Thank you for reading these past six years. If you’re new and you like what you see, why not go back and check out the whole story from the beginning? It’s an epic tale of slinging the rock in Kitchener Ontario, from the front lines of a Record Store. 12 years in the trenches resulted in an older, wiser man with stories of legendary music, infamous parties, trials, Tribble-lations, retribution and vindication. It is the rise, fall, and resurrection of yours truly. And who am I? Just a guy with some great stories.
These are the Record Store Tales. Thank you for reading!
GETTING MORE TALE #659: Once Upon a Time in Shaolin
It is one of a kind, but it wasn’t the first of its kind. Jean-Michel Jarre made one copy of his Musique pour Supermarché album, for an art exhibit. He then destroyed the master plates. To this day, the only music that exists from that album are poor quality bootlegs from an AM radio broadcast. So, the Wu-Tang Clan were not the first to press up only one copy of an album.
The big difference is that Wu-Tang never intended to destroy Once Upon a Time in Shaolin. They intended to sell it as a one-off work of art.
Wu-Tang leader RZA made Once Upon a Time in Shaolin as a statement of the devaluation of music in the Spotify generation. The single copy would be made available by auction to a fortunate buyer, who then had to sign a contract agreeing that the album could not be sold commercially for 88 years. There is an unconfirmed and bizarre clause in the contract that only the Wu-Tang Clan or Bill Murray could rightfully steal the album back. It sounds like one massive publicity stunt, except that it wasn’t. The 88 year clause ensured that nobody would be getting rich off this for a long, long time (if ever).
Wu-Tang spent six years recording the double album. The tracklist has never been confirmed, nor the artists appearing on it. The auction house, Paddle8, assembled a list of working titles: 26 tracks spread over two CDs. Reportedly, Cher sings on two songs. It is assumed all the living members of Wu-Tang appear on it too. The packaging is an elaborate silver box with a key lock built in. The Guinness Book of World Records calls it the most valuable album of all time, exceeding even Bob Dylan’s original Freewheelin’ LP with the four removed tracks still intact, or the Beatles’ “butcher cover”.
Wikipedia
How much is the “most valuable”? Once Upon in Shaolin was purchased for $2 million US by “Pharma Bro” and general scumbag Martin Shkreli. Shkreli bought the CD before he became notorious for raising the price of a life saving AIDS drug by 5000%. Had this happened before, Shkreli would likely not have passed the vetting process. Wu-Tang wanted to ensure the album went to a fan who would appreciate and honour its value. Instead it went to one of the most despicable human beings on the planet.
Shkreli thought about destroying the album, or putting it somewhere so hard to get that hearing it would amount to a religious pilgrimage. According to the contract, Shkreli could have broadcast the album for free. Instead he taunted fans and played a couple snippets online. Wu-Tang member Ghostface Killah called him a “shithead”. In an act of what surely must be bad comedy, Shkreli then made a video with three masked thugs appearing to threaten Ghostface. “You’ll be a ghost for real, motherfucker!” says one of the henchmen.
“Dennis…I’m going to call you by your ‘government name’. You’re not a ‘ghostface killah’. I’m sorry.” — Martin Shkreli
Is Shkreli a fan or just a rich troll? He says he bought the album because he loves hip-hop but also relishes being a musical “villain”. He claims he hasn’t played the whole thing. Shkreli tried to sell the album on Ebay, where he wrote: “I decided to purchase this album as a gift to the Wu-Tang Clan for their tremendous musical output. Instead I received scorn from at least one of their (least-intelligent) members, and the world at large failed to see my purpose of putting a serious value behind music.” There was a winning bid on Ebay of over a million dollars, but it is not clear if the sale went through.
Speaking of “intelligent”, someone should tell Martin Shkreli that threatening people on video is not very bright. Nor is committing fraud, of which he was convicted. He followed this by stupidly offering anyone $5000 for a lock of Hillary Clinton’s hair. The judge presiding over his case saw that as a threat of assault, and sent Shkreli to jail. Do not pass “Go”, do not collect $2 million dollars.
Happy belated birthday to this single, released March 3 1987!
GETTING MORE TALE #658: Wanted Dead or Alive
I didn’t care for Bon Jovi. They seemed like a “girls’ band”. It seemed to be all about the screaming ladies. I did like Europe. “The Final Countdown” was a pretty cool anthemic track, with a sci-fi lyric. The rock press were pitting one band against the other: “Who’s better, Bon Jovi or Europe?” I took Europe every time.
Besides, what the hell was a “Bon Jovi” anyway?* Bon means “good”. “Good Jovi to you, sir!”
I continued to ignore Bon Jovi, while receiving Europe’s The Final Countdown as a gift for Easter 1987. The album took a couple listens to get into, but once I did, “Rock the Night”, “Ninja” and especially “Cherokee” blew me away. Europe weren’t a “girls’ band” to me, with songs about Ninjas and Cherokees.
My sister and her friends loved Bon Jovi. One of them had a crush on keyboardist David Bryan. I thought he looked weird, like he had gummy worms in his hair. I remember they were writing “BON JOVI” and “DAVID BRYAN” in the sand at the beach. I erased it and changed it to “BON SCOTT” and “BRIAN JOHNSON”. Take that, eh? No wonder I thought Bon Jovi were a “girl’s band”. Anyone who had a younger sister at the time probably thought so too.
Considering that I own an extensive Bon Jovi collection now (Richie Sambora era only), something must have changed. What was it?
Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora wrote a song together in Richie’s mom’s basement. It was an acoustic song called “Wanted: Dead or Alive”. When I saw the music video in July of 1987, it changed all my impressions.
That 12 string acoustic rang true, on a song that deserves all the awards, video play and accolades. Something about the song was very real. Writing in that New Jersey basement about the road life was about as honest as Bon Jovi get, and you can hear it in the recording. “Wanted: Dead or Alive” turned me around rather quickly. I taped the video, and from there put “Wanted” on a cassette tape. The cassette tape had a lot of new songs from the summer of ’87: Ace Frehley’s “Into the Night”, and Ozzy’s live “Crazy Train” were among those tracks. Eventually I had to get all those albums.
I received the Frehley and the Ozzy for my birthday. I bought Bon Jovi later on in September. By then, I was familiar with all the singles and a track called “Raise Your Hands” from the movie Spaceballs. I just had to digest the album tracks.
Slippery When Wet was…OK, I guess. Not as good as The Final Countdown was. Not all it was hyped to be, but good enough. “Social Disease” was pretty bad. Slippery struck me as a couple songs short of a great album. Good enough, though, to hang on ‘til the next one.
1988’s New Jersey was the next one. It seems they ditched 80% of the schlock and really tried to get back to their roots. I loved New Jersey and it was my first Bon Jovi CD once I had a player. Whatever authenticity they had on “Wanted: Dead Or Alive” spilled all over New Jersey.
“Wild is the Wind”, “Blood on Blood”, “Ride Cowboy Ride”, “Stick to Your Guns”, and “Homebound Train” had the magic. There is something real and close to perfect about those songs. Bon Jovi put out an album soaked in passion, as opposed to the sterile and clean Slippery When Wet. It didn’t match the 12 million copies sold of Slippery, but New Jersey was so slouch at 7 million.
It’s funny to be using words like “integrity” when speaking of Bon Jovi today. They’ve become an adult contemporary project; no longer a rock band. “Wanted” was their first acoustic hit and it’s often considered one of the landmark ballads of the era. In many respects, the lite-rock Bon Jovi of today was forged by “Wanted”. But that doesn’t tarnish the song itself. “Wanted: Dead or Alive” is still fantastic. Even better is the 1987 acoustic version, only available on cassette single (or Japanese CD single).
You can go ahead and scoff at Bon Jovi, in light of the last 10 or even 20 years. They’re a mere fraction of the group they used to be. Yet “Wanted: Dead or Alive” still stands as a high water mark that any band would be jealous to have.
GETTING MORE TALE #657: Operation: Van Halen (D’s story) Guest post by guitarist and songwriter D
Alright, so I’m pretty sure all of us can relay some embarrassing moments from our teenage years. I dunno if it’s the changing hormones or what, but we tend to be pretty damn stupid in these formative years. I have been thinking about my teen years a lot recently, most likely since my high school 10 year reunion is coming up in 2019.
I don’t if it’s nostalgia or what, but I have suddenly been reliving a lot of moments from this time. Here’s something you have to know to know about me first before I start my story. I spent most of my education in public schools in Southern California, namely elementary school and college (two years at a Pasadena City College and then three at UCLA as a transfer student). I switched to a small Christian K-12 school for middle and high school because of bullying (cops got involved, nasty stuff). While I was a working class kid of a single mom, this small school had scholarships and financial aid that made it possible for me to attend.
It is at this small school in “SoCal” that my story takes place. This story involves a CD; well, two CDs to be exact. You see, music has been my obsession my entire life (it eventually became what I studied in college). I had a far ranging interest in all kinds of music from around the world but as a teenager rock, namely punk and metal, amped me up the most.
Above all bands was Van Halen.
Pretty much every person that knew me also knew how obsessed I was with the band. It didn’t matter what incarnation of the band, I owned every damn CD and cut my teeth as a guitarist on all those records.
So while I was a teenage metalhead and punk, what went along with that was that I was a bit of…let’s say, a social anomaly. I didn’t really fit into any clique, but most knew me as a decent guy who was just a tad obsessed with Eddie Van Halen. To go along with this, I was horrifically shy around girls I found attractive.
Awkward doesn’t even really cover it, but holy shit did this come to a head in a hilariously embarrassing way with a girl I liked from age 14 to age 15 (this story ranges from late middle school to early high school). Let’s call this girl “S” so that this never makes it back to people I know. Remember how I mentioned that I was a bit of a social misfit? This girl S wasn’t. In fact, she was popular.
Very. Popular.
My dumb ass had the bright idea to get a crush on a (future) cheerleader who hung around (future) jocks that hated my guts (incidentally I did play starting right tackle on the high school football team) and boy was I about to make my mark. Remember how I mentioned that I was shy around girls? Yeah, that meant I couldn’t hold a conversation without my voice cracking from nerves.
So I had a plan to say something without too many words. I was going to go old school and make a mix tape for her since my conversations were very limited. “Oh man S, is going to so dig this! She’ll love that I shared this amazing band with her,” I thought to myself. The thing is, it was my 8th grade year in the early 2000s so cassettes weren’t the thing anymore. As such, I made her a mix CD.
Not just any mix CD though. A VAN HALEN mix CD.
All the classic Roth and Hagar love songs were there man, it didn’t matter that S was more of a Mariah Carey fan, I figured NOBODY could deny the mighty VH.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA BOY WAS I WRONG.
Once I made the CD I approached her locker shaking like my apartment during an earthquake and the conversation went something like this.
Me: Hey… uh… hi S!
S: Oh hi D.
Me: So uhhhh…I really like Van Halen…and I…uh…(reaching into my backpack) made this CD for you.
S: Ok?
Me: Yeah…soooo…let me know what you think…k bye!
A day passed and I approached her again towards the end of the day. I figured “OK dude, this is it, you’re gonna find out how much she dug it!” Cue scene:
Me: So… how did you like Van Halen?
S: (nods slightly, forces a polite smile) Yeah… it was… pretty good.
Me: Cool! I, um, yeah cool see ya!
Later on I found out that she didn’t even listen to the damn thing. Friends of mine standing near the “popular group” heard that she didn’t even want the CD and tried to hand it over to guys in the group that liked metal. Major bummer.
But I wasn’t finished embarrassing myself hooooooooo boy I was just getting started.
The 8th grade year ended and I continued to make awkward conversation with S and left a couple of really geeky messages on her home answering machine (FUN FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY). On the last day of the end of the year I was risking my neck by wearing a Van Halen t-shirt (band shirts were banned by the fascists at my school). I wore it in rebellion of the fact that we were going to have to wear uniforms starting my freshman year of high school. That day I got her to sign my yearbook and she wrote, I’m paraphrasing more or less, “you’re awesome, never change <3 –S”
DUDE SHE PUT A HEART OMG.
You see I didn’t realize at the time that girls just do that sort of thing, so I figured I still had a chance. Anyways, I got made fun of quite a bit by the jocks for the whole Van Halen thing, but still liked S. Come freshman year I was a starter on the football team (still not a jock…just was a great lineman), and S had recently had her birthday.
Operation Van Halen part 2 was on.
This time I made a pastel artwork for her (I was a decent artist back then) and… also made another fucking mix CD. This time it was mixed with some more recent bands popular at the time, but still had Van Halen and also some solo Roth and Hagar as well.
Conversation follows here:
Me: So… I have something for you, wait here (I run into the athletic locker room and get the gift).
Me: (hands the artwork and CD over) Happy birthday S.
S: (stares blankly) Oh… you didn’t have to do that (gives awkward hug).
Me: (freaking out that she hugged me) Yeah…uh happy birthday, bye!
In the year that followed this solidified my place in the pantheon of stupidity as the hostility of the jocks increased since I continued to try to pursue a chick outside of my social standing. Eventually I gave up and moved on with my life. Van Halen became a running joke among the popular crowd (one jock grabbed my yearbook and wrote VAN HALEN SUCKS just for “lolz”).
Joke was on them though, I eventually became a really great guitarist (I’m sure Mike can testify to this) and performed frequently in front of the school. My senior year the leader of the worship band asked me to play this Steve Vai piece; I won 2nd place in the talent show for (most people thought I was robbed of 1st). Incidentally, I was placed right in front of S and her pals for the performance.
I wonder if she remembered those stupid CDs I made.
GETTING MORE TALE #656: The One They Call Dr. Feelgood
Hard rock peaked in the summer of 1989 with Dr. Feelgood. The charts were already filled with hard rock acts. Warrant were picking up steam. White Lion and Winger were getting airplay. Bon Jovi and Def Leppard were still raking it in with their last albums, New Jersey and Hysteria. Aerosmith were back. All we needed was the return of Motley Crue.
The Crue were not exactly laying low, but they did have problems to resolve. Nikki Sixx “died” of a heroin overdose on December 23 1987, but was revived with a shot of adrenaline right to the heart. Then he had to deal with a lawsuit from an imposter named Matthew Trippe, who claimed he took over the role of “Nikki Sixx” in 1983 and was owed royalties. Both these incidents inspired new songs. “Kickstart My Heart” was about by the overdose and subsequent recovery. “Say Yeah” took a shot at Matthew Trippe and that whole strange situation.
Fearing the band would end up dead if he did nothing, manager Doc McGhee sent the band into rehab (except for Mick Mars who quit drinking on his own accord). Then, a clean Motley Crue headed up to Little Mountain Sound in Vancouver to work with Bob Rock for the first time.
Bob Rock was on a roll. He finished up the soon-to-be-mega-successful Sonic Temple for The Cult and was recognized for the sound he was able to capture, particularly on the drums. He was also excellent at playing babysitter with musicians who were notoriously hard to work with. To minimize infighting, Rock split Motley up and had them all record separately. And because Aerosmith were in town recording Pump, Steven Tyler dropped by. He offered support for the newly clean band, and vocals on a new track called “Slice of Your Pie”.
The Crue’s first gig clean and sober was the Moscow Music Peace Festival in August of 1989. Although they had finished a new album, they played no new songs, saving them for proper release and promotion. Instead they played oldies from Girls, Girls, Girls, Theater of Pain, Shout at the Devil and Too Fast For Love. It was anything but peaceful. The gig, organized by McGhee, had been pitched to the bands involved as an equal opportunity. Bon Jovi, who McGhee also managed, were arguably the best known in Russia, as they were the only one with an official release there. They were booked to play last, but McGhee stressed there was no “headliner”. There was already friction between bands, because Ozzy Osbourne felt he should have been the headliner. Black Sabbath were massively popular with Russian rock fans, although they had to scour bootleg markets to find any.
Vince Neil live at the Moscow Music Peace Festival 08/12/1989 – Robert D. Tonsing/AP
Things came to a head when Bon Jovi featured pyro in their set, which none of the other bands had. Motley Crue interpreted this as favouritism towards Bon Jovi. Tommy Lee responded by ripping the shirt off Doc McGhee’s back. Motley Crue fired him and headed home on their own.
This drama did nothing to defuse Motley Crue’s momentum. Their new album Dr. Feelgood was released on September 1 1989, eventually going #1 and spawning five hit singles.
Meanwhile back in Canada, I was following all the Motley news with great anticipation. A Hit Parader magazine interview implied that Dr. Feelgood was so ambitious, it might even turn into a concept album. In fact the band had so many new songs that a second album, called Motley Crue: The Ballads was considered for 1990 release. The concept at that point was to do a new Motley Crue studio album that was all-heavy, no ballads. The softer songs would be saved for the second LP. Ultimately they got cold feet and realised putting out an album with no ballads in 1989 was commercially stupid, and so Dr. Feelgood was released with a mixture of tracks – the best 10 songs and one intro.
“Dr. Feelgood” was the first single, and it dominated airwaves just as summer holidays were ending. It, and “Love in an Elevator” by Aerosmith were absolutely everywhere. “Feelgood” had the edge with me, due to its massive drum sound and serious vibe. Bob Rock captured what might have been the biggest drum sound since Zeppelin, or Creatures of the Night by Kiss. Either way, Motley and Aerosmith really put Little Mountain Sound on the map as the studio to beat.
I tried to catch “Feelgood” on the radio and record it, but failed. Instead I bought the cassette single at the local Zellers store. Considering how many tracks the band worked up for Feelgood, I hoped they would be releasing non-album B-sides. They did not. Instead, “Feelgood” was backed by “Sticky Sweet”, probably the weakest album track.
I wondered what happened to all those unreleased songs that Hit Parader mentioned. “Say Yeah” was not on the album or singles. Neither were “Get It For Free” or “Rodeo”. (We’d have to wait another 10 years for them to be issued on the “Crucial Crue” remastered series.) A CD could hold almost 80 minutes of music, but Dr. Feelgood was the standard 45 minutes long. Since CDs were so expensive at the time, some fans argued “You have room, so put all the tracks on there and give us the value for our money.” Of course, this attitude changed later on, when listeners realised that albums with lots of extra filler were not as much fun to listen to. And, sadly, the unreleased Motley songs were pretty much filler. The stuff that went on Dr. Feelgood was as good as they had.
Dr. Feelgood was one of the first CDs I ever got, on Christmas Day 1989, along with my first CD player. The sonics of the album were everything they were hyped to be, but what really impressed me were the silences of compact disc. I was used to tape hiss. As “Time For Change” slowly faded out to nothing, I cranked the volume to 10. It was amazing to hear the fadeout clearly, without the tape hiss that had become part and parcel of music listening.
The album earned some great reviews for its sound, songs and even some of the lyrics. “Time For Change” revealed a new more mature direction. “Kickstart My Heart” took a serious subject and made it inspiring without wimping out. “When I get high, I get high on speed, top fuel funnycar’s a drug for me.” Some called it Motley’s best album, and still hold it as such.
As the album rocketed up the charts, Motley embarked on an 11 month tour. Most of the new album received live attention, with five songs being part of the regular set. One person who was paying attention to this was Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich. Lars fell hard for the Motley drum sound, and sought out Bob Rock to produce their next album too. The rest is history. Like Motley before them, Bob Rock helped push Metallica into the upper echelons.
On Monday June 18 1990, Motley Crue headlined at the SkyDome in Toronto. The following day, June 19, the highschool halls were flooded with Motley Crue T-shirts. Where were all these “fans” last year when I seemed to be about one of two people in school who liked Motley Crue? It was always so bizarre to see concert shirts on people who never expressed interest in the band. All those girls who always seemed to say, “I hate Montley Crue”!
What goes up, must come down. Motley relapsed after partying too hard with the Skid Row guys. Infighting ramped up. As the band were set and poised to top Dr. Feelgood with something truly special, they fired Vince Neil. It was as if they were handed the keys to the kingdom, to promptly throw them off the mountain. Although their 1994 album with John Corabi is a monster (and possibly their all-time best), as a commercial entity, Dr. Feelgood was never surpassed. It eventually sold over six million copies.
We’ll have to see how Motley portray it in their movie The Dirt, but the truth is that Dr. Feelgood was a one-off mega-success story they’d never repeat.
Some of you may wonder why I’ve been quiet about the school shooting in Florida last week. Controversial rocker Ted Nugent has had plenty to say, but I try to keep politics to a minimum here. The truth is I have said nothing because I’ve been too upset – a toxic mixture of sadness and furious anger.
I’m not a parent, but I cry for all the children whose lives have been cut short simply because they went to school that day to get an education. I cry for the kids who will never, ever get over the trauma of seeing their friends cut down. And what about the kids of the future, who may never know what a normal, happy, unarmed classroom is like?
I’m not American, but I weep for the country that continues to bury dead children, one tragedy after another, while doing absolutely nothing about it.
I’m not anti-gun, but I shake my head the most ridiculous defences for potential killers to easily buy AR-15 rifles. Don’t pretend they’re “tools” and you’re GI Joe.
I love a good conspiracy theory, but I boil in pure frustration that Ted Nugent and others are calling these children “crisis actors” who are a part of an anti-gun conspiracy.
Student Emma Gonzalez has become the voice of the victims
In short, it’s taken me a while to stop being upset, and get clear enough in the head to write something.
I grew up around guns. My dad taught me how to shoot safely before I was even allowed to ride my bike out of the neighborhood. I was such a good shot that he nicknamed me “Deadeye Dick”. He encouraged me to get my Firearms Acquisition Certificate, and I did. I used to love going to hunting shops with my dad to look at weapons. Lake Huron Rod & Gun in Underwood, Ontario was our stop. My mom and aunt would look for knick-knacks at a store called The Chapel while we looked at guns.
I don’t know what the solution is to America’s gun problem. And yes America, you do have a gun problem. It’s obvious to everyone except you, because you can no longer see the forest for the trees.
You don’t have to worry about fighting off the Red Coats with your muzzle-loaded muskets anymore.
Nobody needs to worry about Obama taking over the country, he’s enjoying his retirement.
And let’s not forget, Hillary lost the election. She’s no longer the scary anti-freedom monster under the bed. She’s an old lady and she can only write books now about “what happened”. She never wanted to repeal the Second Amendment in the first place. That was just Russian propaganda that many people fell for and still believe.
I understand that your Second Amendment guarantees you the “right to bear arms” (muskets?) to protect your country and family. I think that’s just fine and I support you. What I am asking you to do is look really hard at the world around you, and ask who you are really afraid of. Right now, it looks as if you’re afraid of a bunch of 17 year old kids who are sick of being shot at and pushed aside afterwards.
If the Founding Fathers could see what the Second Amendment has wrought, I can all but guarantee you that they would go back in time and word it a little differently.
It’s different here in Canada. We still have lots of violent movies, rap music, and video games. We have guns, but we do not have mass shootings every two weeks. We do not have or want a lobby organisation like the NRA to tell us what to think. Our country was not founded upon revolution like yours. We didn’t worry about the British coming back to take over. We didn’t worry about someone declaring themselves King. In fact the only invaders we worried about were Americans. (Look up “Manifest Destiny” and you’ll understand why.) Yet we didn’t give in to fear and arm everyone in the neighborhood.
The point is, America took the Second Amendment and went a little far with it. Canadians managed to make it this far without worrying too much about deep states or elites taking over, and we’re doing OK. We’re not perfect. We are not likely to forget the École Polytechnique massacre in 1989. But we don’t do it every other week.
What’s the difference? I think it’s our very different history. You had a revolution to escape from monarchy, and have been worried about tyrants taking over ever since. We had a couple rebellions and slowly gained sovereignty, like a teenager eager to move out of their parents’ basement.
What’s the solution? At this point…I no longer even think there is one. After speaking to many Americans, I think the divide is simply too wide to breach. It’s far too easy to say “it’s a mental health problem”. We have mental health problems here, too. That lazy answer isn’t it. Token restrictions on guns or bump stocks won’t help either because you’re too far down the rabbit hole now. Something else has to change. Something evil and elusive has infected the country and it’s not going away.
I think it’s fear and hate. Too many Americans now distrust and hate other Americans. The media and political instigators stoke the fires of hate, and now it’s too late. If there is a solution, it has eluded me. Empathy needs to return to the United States. It’s your only hope.
America, you are my neighbor and you are my friend. But you’re becoming that scary friend that I don’t want to be alone with anymore. And I’m telling you this as a friend – you have enough guns. More won’t help. Open carry won’t make this go away. A lot of these shooters put the gun in their mouths when they’re done. They don’t care if they die – they often want to go down like Harris and Klebold did. And the “good guy with a gun” fallacy won’t work because you can’t identify who the good or bad guys are until it’s too late. “Good guys with guns” have made very little difference because this isn’t a Hollywood movie.
While I have no answers, Ted Nugent’s certainly not helping. I’m not surprised, seeing as this is a guy who once called for the nuking of Iraq. Shame on you, Ted, and shame on all those attacking the victims.
Maybe empathy really is the answer. How to get there? That is a whole other problem.
GETTING MORE TALE #654: “Gucci Gang” – A lyrical analysis
Over the last few months, you may have been aurally assaulted by a track called “Gucci Gang” by a young Florida mumble-rapper named Lil Pump. (Real name: Gazzy Garcia. I know, I know). Yet another product of proud Florida, Lil Pump boasts being kicked out of Grade 10 – for starting a riot! An auspicious beginning for the young star who, as of press time, is currently under house arrest.
A guy at work started playing the track “Gucci Gang” just to irritate people. I tend to really take jokes too far, so of course I grabbed the ball and ran with it. It’s really awful, which in turn made it funny to watch people cringe at the sound of it. Lil Pump’s “Gucci Gang” is surely one of the worst songs of the decade, which leaves me baffled as to how it currently has 505 million views on Youtube. Perhaps because it’s so bad, people are listening to it for comedy relief like us? Sort of a Rebecca Black effect?
Lyrics and flow are critical for good rap. Let’s analyze the lyrics of Lil Pump’s biggest hit.
Oooh, brrrpt, brrpt, Gucci Gang, ooh, yeah, Lil Pump, yeah, Gucci Gang, ooh Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
OK, then. In rap music, I think it might be important to say your own name. I’m not sure why, but Lil Pump nails it in the first line. Then he repeats the song title a few times, interjecting a few “uhs” and “brrrrrrpts” in between. (Is that the sound of a phone ringing? The consensus of my lyrical analysis team is that it’s supposed to be a gun sound. I think it’s a phone.) The repetition is so you know what song you just clicked on, in case you’re illiterate.
Next up: boast about wealth you don’t have, because you’re shitty with finances:
Spend ten racks on a new chain My bitch love do cocaine, ooh I fuck a bitch, I forgot her name I can’t buy a bitch no wedding ring Rather go and buy Balmains
My lyrical translation team believes that “ten racks” is $10,000. That’s a lot of money to spend on a new chain, though gold ones go for up to $20,000 on Amazon, so maybe he got a good deal. But then, Lil Pump complains that he can’t buy a wedding ring for his cocaine-loving “bitch”. This is clearly selfish behaviour. He shouldn’t have spent ten racks on that new chain. His “bitch” needs a ring, but he’d rather go buy Balmains (French designer clothes). Don’t complain that you can’t buy that ring, Lil Pump. Get with the game. Maybe get your “bitch” some rehab for her cocaine problem.
Lil Pump repeats the title again, 12 times for the illiterate, and then repeats the entire first verse again. This requires no further analysis, except maybe to point out an attention deficit problem.
Let’s skip ahead:
My lean cost more than your rent, ooh Your mama still live in a tent, yeah Still slanging dope in the jets, huh Me and my grandma take meds, ooh
“Lean”, like “syzurp”, is a drink consisting of soda and codeine. I’m not sure how that costs more than anyone’s rent, but Lil Pump has already established that finance is not his strong suit. It is implied here that he and his grandmother may both have drug problems. The fact that he’s boasting about his so-called wealth while making fun of someone’s homeless mother indicates deep insecurity. What a douche!
None of this shit be new to me Fucking my teacher, call it tutory Bought some red bottoms, cost hella Gs Fuck your airline, fuck your company Bitch, your breath smell like some cigarettes I’d rather fuck a bitch from the projects They kicked me out the plane off a Percocet Now Lil Pump fly a private jet Everybody screaming “fuck West Jet!” Lil Pump still sell that meth Hunnid on my wrist sippin on Tech Fuck a lil bitch, make her pussy wet
Yeah, I’m sure all the “bitches” are dying to get with a guy who also fucked his own teacher. While his education suffers he continues to spend his money on clothes. “Red bottoms” cost “hella Gs”, and he boasts about flying on a private jet. Yet let’s remember, he can’t buy a ring for his “bitch”. Something is definitely wrong here. Does Lil Pump have an accountant? Probably not; it’s hard to put “selling meth” on your tax return. It is obvious that Lil Pump has not learned any lessons from all the broke former one-hit-wonders out there.
“Hunnid on my wrist” means he’s wearing a hundred dollar watch (not that impressive?) and “sippin on Tech” is another reference to that codeine drink. Something tells me that Lil Pump is going to lose that private jet if he doesn’t take better care of his money. He should also be concerned about his codeine dependency. That’s serious shit that’ll start giving you health problems early.
Pump then repeats the title (over and over) and first verse again…and again!
Is it popular for the novelty value as a joke? Is this considered a good track? General consensus via reviews is the song warrants a low to middling rating. Why so popular then? I don’t have a fucking clue. Not a single blessed idea. A frightening review from Florida states that nobody at a Lil Pump concert was older than 22. Kids are buying and listening to this shit? They knew every word to every track. Considering the phenomenally stupid lyrics, that’s terrifying. If you clicked the track above, I’m sorry for wasting your time.
Lil Pump is creatively and intellectually bankrupt, and financially soon to be the same.
Perhaps the greatest awakening I ever had in my life was the moment I first heard Iron Maiden. It was so important to me, it was the first chapter of Record Store Tales — Part 1, “Run to the Hills”. At that early age, music and video games collided I was never the same again. Since that time, music has always been intertwined with gaming and my best buddy Bob. All three combined were responsible for my rock n’ roll epiphany.
Bob and I played a lot of Atari on the weekends. Both families had the Atari 2600, but we both had different selections of games. Depending on whose house we were at, we’d play different games. “Gorf” was one game he had that I didn’t. It was a shooter like “Space Invaders” but with different kinds of levels. More than going for a high score, it was important for us to try and make it through all the levels. Atari games were so limited. “Gorf” had five distinct levels so it was more rewarding to see all five than to rack up high scores.
Same with “Frogger”. That was one of my games, and Bob was very competitive on it. As you progressed up the levels, more obstacles were thrown in your way, like snakes for example. It was exciting to make it to a new level for the first time, but “Frogger” was a hair-triggered game where timing was everything. And Bob used to get very, very excitable when a game of “Frogger” went wrong. That is how he earned the nickname The Reset King.
Here was his thinking. If you lose a level early in “Frogger”, the chances of making it to a new high level were greatly reduced. Bob would rather reset the game than try in futility. So, he’d dive for that reset button on the Atari console, usually while yelling something at the game. “The game is cheating!” was a favourite.
The game is cheating indeed, I suppose. It was easier to let him reset than argue that an Atari 2600 wasn’t sophisticated enough to “cheat” at a video game. “Frogger” was very touchy, but it wasn’t particularly glitchy. If you so much as touched a car, you were dead even if it didn’t technically “hit” you. So it could get frustrating, sure. We would have to eventually cut Bob off from resets or nobody else would get a turn.
And so, he was crowned the Reset King by my dad, who worried he was going to break the damn switch. It was a title Bob rejected because the game was cheating, and because David Dolph across the street was way worse with the reset button.
David Dolph was this bratty kid across the street. His weird family wouldn’t let them play with any toys with guns, like G.I. Joe. But David was no dummy. He had a Transformers collection, because he didn’t tell his mom they came with guns. He was also destructive, and if you let David Dolph near your toys, he’d probably wreck them. We didn’t like David Dolph, but one afternoon we found ourselves at his house playing video games in the basement. It was there that David Dolph faced the Reset King.
They didn’t have an Atari, but they did have a Commodore Vic 20 that you could play games on. We were playing there in the basement, when the Reset King decided to start a game over because it “cheated” early on.
“No fair!” yelled David Dolph. “No fair! It’s my turn now!” He tried to wrestle the controller from Bob’s hand, who didn’t budge. In fact he just continued to stare intently at the TV and play, with the corners of his mouth attempting to conceal a smile. Giving up the fight over the controller, David Dolph burst into tears and ran upstairs. Bob kept playing, a huge grin now upon his face. We stayed until Bob finished playing games!
David Dolph was a weird kid. His parents were really strict and wouldn’t let them listen to music, except for Bruce Springsteen. They approved of the Boss, but heavy metal was satanic to them. The kid was over at our house one afternoon when I was watching music videos on TV with Bob. He was visibly upset by “Rock You” by Helix, and left the house. About a decade later, he sure changed. I often heard him blasting Savatage’s “Hall of the Mountain King” from his bedroom window when his parents weren’t around.
Maybe it’s the narcissist in me, but who was he blasting Savatage for? By that time, Bob and I weren’t even talking to him, so I always wondered if he was blasting it at us.
As much fun as we had over the years, you had to be patient when gaming with Bob. If you wanted play with him, you had to let the Reset King have his way.
The reset button never broke. In fact we still have the same Atari 2600. It works, and we still have all the cartridges…except one. My sister never forgave me for trading away “Superman”. However, I traded “Superman” for my first Kiss (Record Store Tales Part 3: My First Kiss) so clearly I had the greater good in mind.
What did break…frequently…were the controllers. And that wasn’t Bob’s fault. Bob owned an Atari and took good care of his stuff. He was brought up in a Dutch household that understood the value of working for something and taking care of it. None of Bob’s things were broken like David Dolph’s. No, Bob didn’t break our controllers. They were broken by Cousin Geoffrey. Cousin Geoffrey broke…everything.
My cousin is now a father himself, and he understands things a little differently now. I think he doesn’t hold it against me when I say he was fucking annoying to play Atari or Nintendo with. More annoying than the Reset King or David Dolph!
Geoffrey destroyed about three Atari joysticks. I was pretty good at taking them apart and repairing them, but there was only so much I could do. An Atari joystick was a plastic handle that activated four switches on a circuitboard underneath. Geoffrey would push those joysticks so hard that the plastic inside would shatter. I could take it apart and use hot glue to give the inner plastic frame some strength but it was a temporary fix at best. You had to buy new controllers. My dad eventually decreed that Geoffrey was only allowed to play with old, refurbished controllers, not the new ones.
Geoffrey destroyed our original Transformers G1 Frenzy figure, on Christmas day, the same day we got it! He was just a destructive child, and what he didn’t destroy he simply lost. I’ll give you some examples of the chaos he caused.
First trip to Alberta, August 1979. l-r Mike, Geoffrey “Captain Destructo”, and Kathryn
In August 1979, the family took our first trip to Alberta. It was a two week tour starting in Edmonton and going through the mountains. My sister, my cousin and I were often given the same toys to play with, so we wouldn’t fight over them. My sister and my cousin were both given dinky cars of the Batmobile. Were they ever cool. They came with a little metal trailer and a plastic Bat Boat you could tow. We had a lot of fun playing dinky cars on those floors of Alberta motels. They were also small enough to carry around in your pockets.
Geoffrey threw his first Batmobile off a mountain in Jasper. He just wanted to see what would happen if he threw the Batmobile off a moutain. A second Batmobile was bought for him on the same trip. That Batmobile was flushed down the toilet of a rest stop in Canmore. He was eventually given a third Batmobile, which, as far as I know, survived a little longer than the other two.
Geoffrey “Captain Destructo” (in cap) sulking after sacrificing the Batmobile to the Mountain Gods.
Another incident of soul-crushing toy waste happened in the summer of 1983. This time, Geoffrey was visiting us in Ontario. It was the summer of Return of the Jedi. The new figures were out. My mom took us to Zellers and bought each of us a new toy. I chose Luke Skywalker, partly because he came with so many accessories. He came with a new lightsaber, a gun and a cloth cape. Geoffrey got the same figure. We then waited on a bench while my mom did her banking.
“Come on let’s open these,” said Geoffrey. My sister and I always waited until we got home.
Geoffrey ripped open his Luke.
“Why are you opening that now? You’re going to lose the gun. Just wait until we get home. This is our last stop.” I attempted to reason with my cousin but he had Luke out of the package.
Within the first five minutes, he lost the gun. Before we made it home, he lost the lightsaber too.
“I told you so,” was something I relished saying to him. My Luke, by the way, still has all his accessories 35 years later.
What these tales tell us is that cousin Geoffrey was a monsoon of chaos and utter destruction. He also had all the latest stuff, and that included video games. Fortunately for his parents, the original Nintendo Entertainment System had very robust, button-based controllers. He couldn’t break them. He was really good at “Super Mario Bros.” and “Mike Tyson’s Punch Out”. Unfortunately this meant my sister and I didn’t get much gaming time. We died early and often, and he played long lives while earning extra ones. His turns were much longer than ours.
We saw him make it to Mike Tyson once. That was pretty cool. Once he almost made it, but my dad walked in front of the TV during a fight and caused Geoffrey to lose. Boy he sure threw a fit that time!
Here’s the funny thing. When we were kids, my cousin took a lot of energy and patience to keep entertained. When he hit his 20s, he really mellowed out and we bonded like we never have before. And what did we bond over? Music and video games.
I took a trip out to Alberta for a week in 1997. He took me shopping to a couple music stores in Calgary, used and new. I found a rare CD featuring the early one of somebody named Dave Grohl. It was the band Scream, and the CD was No More Censorship. I was kicking off a love affair with Foo Fighters and it was a seriously cool find. Geoffrey was (and always has been) into to Tragically Hip, so I got him a CD by a similar sounding band called the Barstool Prophets. Meanwhile, he turned me onto the Gandharvas with their last album Sold For a Smile. Killer album that I still love (and own two different copies of).
At night, he introduced me to one of the best racing games I’ve ever played. For the N64 system, we spent hours on “Top Gear Rally”. It was such an immersive game for its time. We designed our cars, we discovered shortcuts, and had a blast seeing how far we could make it.
Once again, it wasn’t best scores or best times that mattered. It was seeing how far you could get. Getting to the third or fourth level was rare and required serious skill. It was the most fun I’d had playing video games in many years!
All these memories flow like a stream of consciousness, triggered by certain songs. Early Kiss, AC/DC and Quiet Riot will forever be associated with the old Atari 2600 in the basement. Bob was a constant gaming companion, and he sets off even more memories. Discovering music together, like Whitesnake and Kiss albums. All hail the Reset King. Long may he reign!
We had a big old IBM PC with dual 5 1/4″ floppy disk drives. That meant you could copy disks from your friends much faster and easier, and so we did. It wasn’t very powerful and we only had a monochrome monitor, but back then you had virtually unlimited access to free software. Copy protection usually took the form of the game asking you for information that can only be found in the game manual. So, you would just go to the library and photocopy the manual from your friend.
My dad worked at the bank at the mall, and he had a number of customers who did him cool favours over the years. One such friend was a fellow named Scully. Every once in a while, he’d come to my dad with a list of video game titles. Dad would bring it home, give it to us, and say “Circle any games you want.” My dad would buy a pack of 5 1/4″ floppy discs, and a week or two later they’d come back full of games. “Flight Simulator” (version 1.0), “King’s Quest”, “Alleycat”, “Sierra Championship Boxing”, “Lode Runner”, “Executive Suite”, “Rogue”, “Janitor Joe”, “Decathlon”, and “Evolution” were some of the game titles written on the floppy discs that returned.
Best friend Bob, who was without a computer in his house, came often to play the new games. Back then, a PC was a luxury. Only a few families on the street had them. My dad’s was subsidised via work. And by the way, when families on the street had computers, that meant more access to free games.
Bob and I shared a mutual love of music, and so music was usually playing when we were gaming. Mom and dad were tolerate a little noise once in a while, and damn, we had such a good time.
One game that we played to an endless soundtrack of Iron Maiden (Live After Death predominantly) was 1981’s “Crossfire” by Sierra. It was a grid-based shooting game, and the controls were so complex. You had four keys for moving, and four keys for shooting — one for each direction. Keyboards are not designed for that kind of gaming, and so playing alone was all but impossible as you mashed your fingers together trying to quickly move and shoot using eight keys.
Bob figured out how to play the game: as a team! He manned the firing keys and I moved the ship through this grid. It was about an 8×8 grid, approximated by hand below. As these alien things started moving around their rows and columns, I had to dodge blasts while setting Bob up for shots. You had to kill each alien twice. It required co-ordination, all enhanced by the steely bass of Steve Harris combined with the precision percussion that Nicko McBrain provides.
Another game that required coordination was “Decathlon“, which unfortunately drowned out any music we could play. My dad hated “Decathlon”. During the racing events, you “ran” by hammering on two keys as if you were running with your fingers. Bob and I discovered the best way to do it was two-handed — both pointer fingers at full speed. The clacking sound was a cacophony and my dad complained every time we played. The point of the game was to beat Bruce Jenner, so we had to do it. My dad hated Bruce Jenner because of that game.
Back to the teamwork: there were some events I could do well, while others only Bob could do, and one that required both of us hammering keys in unison. That was the pole vault. It began with someone doing the run-hammering with their pointer fingers on two keys. The other person had to use four keys to 1) plant the pole in the ground, 2) jump, 3) pull a handstand on the pole, and 4) release. Music didn’t help with the pole vault — you were fucked if you weren’t focused completely on your little digital man.
Some days I played solo. Bob was a couple years older and had a part time job at Harvey’s. There were a few games we had for playing against the computer. I obsessed over Sierra “Championship Boxing” one summer: 1988. Ace Frehley had a new album out, Second Sighting, and he happened to have a boxing related track called “The Acorn in Spinning”. The game allowed you to create all kinds of your own custom boxers, so I created a whole storyline about one I built called Acorn.
One of the aforementioned games, “Evolution“, was a lot harder without Bob. I picked it because one night, watching TV with my parents back in the early 80s, there was a story on about a new Canadian software company called Distinctive Software, based out of British Columbia. They were being spotlighted for a new and very original video game they released: “Evolution”. Through a series of levels, you had to evolve from a single-celled organism to an amphibian to mammal and up the ladder to humanity. It was praised for being different from the average computer game. The whole premise was so cool, and the actual gameplay so awful…not to mention, even as kids, we knew that humans didn’t evolve from beavers.
Level 1: the amoeba. You’re an amoeba floating around and trying to eat all the little edible blue dots around you, while trying to avoid a weird spinny eyeball looking thing that launches little purple spiky things at you. You can also, like, electrify your amoeba for a little while to protect yourself. You have five lives, but I used to typically burn three or even all five on this first level.
Level 2: the tadpole. A little easier this time. Just move side to side and jump to avoid fish, and to catch food. The simplicity of the controls meant you could make it through, losing minimal lives.
Level 3: the rodent. Dig little mouse tunnels and drop poisonous mouse poops behind you to block it again. Avoid being eaten by the snakes. Be careful you don’t use up all your poops too soon.
Level 4: the beaver, yes, a fucking beaver. Avoid the alligators while retrieving five pieces of wood to build your dam. A surprisingly easy level.
Level 5: gorilla. Humans didn’t evolve from gorillas, but we do share long distant ancestors, closer than beavers anyway. In this strange level, you have to throw oranges at monkeys who are stealing your shit. Aiming those oranges was purely just a matter of luck. Game over here. If you ever make it to this level, congrats, but you’re done now. Only once, maybe twice over the years did I hit all the damn monkeys and move on to:
Level 6: human instant death. As soon as your little fully-evolved human ejects from his neat space car, he is dead meat. Numerous robots and aliens enter immediately after, from every direction, and begin shooting. You will have no chance, so just accept your fate instead of wishing you were still a gorilla. And you thought those monkeys were bad.
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I love/hated that game so much. I wanted so bad to get to that final human level, and with Bob, we worked as a team to finally get there only for it to last a couple seconds at best.
Perhaps 1982’s “Evolution” had a deeper message. We climb the hill to the very top of the food chain on this world, only to be squashed immediately by whatever is waiting for us out there. It’s a classic science fiction dystopian theme.
Can we find a suitable heavy metal song to go with this doomed fate of alien or robotic annihilation? Of course we can! From 1988’s Ram It Down, another album I obsessed over during this period, it’s the apocalyptic “Blood Red Skies”.
Whatever your gaming soundtrack, I hope your memories are as good as mine.
As the sun goes down, I move around, Keeping to the shadows, Life, hangs by a thread, And I’ve heard it said, that I’ll not see tomorrow.
If that’s my destiny, it’ll have to be, So I’ll face the future, Running out of time, I’m on the line, But I’ll go down fighting.
Felt the hand of justice, Telling wrong from right, Threw me out upon the street in the middle of the night,
Cybernetic heartbeat, Digital precise, Pneumatic fingers nearly had me in their vice.
Not begging you, I’m telling you.
You won’t break me, You won’t make me, You won’t take me, Under blood red skies.
You won’t break me, You won’t take me, I’ll fight you under, Blood red skies.
Through a shattered city, watched by laser eyes, Overhead the night squad glides, The decaying paradise.
Automatic sniper, With computer sights, Scans the bleak horizon for its victim of the night.
They’re closing in, They’ll never win.
You won’t break me, You won’t make me, You won’t take me, Under blood red skies.
You won’t break me, You won’t take me, I’ll fight you under, Blood red skies.
As the end is drawing near, Standing proud, I won’t give in to fear, As I die a legend will be born, I will stand. I will fight, You’ll never take me alive.
I’ll stand my ground, I won’t go down.
You’ll never take me alive, I’m telling you, hands of justice, I will stand, I will fight, As the sun goes down, I won’t give in to fear.
Canada’s Death From Above (formerly: Death From Above 1979) have some pretty awesome tunage. This bass/drum duo of Jesse F. Keeler and Sebastien Grainger have been creating edgy rock and roll (off and on) since 2001. Their music is great. “Trainwreck 1979” is an incredible steamroller rock song. But Death From Above have a history that might contain some unsavoury characters, such as Vice media co-founder Gavin McInnes.
Have you ever heard of the Proud Boys? It’s OK if you haven’t.
The Proud Boys are a “western chauvinist” group founded by McInnes. As westerners, they “refuse to apologize for creating the modern world” (a fallacy in itself as any historian can tell you). Only men are permitted. Women can become a “Proud Boy’s Girl”. They even have a uniform (black polo shirts with yellow trim) and coded words that identify them with each other, but not with the general public. They claim it’s just a fraternity, and that anyone who identifies as “alt-right” will be banned permanently from the group. McInnes also claimed that Jesse F. Keeler of Death From Above was a member, which Keeler denies.
After my first encounter with a Proud Boy, a quick glance at his Facebook photos revealed a swastika and other Nazi paraphernalia, misogyny and a boatload of bigotry. That was my very first encounter. I don’t accept their claim that all “alt-right” folks are unwelcome. I believe that they prefer their alt-right members to keep any Nazi and white supremacist symbolism in the closet. I strongly doubt that the Proud Boys have zero white supremacists in their numbers. That’s how it looks to me, and I’m not interested in debating with Proud Boys.
Proud Boys really hate being “mischaracterized” as a white nationalist movement, but they have become a safe space for such folks. There certainly have been plenty of violent Proud Boy bad apples in the news, whom the organization distances itself from. But for whatever reason, the Proud Boys attract these assholes like flies are attracted to shit.
Part of the Proud Boy initiation is getting in a fight with an “Antifa” member. Antifa, a controversial leftist group, stands for “anti-fascist”. So in order to be a Proud Boy, you have to commit the crime of assault. That’s not to say Antifa have never initiated violence themselves; they have. But to be a Proud Boy, you actually have to beat somebody up? They call it all “freedom of expression” and “family values”. I’m sure you’ve heard those phrases before from the far-right, just as you will also hear the word “patriot”. They refer to their group as “fun, respectful and fair”. Until you mention such words as “Islam”, “transgender”, “immigrant” or “liberal”. These dirty words are sure to earn the opposite of a fun, respectful or fair response. If you want to “trigger” a sensitive Proud Boy, try one of those words. (Assault must be one of their “fun” activities.)
There’s nothing wrong with being proud of your heritage or your country. I love Canada, even though our history has its dark corners. We have not treated our native population well, and that is an understatement times 1000. On his solo album The Secret Path, Gord Downie (RIP) of the Tragically Hip tried to educate Canadians on our shameful history with residential schools. Yes, there are many things in our history to take pride in, such our military role as peace keepers (thank you Lester B. Pearson). Take pride in being Canadian, but don’t distort history to do so. Distorting history will only lead to repeated mistakes. Pride is one thing; hate is something else altogether. In my view, the Proud Boys are a safe haven for some very angry individuals.
Some of Death From Above’s lyrics have been characterised as misogynistic:
“So tired of sluts coming up to us in the clubs with their cocaine, We’re looking for wives.” (“Dead Womb”)
One of the Proud Boys’ values is “venerate the housewife”. Death From Above’s Sebastian Grainger says “It wasn’t meant to be a hateful song…I just liked saying outrageous things.”
Death From Above’s Jesse Keeler has appeared The Gavin McInnes Podcast, viewed by some as a Proud Boy recruitment tool. Keeler has acknowledged a past friendship with McInnes but says he’s never been a Proud Boy. As the Canadian son of an Indian immigrant, he doesn’t identify with white nationalism. He says that as he got to know McInnes better, he realised that he had some extreme views that he didn’t agree with.
McInnes’ views are pretty simple. Here’s one: “We need to close the borders now and let everyone assimilate to a Western, English-speaking way of life.”
Canada has two official languages by the way: English and French. They are equal under law. But the original Canadians spoke neither; they had myriad tongues including the Algonquian and Iroquoian languages.
This western chauvinist attitude of McInnes and his group goes against everything I studied earning my History BA. It also clashes with the values that rock and roll music have taught me.
The Beatles proved that music can transcend all barriers. They went to India and came back with the White Album. Led Zeppelin went to North Africa and wrote “Kashmir”. Could there be anything more boring than a plain western, English-speaking way of life? The music in such a place would certainly be a lot duller. Like trying to create art in a vacuum, out of nothing. Another exception to the Proud Boy way of thinking is the long list of incredible women of rock and roll. They didn’t just settle for being “housewives”. Where would music be today without Janis Joplin, Aretha Frankin, Chrissy Hynde and Debbie Harry? A hell of a lot less interesting. I can’t even imagine a world without them.
The best art benefits from a diverse palette. The more colours you have to choose from, the more vibrant and alive your art can be. White western people didn’t invent rock and roll. They stole it. Rock and roll has a long history, and if you go back far enough you can trace it all the way to Africa. It came to America on slave ships, mixed and matched with music from Europe, and became R&B. R&B used to be called “race music”. Rock and roll evolved from this stew of cultures and influences. Elvis Presley did not invent rock and roll. Elvis Presley didn’t even write songs.
The Proud Boy value system is one of insular uniformity. Rock and roll is about everything but conforming to a clean and neat Western life. It is about rebelling, and exploring all the way to the edge. From the very beginning of rock to today, music has only benefited from cultural diversity. Everything on the radio today is a product of cross-pollination. If rock and roll did not embrace music from different cultures worldwide, it would be a stifled, sad thing. There would be no Beatles, no Stones, no Queen, or any of the bands influenced by them. From Prince to the Prophets of Rage, most of rock and roll would simply not exist.
Want to be proud of your heritage? That’s great, but don’t pretend. The west is responsible for great innovation, built on the shoulders of previous old-world giants. (Ptolemy, anyone?) The west is also responsible for the worst atrocities in history. No amount of revisionism can change the past. Ignorance cannot erase it. And here’s the key point that everybody seems to miss. You can condemn the bad stuff, like residential schools, as it deserves to be condemned. But then you can be proud of the good, such as the bravery of our troops from World War II to the present. You can do both, it’s allowed!
I like to think of Frank Zappa.
“Hey, you know something people? I’m not black, but there’s a whole lotsa times I wish I could say I’m not white.” — “Trouble Every Day”, 1966
Death From Above have distanced themselves and disavowed McInnes and the Proud Boys. I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt. “I began noticing that Gavin was promoting violence and a form of radical politics that I absolutely do not agree with,” said Keeler. I’ll continue to listen to Death From Above. Everyone learns from their experiences.
No matter where you fall politically, if you don’t see that our “western culture” (including our music) has roots all over the entire world, then you have a lot of history to learn. In genetics, the larger and more diverse the population, the better the chances of survival. A small or homogeneous population without diversity will go extinct. I think the same is true of culture. Embrace the good and reject the bad. That’s why the Proud Boys need to be rejected, and I’m glad Death From Above have done that.
Please keep comments civil. Any personal attacks will be deleted and burned with a tiki torch.
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