THE WHITLAMS – Eternal Nightcap (2000 Black Yak Canadian version)
I honestly can’t remember who I saw the Whitlams opening for in 2000. I know it was the Center in the Square in Kitchener, so by process of elimination, they were probably opening for Blue Rodeo on their Days In Between tour.* I actually expected a country band, because I confused the Whitlams with the Wilkinsons. What I got, much to my delight, was an Australian piano-based pop rock band with witty lyrics and a couple absolutely unforgettable songs. I like piano rock: Ben Folds, or Elton John for example. You can see similarities with both in the Whitlams.
At that time the Whitlams were in Canada promoting Eternal Nightcap, essentially a compilation of selections from their Australian releases. Having never heard those albums, I don’t know if you would consider this a “best of” or not, but upon listening for the first time, I was clueless that these songs weren’t all from one album. They sound cohesive.
The opening track “No Aphrodisiac” showcases Tim Freedman on vocals and piano with a melancholy opener. One of the most impressive things about the Whitlams is their lyrical prowess. “There’s no aphrodisiac like loneliness,” sings Freedman. Ain’t it the truth? It’s “I Make Hamburgers” that has perhaps the wittiest words. “I make hamburgers, I get all the girls,” sings Freedman, and somehow I believe him in this amusing tale.
Jazz pervades “You Sound Like Louis Burdett” until the pure pop chorus. “All my friends are fuck-ups, but they’re fun to have around.” Eternal Nightcap is a diverse album, and the “Charlie” suite (three songs) has a quieter, more serious tone. I have wondered if these songs are at least partly based on the Whitlams’ late guitarist, Stevie Plunder. “You’re killing your soul with an audience looking on.” Plunder died of a suspected suicide. These are beautiful songs, but lyrically very heavy. Plunder himself sings “Following My Own Tracks”, a great rock tune that actually reminds me a lot of early Blue Rodeo — the Greg Keelor songs. Then there is some Beatles-y mellotron on “Melbourne”, a mid-tempo track that I remember them opening with at the Kitchener show.
With such a strong mixture of soft and rocking material, coupled with hard to forget melodies and skilled wordmanship, Eternal Nightcap (the Canadian version anyway) is a pretty easy CD to justify adding to your collection. Now, to be transparent and honest, I will say that I did own a copy of their next album Torch the Moon, given to me by a co-worker. I didn’t keep it because there was nothing on it that struck me as memorable like Eternal Nightcap. Whether or not this CD is all the Whitlams you need, I cannot say.
There is so much more to Kiss than just the original members. Sure, you may think Ace Frehley rules, and that his solo albums are awesome. You’d be right — I’ve reviewed every single Ace Frehley album. But let’s not forget about Bruce Kulick, who humbly held down the fort from 1984-1996. Today, Kulick’s rocking the house with Grand Funk, and doing a fine job of it. But just as there is more to Kiss than just the original members, there is more to Bruce than just Kiss or Grand Funk. Bruce has always treated Kiss with respect, and his solo music shows the same care and love put into it. BK3 is my favourite of his solo albums, including Audio Dog and Transformer.
Surely one of the draws to this Kulick record has to be the big name guest appearances. The best of these is the late Doug Fieger (The Knack) on “Dirty Girl”, an incredibly catchy radio rocker. So good is it, Classic Rock magazine listed it as the 29th best tune of 2010. Hey, that’s a proud moment! If I didn’t know it was Fieger singing, I wouldn’t have guessed. I figured it was some young unknown with a great voice. As great as this song is, and how hit-worthy it could have been, I don’t think it would have suited Kiss. It’s too pop for Kiss, I think, but it’s not sell-out in any way, because Kulick makes sure the guitars are sweet, crunchy and loud. Other guest shots include Steve Lukather, dueling with Bruce on the only instrumental “Between the Lines”. Tobias Sammet shows up to sing the grinding “I’m an Animal”, and on drums is Kiss drummer Eric Singer. As if that’s not enough, there are not one but two Simmons on this album. The old man sings “Ain’t Gonna Die”, a heavy Kiss-like armor plated beast. Then the Son of Simmons, young Nicholas, sings on the even better “Hand of the King”. Almost a dead ringer for his old man, Nick lends the song a demon-like aura.
There is one more cool guest shot that needs to be highlighted. There are 3/4 of Bruce’s old late-90’s band Union, on a great tune called “No Friend of Mine”. John Corabi lends his unmistable gravel to this melancholy rocker. With shades of acoustics and ripping lead vocals, this as good as anything in the original Union catalogue. I still think their debut album was incredible. Canuck Brent Fitz is on drums, also from the Union days but probably on a break from Slash. Only bassist Jamie Hunting is missing, but it’s safe to say that this song could easily fall under the Union umbrella. Kulick’s shredding on this one is insane, used sparingly but effectively.
BK3 is also diverse. Bruce sings the rest of the material, but the most interesting is the closing ballad “Life”. It sounds like a King’s X track circa Faith Hope Love, augmented with violins and the flute! This is truly is an outstanding ballad. Bruce would be the first one to say “I’m not a singer”, so it takes courage to do the lead vocal on a track like this. Bruce’s voice has his personality in it: it sounds like the Bruce Kulick we know and love. It’s a very human sound, and he does a great job. His voice is similar to Steve Vai’s, another artist who is not afraid to sing lead.
If you appreciate great rock music, meticulously and lovingly assembled, then give BK3 a shot. There are so many great songs on here. If you’re a fan of Kiss, The Knack, Motley Crue, or any of the other guests, then this purchase is somewhat of a no-brainer!
GETTING MORE TALE #491: My First Tragically Hip Experience, by Scotty G
As fans know, Gordon Downie of the Tragically Hip was recently diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. It is devastating news. Downie, living his life as an artist, has decided to go out as an artist and do a farewell tour in support of the new album Man Machine Poem. As writers, we have been trying to come up with a way to honour the man without dwelling on the negative. With that in mind, in a multi-site event, we have several posts for you today to honour the man and the legend, Mr. Gord Downie. Mikeladano.com’s contribution is this guest shot by the King of Rock Knowledge, and fellow ‘Fester, Scott. He is what I like to refer to as a “Jedi Master of rock”, the kind of man that can pass down stories and legends to the next generation. Scotty had the chance to see The Hip back in the early, early days and…well see for yourself! Please welcome Mr. Scotty G!
My first Hip experience was around 1988 or so, just prior to the release of Up To Here (1989). Somewhere after the Spoons and Rough Trade, and possibly prior to Sass Jordan, (I cant remember) at a Canada Day concert at Molson Park in Barrie, the Tragically Hip hit the stage.
Obviously young and lacking a whole lot of support, they carried their amps on stage themselves, placed them on chairs and started to play. I was kind of familiar with “Last American Exit” from the video, but that was it. They hit the stage and I was BLOWN AWAY. Mid-set, after really rocking one out, Gord called out to the crowd and asked if anyone had a dime? Literally, the crowd pelted the stage with change. Gord grabbed the coin of choice and proceeded to tighten a screw in his mic stand. He thanked the crowd for the help, and they blasted into another tune.
Months later, with this show still in the forefront of my mind, Up To Here was released and with it came more opportunities to see the Hip in many small venues. One in particular, the Highlands in Cambridge*, always offered up good opportunities to meet bands and in this case a couple of us were welcomed into the dressing room where Gord very politely obliged our fan talk. Joint after joint flew from Johnny Fay’s expert rolling fingers. Although it’s a long time ago, I have a good memory of it. I have to add that I am still amazed that he gave us the time of day, and seemed cool with having two 17 or 18-year-olds sitting in the dressing room asking silly questions while the band got stoned….
I got to see the Hip many times after that, and look back on those early performances with fondness. I never saw them live after the Road Apples tour, but will always recall the welcome that Gord and the band gave two young fans after a great show in Cambridge. He is a cool shit….
SCOTTY G
* I saw the London Quireboys at Highlands in Cambridge in December 1990
While the Apatow Company’s best films are behind them now, in 2007 they were coming off the dual hits 40 Year old Virgin, and Knocked Up. Those films featured a core of recurring actors, including Bill Hader, Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, James Franco and the whole gang that we are all familiar with today. Then, this kind of comedy was fresh. Today, Superbad is the only Apatow I can still watch regularly and laugh like it’s the first time.
I love a movie with a great rock soundtrack, and Superbad features Van Halen (“Panama”), Motorhead (“Ace of Spades”), and Ted Nugent (“Stranglehold”). There’s even The Roots! Even better, and incorporated into the comedy, is the Guess Who’s “These Eyes” as performed by Michael Cera. It is a case 0f mistaken identity and Cera’s character Evan is in a spot. I’m cracking up thinking about it. “He’s Jimmy’s brother, the guy! The singer! He’s the guy with the beautiful voice that I was telling you about!” And then, “My brother came all the way from Scottsdale Arizona to be here tonight. And you’re not going to sing for him? You sing, and sing good!” The last song I would have chosen to sing under such circumstances would have been “These Eyes”, but that’s why this is a comedy movie.
Seth (Jonah Hill) and Evan (Michael Cera) are highschool versions of Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, who wrote this movie, but were too old to play the parts. It’s the end of highschool, and together with their friend Fogell aka “McLovin” (Christopher Mintz-Plasse, who absolutely nails it in his film debut), they aim to score some liquor for a party. Once they have booze, they will be like heroes to Jules (Emma Stone) and Becca (Martha MacIsaac) at the party, and possibly score some coitus. McLovin has the fake ID, but acquiring the alcohol is only the first of many stumbling blocks.
Seth Rogen and Bill Hader play incompetent cops, but their intentionally stupid scenes will make you groan rather than laugh. Bad decisions by all the characters may have you shaking your head asking “why?”, but you have to put your mind in the hormones of a highschool kid aiming to get his first touchy feely. Guys do stupid things not unlike the people in this movie. I know guys who’ve done things like this when they were kids. I’ve made plenty of stupid decisions while chasing someone of the fairer sex. Granted, I’ve never been hit by a car and then talked into not calling the cops in exchange for going to a badass party where I can steal some booze. That exact situation has never happened to me or anyone I know. But it’s fucking hilarious.
The most enjoyable comedy usually comes from the banter between Hill and Cera. Their blunt vulgarity has a certain art to it. I can still quote lines from this movie, and people know which ones I’m talking about. “Something like 8% of kids do it, but whatever.”
In this film, Seth and Evan are going to different colleges and there is a tension between the two characters over this. Both of them feel differently about it, and this is the most relateable part of the movie. The end of highschool feels like the top of the world for a brief moment, but then in the fall friendships split up, sometimes forever (until Facebook came along anyway). Superbad is basically a movie about two guys trying to get some, but the tension in the friendship is ultimately what drives the story to its conclusion. Cera and Hill are funny indeed, but the friendship they portray seems real.
The unrated edition is loaded to the gills with bonus features, and honestly a good chunk of them are worth checking out. You can skip the “Cop Car Confessions”, but definitely watch “Everyone Hates Michael Cera – The Unfortunate True Story”. And of course, don’t miss “The Music of Superbad” either. Bootsy Collins and Lyle Workman put together an unexpectedly cool soundtrack.
Now here is an album I haven’t played in a long time!
When the supergroup known as Damn Yankees first emerged in 1990, they quickly became my favourite new band. Ted Nugent, Tommy Shaw (Styx), Jack Blades (Night Ranger) and drummer Michael Cartellone emerged with one of the hottest new albums of the summer: Pure radio-ready hard rock, but with the integrity added by the Nuge himself. All aboard!
(I like that Ted is in the credits also as “security”. You can picture it.)
So what is Damn Yankees? Light rock, Great Gonzos, or a mixture? The answer is: all of the above.
The predominant direction is radio-ready hard rock circa the time. Even though all these guys had been around for a while (especially Ted), if you didn’t know who they were it was easy to mistake them for the new hot band. Their lyrics are geared to the young.
Dressed to kill and lookin’ dynamite, With her high-laced stockings and her sweater so tight, I asked her name, She said her name was ‘Maybe’…
Oh come on guys! Jack Blades was 36 years old when he sang that. We already have one Gene Simmons. Thankfully, the lead single “Coming of Age” was musically impeccable for hard pop rock. Lyrically, there is nothing of any value here, just meaningless male drivel. The Van-Hagar like licks of “Coming of Age” are enhanced by the aggressive lead guitar work of Terrible Ted, who probably thought the lyrics were pure poetry.
The bluesy riff of “Bad Reputation” screams Nugent, but the vocals of Blades and Shaw blend as if they have always been a vocal team. Of course as we all know, Damn Yankees led to a long and very productive partnership for the two, with Shaw-Blades being a personal favourite album. The most remarkable thing about Damn Yankees is indeed the blend of vocals. Just listen to that bridge in the middle of “Bad Reputation”. Two rock singers rarely complement each other as well as Shaw and Blades. But just when you thought it was going too folksy, Ted returns with a fluttering blitzkreig of strings and (probably) freshly killed meat.
“Runaway” features some of Shaw’s great slide guitar work, on a mid-tempo rocker with an unforgettable anthemic chorus. Damn Yankees is often forgotten for its guitar work. Think about it though: Tommy Shaw and Ted Nugent are two of America’s best from the old school. While the songs are simple pop rock, the solos are simply awesome.
By the time fall 1990 rolled around, it was time to drop a ballad for a single: “High Enough”. In the year 1990 there were a number of acoustic ballads that were all very similar sounding: “Silent Lucidity”, “More Than Words”, and “High Enough”. There is no better way to describe “High Enough” than “sounds like summer 1990”. Unfortunately it does not stand out or have any qualities that make it more memorable than the other ballads out that year. The saccharine strings just do me in. I get ballad-fatigue. And let’s not even talk about that awful music video.
The band’s namesake track “Damn Yankees” sounds like a Nugent song. It has a chunky, ballsy riff, though nothing to write home to mother about. Unfortunately the lyrics are terribly dated, the kind of pro-American intervention sentiment that went out fashion many years ago. With references to Manuel Noriega and the Middle East, this is all much less glorious with the benefit of hindsight. There’s a lesson to be learned there: avoid overly politicizing your lyrics, young rockers.
For a better ballad than “High Enough”, check out side two’s opening track “Come Again”. This one is old-school, sounding something like Styx’s “Boat on a River” colliding with the Nuge on “Stranglehold”. It builds into a frenetic solo section that is just to die for, Nuge seemingly doing his best Eddie VH impression. Then on “Mystified”, Ted brings the blues while Tommy gets down on the pedal steel. This is a great little blues rock jam of the kind ZZ Top are comfortable with. I’m certain Rev. Billy would approve of the Nuge’s blues licks, authentic as they come.
“Rock City” ain’t bad at all, accelerated for your pleasure and name-dropping Jimmy Page in the lyrics. It’s not the heaviest song on the album — they save that for the end — but it’s definitely second. There is little doubt, based on interviews with the band, that the heaviness came from Ted. Let’s all take a moment now to thank Ted Nugent for rocking so damn hard. Thank you, Mr. Nugent. Penultimate track “Tell Me How You Want It” is a pretty good mid-tempo song, with classy vocals from Tommy and Jack. Had they released more singles from the album, this one would have been up for the job.
And then finally…
A blues lick, and Ted speaking: “Nice lick! I have a feeling this is gonna be a rhythm and blues song…nice, real nice. Tasty. WAITAMINUTE!”
“Piledriver” is just a dumb sex song, but it’s also pure Gonzo Ted, the Ted you knew was hiding somewhere on this album. You wanna hear Ted go friggin’ top gear for four and a half minutes? “Piledriver”, baby! Tommy and Jack on the backing vocals even drop an F-bomb! Can you believe it? They’re the nice guys of the band! But let’s not forget Michael Cartellone on the drums, hammering relentlessly, not only keeping up with Great Gonzo but setting the freakin’ pace! Even without headbanging along (strongly recommended), you’re exhausted by the end of the tune.
I say again, thank you Mr. Nugent.
As it turns out, Damn Yankees is still an entertaining listen 26 years later. I didn’t properly appreciate the smoking guitars on it at the time. Back then, I was interested in ballads and singles and catchy tunes. Even so I still liked “Piledriver” back then…because it’s awesome. The album’s real flaw is on the lyric sheet. I know these guys can do better than some of these tracks.
I love my mom. I have the best mom in the world! That’s why I want to share these memorable mom quotes. Let’s hear it for my mom!
1. One day we were at the cottage playing cards. Someone cut a stinky fart. My sister demanded to know who the cuplrit was. “Who cut the cheese??” she asked.
“What cheese?” answered my mom.
2.Remember “More Than Words”? Extreme really broke into the mainstream with the standard-setting acoustic ballad. This is the one, more than any other acoustic ballad, that conjures the most images. My mom liked the song. She asked my sister and I who sang it.
“Extreme!” we answered simultaneously.
“Who’s Nick Streen?” she asked back.
3. My mom and dad just got back from a cruise. They excitedly told me about the different activities I would enjoy. Rock climbing, bumper cars, and lobster every night if I wanted it. “And they have special shows,” added my mom. “Like Rock of Ages.”
Doing my best to exaggerate the degree to which I was offended by this suggestion, I slowly turned my head to stare, and removed my glasses raising the eyebrows just so.
My mom caught my drift, but not why.
“Do you not know what Rock of Ages is?”
I answered matter-of-factly, “Yes I do, that’s not my point!”
“But it’s about rock!” clarified my mom.
My mother-in-law, who was also visiting at the time, knew what I was getting at.
“Your son is a music snob,” she said. She turned towards me and quickly amended, “Or a music aficionado if you prefer.” I smiled at her and laughed. That was it exactly.
Thanks for being such a good sport mom! Glad you enjoyed the trip.
GETTING MORE TALE #489: I Forgot To Remember To Forget
Here are five short stories about forgetfulness in the old Record Store Days!
1. The Boss Man lived his life via one of those day timer books. Everything was in there – all his contacts, all his notes, where he had to be, when he had to be there, everything. So it was quite difficult for him when he left the book on top of his car and drove off! Needless to say he had to buy a new day timer and start over.
2. In my last year, I totally forgot I was working a morning shift. It was during the Christmas rush, and we had two people opening: me and one other guy. Since my reputation was that I showed up at least an hour early for an opening shift, my absence was noted before we actually opened. My co-worker Kam called me. “Did you forget you were opening today? You’re usually here by now.” Quickly covering for myself, I answered “Nah I was just doing some banking, I’ll be there really soon.” Saying this as I pulled on my pants trying to get out the door….
3. Ah, daylight savings time. Spring forward, and fall back! One day the Boss Man called me from our store in Waterloo. Keep in mind, I always got to work early except for that one time!
“Mike, have you heard from [“Bully” – name redacted]?” She’s not here at the store yet.”
I answered him no, but that she’s not usually in that early in the morning anyway, and not to worry. She’d surely be in before opening.
“But she’s late! I had to open the store!”
But she wasn’t late, and the store wasn’t supposed to be open. The clocks had turned back, but the boss forgot to change his. The boss got there early without realizing it and opened the store early anyway! We had a good laugh over this misunderstanding.
4. They had me running all over the place. I drove all the way to open a store in Oakville, Ontario one morning, only to discover I forgot the key to that store at home. Thankfully the boss man wasn’t far away and within 20 minutes he was there to open the door for me! Crisis averted again!
5.Once, and only once, somebody forgot to lock the door at closing time. I opened the next morning and was shocked to find the door unlocked. Obviously nobody had tried the door during the night or the alarms would have gone off. That was scary! My dad always taught me to lock up the doors when you leave a place. In fact there were times – many times – on my drive home when I couldn’t clearly remember locking the door, so routine had closing become. So I would drive back and check. I never left the door unlocked, but I also never would have been able to sleep at night if I didn’t go back to check!
Now here’s a local success story in the making! Four guys with nine songs headed south to record their debut album in Texas with producer Sterling Winfield, whose name you might recognize. He has Pantera, Damageplan, and Hellyeah albums on his resume, so it seems obvious that A Rebel Few were going for a heavy sound. What they ended up with is one of the best sounding indi heavy rock albums you’ll likely get to hear.
There are Pantera influences, and you can hear some Zakk Wylde too. What sets these guys apart is singer Raposo (just Raposo). He’s more than just another melodic growler. The world is full of those. We have enough. Raposo has depth and control, as well as expression. He can do a smooth voice, not just the growls. He’s world class. He fits the band, who combine shredding with riffs, groove, heavy bass and drums.
All the songs are good, but there are some that really stand out. “A Rebel Few” hits the highway with anti-matter propulsion, so furious it is. Many of the riffs on this album sound Sabbathy in origin, and “Born Again” is one such moment. “Empires Fall” is radio-ready riff rock. There is some seriously good shit on this album, and it’s all crunchy and heavy on the low end. What it lacks in originality, is made up for by the vocals. Listen carefully; you will hear a serious amount of vocal quality that you don’t get out of the general rock herd. When Raposo really gives’er, he almost sounds like a young John Bush.
This album will give you a burst of energy like one of those awful caffeine drinks…but good for you! If you are not air-drumming or air-bassing or air-guitaring along, then you are not doing it right. This review is taking longer than average to write, because you can’t type while you’re furiously air-drumming along with Chris Spiers. As for the air-guitar part, I find lead shredder Barry Marton on his way to developing into a monster. He can play it bluesy, he can play it slick. The raw material is there and you can hear glimmers of depth between the blurs of notes.
The big surprise is saved for last, and it’s a doozy. “Pure Revolution” would be a good title for a speedy rock number, but it’s just the opposite. Touches of piano and light guitar introduce the only power ballad on the album, and it’s a good’er. Maybe calling it a power ballad isn’t right, but it has ballady moments, and also powerful riffs, so why not? There are heavy Dio guitar chugs, but also those quiet spaces where the vocals really get to come out. Either way, it’s a kick-ass song.
Get this CD. Use your fingers, Google the band “A Rebel Few”, and do what you gotta do to get this music in your ears today.
Whatever musical subculture you come from, if it has a uniform, then no doubt hair style is a part of that uniform.
Nowhere has this been exemplified better than the classic mohawk made famous by 1970’s punk rockers. Mr. T made it mainstream in the 80’s, rendering the punk shock value of it dead. On to the next thing! How about a a 1″ hole in your earlobe to keep it edgy? Hair cuts and music have a much longer association than that, of course. The Beatles were considered rough and shaggy for their hair that COVERED THEIR EARS! Can you imagine? On the other side of the pond, Elvis was popularizing the greaser look. All over the world, kids tried to look like these rebellious rabble-rousers.
The late Eric Carr, who served as Kiss’ drummer from 1982 until his passing in 1991, told stories of how he desperately tried to straighten his hair to look like a Beatle. He’d put pantyhose on his head overnight to try and get the curls out. Meanwhile, there are photos of young Gene Simmons with bangs down to his eyebrows and Paul Stanley with hair covering his ears. (Paul had a second motivation — one of his ears is deformed and he was eager to hide it.)
In America, another hairstyle was emerging, and it was strongly related to the funk, r&b and disco scenes: the Afro. It is the only hairstyle I am aware of that is probably measured in diameter, not length. In the 1960’s, the Afro was associated with the ripple effect emanating from the civil rights movement. Today it is a classic hairstyle, immediately adding strength and character to almost any face that it frames. The Afro is a beautiful thing, truly.
Billy Preston “the Fifth Beatle”
Almost as beautiful are the dreadlocks. In many cultures, dreadlocks are sacred. The association of dreadlocks with modern music is due to the emergence of Reggae. Rastafari (part of the Abrahamic family of religions) emerged in Jamaica in the 1930’s. Who in the whole genre of Reggae was more famous than Bob Marley? Marley was Rastafari, and as his musical fame grew, so did his locks. As far as pop culture is concerned, Marley is an icon, and the silhouette of his dreadlocked head is known all over the world.
I think somebody must have just invented hairspray at the beginning of the 1980’s. That’s the best explanation that I can provide for what happened next. Everybody lost their mind, and instead of measuring their hair in length or even diameter, they began to measure it in height. It also began to take on bizarre shapes. Like the wings of Mike Score, from the obvious example A Flock of Seagulls. Cultures clashed. Culture Club, a New Wave band, featured a cross dressing lead singer with braided hair! It was glam meets Rasta in all the wrong ways. Boy George today is happily bald. Meanwhile, across the pond in suburban New Jersey, Jon Bon Jovi was attempting to break the 12″ height record.
The hairstyle closest to my heart is the one most associated with rock music: the classic long-hair. It’s the perfect hair in almost every way. You can tie it back for the “I mean business” look, or just to keep it out of the way. When you need to unleash the rock fury, long hair is superior. The best part is, after a good solid thrash around, long hair usually looks better than it did before! Only dreadlocks can rival classic long hair for headbanging money-shot images.
I never liked getting haircuts in the first place, but when I started getting interested in music in the early 80’s, it seemed as good a reason as any to stop getting them. Besides, one kid at school named Ian used to chide me that I “didn’t look like a rocker” with my lame short hair. I wanted so bad to look cool like a rocker. Sure, there were some cool short haired rockers, like Rick Neilson, Alex Van Halen and Alec John Such, but they were a vast, sometimes teased, minority. My hair started to grow down past my neck. This caused clashes with my dad like you would not believe. You thought Darren McGavin made for some foul language in A Christmas Story? My dad can eat Darren McGavin for breakfast and ask for seconds. My dad invented many of his own swears. He even started singing in swears! One of his biggest hit songs with us kids was always “Shittily, Shittily, La La La”. And that is exactly how the lyrics went. Over and over! One day, he was singing “Shittily, Shittily, La La La” in public again. He must have been overheard, because the next thing that happened was a Jehovah’s Witness approached him. She handed him a Watchtower magazine, and told him, “I think you really need this.” But I digress. You can imagine how the hair battles in our house ended. Usually with us not speaking to each other for the next three days.
Eric Brittingham
That’s not due to my dad, mind you. It’s due to me being a stubborn little shit. To be fair, I learned the “stop speaking to your parents” schtick from my best friend Bob who frequently stopped speaking to his mother. Bob too was attempting to grow long hair. His goal at that time was to be a redhead version of Eric Brittingham from Cinderella during the Long Cold Winter era. He thought that would have looked awesome. It probably would have, but eventually he had to get a job and cut it. He went with a classic crew cut, and a little bit of a fringe on the back: the mullet. This is what I ended up with as well, because instead of growing over my ears, my hair simply began curling and going back up again! My dad hated this but more importantly, wanted me to be employable. One day he came home to tell me that the manager of the nearby grocery store wanted to speak with me about a job opportunity. This I was not going to be stubborn about, so I went to the barber, cut it all off, and went in for a brief interview. I started that week.
The teasing at school was inevitable. Most of those kids had never seen me without some form of attempted mullet. The drastic sudden change also made my ears look (in my eyes) freaking huge. To me, I looked like another kid in our school named “Trophy”. Trophy was called that because his ears stuck out so far they made his head look like a big trophy. I was hideous! I was Samson without his locks. I had nothing. I attempted to grow a moustache. This was abandoned in less than a week when a girl at the grocery store that I liked named Kathleen recommended that I lose the ‘stache. It was hopeless. I felt…naked.
When grunge hit the ground running in the early 90’s, rockers one by one began to shed their locks. Many ladies of the 80’s fainted when Jon Bon Jovi went short in 1993 for Keep the Faith. Three years later, some thrash acolytes nearly had heart failure when not one, not two, not three, but all four members of Metallica included James Fucking Hetfield cut their hair short! The game was over. While many rockers such as Ozzy, Alice, and Nikki elected to keep their hair, they were overshadowed by the folks who let it go: David Lee Roth, Edward Van Halen, Tommy Lee, Paul Stanley (notably for Phantom of the Opera), pretty much all of Aerosmith except for Tyler and Perry….There were no magazine headlines that said “Alice Cooper Keeps His Hair Long”. But there were headlines to the effect of “The World is Ending — Jon Bon Has Cut His Curls!”
As rockers age, so do our styles. I thought Jon Lord looked very distinguished, with his silvery hair in a ponytail when he got older. Some of us have cut our hair, some of us have lost our hair. Some of us dye it and some of us shave it. In this day and age, it is very difficult to tell one’s musical affiliation by hairstyle alone. You can have long hair and be a DJ spinning samples on a laptop. A guy shredding lead electric guitar is just as likely to have short hair as long. Over there, that metal band has a bunch of people with dreadlocks, and that rap group does too! Mohawk with dreadlocks? Hello Doug Pinnick from King’s X! Sub-cultures continue to clash in ways both new and retro, and as with any style, music will always have a part in it.
People screw up! It’s in our nature as human beings.
The human brain has its own “autocorrect”. Have you ever seen something like this?
The quick brown fox jumped over the
the lazy dog.
Or this?
I cdn’uolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg.
See how you read both sentences easily regardless of the mistakes within? The brain makes little corrections to our perceptions on a second by second basis. Think about the human eye, how it darts around, but what you perceive is a clear static picture.
Given that the human brain makes its own “corrections” every second of every day, it’s bound to also make mistakes in doing so, either by missing a correction, or making one where it wasn’t necessary. Either way – we fuck up! Add in a fast-paced environment, and mistakes are not a question of if, but when and how many.
In customer service, a screw up can be a critical moment. Mistakes can make or break the decision for a customer coming back or not. Whether you ring in something wrong, give the customer the wrong item, mis-charge a credit card, or give the customer incorrect information, sometimes you owe them an apology. So why not turn lemons into lemonade?
Since money speaks louder than words, the owner at the Record Store had a cool method of keeping the customer, even after a screw up that might have them fuming. It was actually a genius idea. We used something we called “apology letters”.
Let’s say we screwed something up, unambiguously. The best example of this would be forgetting to put the CD in the case, or putting the wrong disc inside. This was a lot easier to screw up than you might assume. Maybe the CD was supposed to be in slot #132, but you grabbed the disc in #123. Sometimes you don’t even notice it’s the wrong CD because after a while, they do all look the same. I had myself convinced that I was actually dyslexic. That’s how bad it got on some days.
Sometimes you’d catch the mistake before the customer left, and all would be well. The rest of the time, there was a chance they’d be pissed off that they had to make a return trip to get the right CD. Returning something that is defective doesn’t count towards an apology letter; that’s not necessarily down to staff mistakes. An apology letter was only issued when it was clear that we screwed up and in doing so, inconvenienced the customer. We didn’t use them to blame staff, or tally up numbers of them, but damn, I sure issued plenty over the years.
When a mistake such as this was discovered, we would prepare an apology letter. Staff would sign the letter and give it to the customer with their apologies, and the correct CD! The letter entitled the customer to $3 off their next purchase. We discovered that this small token often defused situations quickly and easily. Very few customers refused to return after receiving an apology letter worth $3. Many in fact were impressed to the point that we started seeing them more often.
It was a smart idea: one of many that I learned during my years in retail.
THE WHITLAMS – Eternal Nightcap (2000 Black Yak Canadian version)
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