot to deal with anxious situations if I know in advance, and I can prepare myself mentally for it. I admit I can be very frustrating sometimes. I’m lucky that Jen gets me. She’s one of the only people in the world who truly gets me. Jen and my grandmother really know how my brain works.
It barely works, but it works!
I have my ups and my downs, and it’s largely dictated by how I respond to daily challenges. I confess that I have not tried to challenge myself in a long time. When was my last concert? I used to love going out to see stand up comedy, too.
I’ve been itching to see live music again. I think I can handle it. I’ll go slow. I won’t start by going to see Bryan Adams at the Arena.
Something smaller and more local would be good.
Hey! Would you look at that?
It looks like I have to be ready by February. Sasquatch is coming to town! Sasquatch: The Opera that is, composed by Roddy Bottum of the band Faith No More. Four shows, February 14th through to the 17th, 2019 at the Registry Theatre in Waterloo. And I happen to know the promoter. I’ve been promised an interview with Roddy about the musical, and ideally I would like to see all four shows. I’m not worried about the interview, but I do need to beat my anxiety to go to the shows.
This is called having a “S.M.A.R.T.” goal.
Is my goal specific? Yes. I want to see the Roddy Bottum show. Measurable? Yes. It’s as simple as go/don’t go. Achievable? I believe a realistic goal would be to make it to, at minimum, one of the four shows. Bonus points for anything more. Is my goal relevant to my situation? Absolutely. It is a big part of it. And is it time-based? You bet. Can’t procrastinate on this one, February is gonna come one way or the other!
I believe in baby steps so I think a good plan would be to try and see a small show in advance of the Bottum musical. It’s exactly like building up a tolerance. My tolerance has slipped a lot over the years so I have to build it back up again. I’m trying to be proactive.
That’s my confession, and I have to admit, it really does feel good to get it out! Did I have to do it publicly? No, but I’m sick and tired of lying to people every time the subject of concerts comes up. Here’s the truth. Think whatever you want to. All I really want to come out of this is somebody out there to read it and say, “Hey, I get it too.” There are bullies in the world who would pick on me if they read this. I don’t care. They can pick on me for a lot of things already.
I accept that crowds and I might never be good friends. I just want us to get along.
GETTING MORE TALE #695: Don’t Forget to Lock It!
The most important part about closing the Record Store was also the easiest. It wasn’t balancing the cash, or leaving the store in good shape for the morning shift. It wasn’t setting the alarm. It was simply remembering to lock the door on your way out.
When it comes to locking up, I had the best life experiences to remember by. After all, it was my dad who used to make locking up a long, drawn out exercise.
When we used to go to the cottage for the weekend, my dad would make 200% sure that we locked up the house. My mom, sister and I would be waiting in the car, in the driveway, for him to finish checking. He’d exit the house by the front door, check it a few times, and then go out back to check the back doors and windows. Then he’d come back out front and check the front door again. If he was being extra careful, he might run back to check the back door one more time. Then, we could leave.
Leaving the cottage was the same routine. Exit by the front door, lock it, and make sure. Run out back. Check the back doors and windows. Check the front once more before leaving. Repeat as necessary.
We teased teased my dad about it. Once, after he got into the car, I jumped out and said “I have to check something!” I then checked the front door and ran out back to check there too before returning to the car. It was pretty funny, I thought. Not sure he got the joke….
When it came time to be an adult with grown-up responsibilities, locking up the house, or car, or store was never an issue with me. (It’s an issue with Mrs. LeBrain, but that’s a whole other story or two. There’s a reason I made a sign that said “LOCK ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS BEFORE YOU LEAVE”.)
I would always be doubly careful. There were times, more than one occasion, when I could not distinctly remember locking the door at the Record Store. Rather than worry all night, I’d jump back in the car and make sure. I never did actually leave the door open, but taking the 30-40 minutes to drive back and confirm was worth while. Much better safer than sorry.
I was absolutely furious one morning when I came in to work and the door was unlocked. As discussed in #489: I Forgot to Remember to Forget, it only happened once. Thankfully no thieves tried the door. If they had, they would have had free entrance. I can’t remember who left the door open…but I wanna say it was a night shift with Dave Quon and The Boy Who Killed Pink Floyd. Clearly, they didn’t have dads like mine. If memory serves, each of them thought the other guy had locked up.
Locking car doors was also something drilled into us, before the era of remote door locks. I was stopping at a convenience store with one of the guys from work. As we got out of the car I reminded him, “Don’t forget to lock it.” Some dirtbag hanging out in front of the store yelled mockingly, “Yeah better sure you lock up that Ferrari there.”
Not the point!
As much as it annoyed us as kids, I’m glad our dad drilled “don’t forget to lock it” into our heads. It helped a lot when it came to adult life. Nothing was ever left unlocked at the Record Store by me, and I think indirectly they need to be thankful to my dad. He personally trained their employee (me) on locking the doors. I think my dad deserves a bonus! Or a free CD, or a T-shirt!
It’s my birthday today so I thought I’d share something special!
The Lost Intro
The original plan, and who knows, maybe still the final destination of Record Store Tales, was to publish a book. I had been working on the book, in spurts, and that’s where the first batch of Record Store Tales originated. The way it was taking shape, I had a number of chapters focused on childhood before starting work at the Record Store. When I posted it all online, Record Store Tales Part 5: The Dream Job was the transition point. In my original drafts it was actually Chapter 11. I figured for the online crowd I should cut to the chase more quickly. But the early chapters are still on disc, including a massive (5500 word) unpublished instalment titled “1986”!
Now, here’s a detail that I forgot about: my original nom de plume!
This is before I acquired the name “LeBrain” via my radio experiences. I remember that only a handful of people had read what would become Record Store Tales, including good ol’ Aaron at the KMA. Via my discussions with Aaron over my work in progress, I decided on the pen-name…Johnny Cock.
I don’t know how much influence Aaron had over that decision, but I can confirm that he must have known about and endorsed my use of the pseudonym Johnny Cock.
The working title before settling upon “Record Store Tales” was actually “Rock, Rock, ‘Til You Drop” (stolen from the Def Leppard song of the same name), though the phrase “record store tales” was already in the text. And, apparently I wrote an intro to the whole thing. So here it is! The unpublished intro to Rock, Rock, ‘Til You Drop by Johnny Cock, later to become Record Store Tales by Mike Ladano.
ROCK, ROCK, ‘TIL YOU DROP
Musings and Tales
Of Growing Up in the 80’s
And Running an Indi Record Store in the 90’s.
By Johnny Cock
Before we get seriously into the record store tales, I think it’s important for you, the reader, to know who’s talking to you. After all, I’m a real guy and these are real stories. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. I’m a bit of a narcissist, and I can’t resist talking about myself even though I’m no more interesting than you. I just think it’s important for you to know who your storyteller is before we get down to the serious business about working in a record store.
So, I trust you will indulge me a few chapters to just talk to you about what it was like growing up in Kitchener, Ontario during the 80’s, getting into heavy metal music, which evolved into managing an indi new/used record store in the 90’s. After all, context is always important. These stories are relevant in the sense that they happened to me, and my reactions are part of the stories, and to fully understand how I react, you have to know a bit about me. I’ve tried to make these introductory tales as entertaining as possible. I hope you can relate, and I hope you enjoy. It’ll be worth it, trust me.
You always wanted to work in a record store? Yeah, me too. That was, until I’d done it for 12 years. By then I had had enough. I had enough of Creepy Danny. I had enough of Crazy Eskimo Woman. I had enough of the Creepy Twins, thieves, bosses, Nickelback, crappy scratched up Dance Mix CDs that were over 10 years old, people throwing shit at me; I just plain had enough.
Now I am out, and I can reflect back with a certain nostalgia. I am Johnny Cock. This is my story.
“I am Johnny Cock”. Am I ever glad I changed that. Jesus!
Obviously, with the latest chapters under the Getting More Tale banner, I’ve gone back to using childhood stories as a major source of material. This has proven to be very popular even though they are sometimes only tangential to music. That’s one of the bonuses to posting the chapters online. I get the instant gratification of feedback, and I can mold future stories around it.
As for the rest of the lost chapters?
I think they’ve been lost long enough.
GETTING MORE TALE #693: Rock and Religion
Guest post by musician and songwriter Derek Kortepeter
Rock N’ Roll and Religion. These things, the two capital R’s if you will, were a constant presence growing up. Sometimes I think back on my growing and think how I developed into the person I am now, certainly rock and religion played a part in that. Being raised Christian by a really awesome single mom who also loved classic rock was truly the best of both worlds. She encouraged me to seek out spiritual and musical power in equal measure. She was laid-back and let me just be who I am as I figured life out.
When I became too self-righteous in my religious fervor she’d pull me back and give me a reality check that being a person of faith means being kind and not a judgmental dickhead (which I certainly could be at times). Even as I now am a rather irreligious (i.e. not super orthodox) 27-year-old, I still think the philosophical and theological basis for my life was positive at least in respect to my mother’s teachings.
It also led to some…interesting, shall we say, experiences with two subcultures that tend to clash. While I grew up after the heyday of Tipper Gore and her merry band of fuckwits (the PMRC) persecuting metal musicians, I still felt the aftershocks in the 90s. Couple that with having more hardcore fundamentalist evangelical extended family and friends, and you can bet I have some stories to tell.
I first started to notice the conflict as a 10-year-old when I got into Black Sabbath and some family members suggested I burn the CDs promptly. I’m pretty sure had I agreed they would have built a bonfire in their backyard and eliminated the demonic disc in a flash of fire (as we all know, Satan lives in poorly made CD-Rs burned on a shitty Dell PC). Not sure if the pen fake tattoo of “OZZY” on my knuckles would have also been burned off in the process…but we can’t rule anything out.
Knowing so many religious folks as friends since I went to a Christian high school after leaving public school due to bullying led to some pretty hilarious confrontations. Being a huge Van Halen fan I would get confronted with different accusations. These would range from me being a practitioner of idolatry (must’ve thought I had a shrine to Eddie Van Halen where I burn sage and chant the lyrics to “I’m The One”), to full-blown accusations of Van Halen being satanic (HAIL DAVID LEE ROTH AND HIS MINIONS OF SATAN).
These sorts of conflicts arose with all of the bands I listened to, from AC/DC and Judas Priest, to Iron Maiden and Metallica. I was constantly having to justify my faith and my love of music that involved pounding drums and wailing guitars. The more I became a bit more liberal in my faith I was able to eventually stop caring, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.
Some suggested I listen to more Christian rock bands, which is an odd label; I mean being a musician is a job, do you make sure your plumber is a Christian plumber (on second thought, maybe you do…bless thy toilet and its holy water)? The problem was, while I found some great bands like Pillar and P.O.D. (also U2 writes constantly about God), they were basically shitty imitations of the real thing. I mean if you want Coke, are you really going to drink store-brand cola and think it tastes just as good?
I imagine that this experience is pretty common for kids in certain religious circles and I wonder if they are scared away from either belief or music because of a false dualism being presented. I ain’t a preacher, and I’m definitely no role model, but rock n’ roll in all its forms has been nothing but a positive in my life. Simultaneously, while I eventually walked away from the church and orthodoxy of my faith for personal reasons, at the time, I also benefited from the comfort I could find in the belief of a supernatural being.
I’m reminded of Malcolm Young’s response when asked if AC/DC were Satanists, he humorously stated “me mum would kill me if we were.” The less boundaries we draw for ourselves in these little subgroups the better. I’m not saying we all have to hold hands and sing “We Are The World” (that song is overrated as hell), but you’d be surprised how much you’d have in common with people that seem to run counter to your own worldview. Rock and religion shouldn’t be enemies, and maybe someday they won’t be.
For now, I’ll start on that Church of the Holy Lars Ulrich shrine for human sacrifices and hope for the best.
GETTING MORE TALE #692: Summer of the Album
I’ve had the same routine for over 10 years: get to work, turn on the radio, and listen. I would occasionally hear new bands that I had to get into. I wouldn’t want to do without Greta Van Fleet, Royal Blood, or A Rebel Few in my life. But every routine eventually gets stale.
For the last several weeks I’ve been trying something different. No matter how much radio tries to shake it up, you are guaranteed to hear certain songs and bands every single day. AC/DC, for example, are a radio staple. You will hear them on rock stations every single day, usually from a pool of 10 to 12 songs. In my regular daily album-listening life, I don’t actually listen to AC/DC that often. In fact, I’m less likely to listen to AC/DC when I hear them on the radio daily.
At the recommendation of Uncle Meat I’ve been loading up flash drives and bringing them to work instead. This has enabled me to not only listen to whoever I feel like, but also given me the ability to play full albums.
The first day without radio was an interesting experiment. In the morning, I played the entire Max Webster The Party box set in its completion. In the afternoon, an album I hadn’t played in years: Neil Diamond’s 20th Century Masters! Part of doing without radio is forcing myself to listen to albums that don’t get regular rotation at home. Especially multi-disc sets. It’s easy to listen to a box set when you’re seated at the same desk for eight hours.
A nice big flash drive means I have hundreds of my favourite albums available at a click, but there are pros and cons.
1. The chance to spend my listening time with my own music; hopefully neglected music.
2. Hearing full albums.
3. The ability to “pause” when I am interrupted and have to do something else.
1. No traffic or news reports.
2. A feeling of disconnection from the community and friends during the day.
3. Missing those new tunes and rarities that sometimes surprise you on the radio.
4. Going from a stereo radio behind me to a mono speaker in front of me.
It was really weird going without the morning radio news reports at first, but I’m used to it now.
This far into the journey I’ve played virtually every studio album by Kiss and Black Sabbath. I’m working my way through Priest next, and a whole bunch of soundtracks. I actually played Jeff Wayne’s legendary War of the Worlds musical two days in a row, so enthralled was I with the album. Featuring Justin Hayward, Richard Burton, and Philip flippin’ Lynott, it is an album I am glad to have finally caught up on. It’s the kind of thing you need to have the time to play, the more the better.
Hopefully, listening to more albums will enable me to review more albums. The unfortunate thing is not being exposed to new and unfamiliar songs. I’ll just have to rely on readers and other sources for that.
With flash drives by my side, 2018 will be the Summer of the Album. Let’s see how this experiment works!
GETTING MORE TALE #691: A Face for Radio
One of the folks at work, who I call “Happy”, is a super guy but he doesn’t throw around compliments very readily. He’d rather tease most of the time. He happened to walk into my office while I was listening to the show. He listened with me for a few minutes, and then began his speech.
“You know, you might be offended by what I have to say, but listen,” he began. “You and I could be sitting in a bar and I would have no interest in anything you are talking about. You like music, I like sports. We have literally nothing in common to talk about.
“But you need to do a book, or a show, or something. I have listened for two minutes, and I am already interested in what you’re talking about. I don’t care about this stuff. But you made me want to care.
“It was the same when you were on that other station, Dave FM. We were listening here at work when you were on. I don’t care about any of that music, but you make it interesting.
“It’s like when I am watching soccer with my wife. There can be an amazing British commentator talking about it, and I am so into what he is saying. My wife, she does not care. Not at all. But you, you can talk in such a way that you make it interesting for people who do care, and people who are not interested at all.
“You have a gift, and you need to be on a show, or do a book. And if you’re offended by this I don’t care!”
Offended? Not at all!
Gimme a show. Any show. I’ll be there.