canada

#612: Remembering Their Sacrifices [Re-Post]

At the the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918, the Armistice was signed, ending the fighting in the Great War. At least, they called it the Great War, or “The War to End All Wars”. Today we just call it World War I, because even greater horrors followed.

My grandfather “Sam” (Crawford) fought in World War II, helping bring an end to the evil of Hitler and Nazi Germany. I think my grandfather would be disgusted today to see Nazis being referred to as “very fine people”. What did he fight for, if we are to casually welcome that evil back to the streets?

“Gar” and “Sam” Winter

We can never forget the sacrifices those soldiers made. My grandfather survived and came home to raise a family with my grandmother. His brother wasn’t so lucky. He lived, but was injured in the trenches and he never walked right again.

I tend to think of the veterans and the soldiers of the present year round. My wife goes out of her way to thank veterans any time she sees one in uniform.  I think of them every time I am free to write whatever I want to, in this great land of Canada. Had the Nazis won, there would be no freedom here. On November 11, at 11am, we have a moment of silence to honour all the soldiers from every war in which they fought and died for our freedom. That is an important tradition to keep. But I think we should think of them more often.

“Sam”

My grandfather rarely told war stories around the kids, but I do remember one night when he told my dad about looking up and seeing a Panzer tank coming. “I shit my pants,” he said and I think he was being truthful. Imagine those young guys — kids, really — in a country far from home, running from a tank. The bravery is awesome. I can’t even imagine.

My grandfather died (cancer) when I was too young to appreciate what he did. I knew he fought, and I got to watch him lay a wreath at the cenotaph every November 11. I didn’t understand the significance of what it means to be a soldier until I was older. If I were a little older, I would have tried to get him to tell me about it.

Bryan Adams’ 1987 album Into the Fire has the best song about Remembrance Day that I know.  This very special track was made into an emotional music video.   In 2014, The Trews came out with something almost as good:  a song called “Highway of Heroes”.  The Highway of Heroes is an actual highway (the 401), given this nickname for the stretch of road on which the bodies of fallen soldiers are brought home.  The Trews’ song is a touching tribute.

Check out these two songs and remember why you’re even able to listen to them.  Because of the Heroes.

 

 

 

#1214: The Great Outdoors

RECORD STORE TALES #1214: The Great Outdoors

Minor revelations continue to hit me in my 53rd year around the sun.  As I toil away over a hot keyboard, hammering words into the ether while Dennis DeYoung asks me “What you doin’ tonight?”, I realize something.

One reason I love summer so much is that I love working outdoors.  I always have.

Of course, I use the word “working” in the creative sense.  I don’t mean hard labor outdoors! Come on.

In my current actual job, I would work outdoors if I have the chance.  The one time I did work remotely from the cottage, it was too cold and wet to work outdoors.  Given the chance though, I will.

And given the chance, I write outdoors.  I film outdoors.  I animate outdoors.  This all began when I was a kid.

We had the best front stoop.  Oh, really it was nothing special.  It was just a concrete front stoop surrounded by driveway and grass.  But on that front stoop came the best childhood times.

Board games.  Creating drawings.  Inventing stories.  Playing music.  Eventually, hearing Maiden Japan by Iron Maiden for the first time.  Making videos.  Playing guitar.  So much went down on that front stoop.  Only meters away, on the front lawn, often unfolded great battles with GI Joe vs. Cobra.  Just more stories being invented.  It could have turned into a photostory if we had the digital technology then that we have now.

The backyard featured many more creative inventions.  More drawings, more games being invented and more stories being written.  Sometimes, even homework was completed back there.

During winter, I would go into hibernation and try to have the same adventures in the cramped indoors.  It was never the same.

I just had a memory.  In the summer of 1984, the hot new GI Joe figure to own was Zartan, the master of disguise.  Not only did he come with a slew of accessories and a small vehicle, he also changed colour in the sunlight,  Normally a light Caucasian skin tone, Zartan would turn a deep blue when exposed to sun.  Summer represented a short warm window when you could play with your GI Joe characters, and get full use of your Zartan figure.  This could not be duplicated indoors.  You had to use your Zartans in the summer!  Our front yard featured as Zartan’s home swamps for several consecutive summers.  (Especially a few years later when his brother and sister, Zandar and Zarana, were introduced into the toyline with similar colour changing features.)

Bob Schipper showed me how to make little garages for our Hotwheels cars.  We’d use twigs to build these little structures, and cover them with grass.  This eventually led to hut and trench building for our GI Joe figures.  Any base or headquarters set that Hasbro sold were not as useful to us as a handful of twigs and grass.  (Twigs with a “Y” shaped section were especially useful for building huts.)  We could dig trenches and have our figures man them with their weapons.  Any character with a bipod or tripod, such as Rock and Roll or Roadblock, worked even better in the trenches.

The only real drawback to playing outdoors was losing the small action figure accessories.  Another memory strikes.  Even younger, playing Star Wars in the front yard, probably 1978.  I lost my Sand Person’s gaffi stick somewhere in the dirt near this big birch tree in the center of our yard.  It was gone.  I imagined it would be shredded by my dad’s lawnmower and had to move on.  I utilized a wooden matchstick for the Sandman’s gaffi stick thenceforth.  Winter came.  A thick sheet of snow and ice concealed  the dirt underwhich the gaffi stick had disappeared.  Spring came, and in a funny twist, my mom found Sandman’s gaffi stick in the front flowergarden dirt.  I was ecstatic!  But this only lasted a short time, as I promptly lost it again, this time permanently.

Another summer, I made a fleet of vehicles using virtually every single brick in my Lego collection.  It started with this one cool tank and grew from there.  It is miraculous that no Lego bricks were permanently lost or shredded on the front lawn, as that is where their battles unfurled.

Sure, we played catch, threw a football, kicked a soccerball and thumped on a volleyball too.  Those aren’t the things I’m drawn to remember.  Throwing a baseball seemed more like the same thing every time.  Meanwhile, my creative adventures, either with pen & paper or action figures, were always memorable.

I wasn’t just “playing”.  Stories were being told.  Established characters were used, true to their fictional biographies and specialties.  Tangents were played out that originated in existing media. Original ideas and settings were placed into the mix and a story was enacted, often with a free direction but with certain plot setpieces pre-planned.  Perhaps I would want to incorporate a new toy or character, and so I would gear the story to their introduction or feature role.  There was so much more going on than just playing with toys.

I sit here now, as the Styx album concludes, and typing some final thoughts into my laptop.  I do this as a cool late summer breeze provides a perfect comfort, and the greens and blues that surround me feel soft and calm.  I’m just geared this way.  Put me outdoors and let me create.

It’s what I do.

 

 

 

HAPPY CANADA DAY! Top 11 Canadian Bands (Unknown Outside Canada)

Please join Jex and I today for a repeat of a personal favourite episode from both of us.  This was our 2023 Canada Day celebration, which I am running again today at 1:00 PM EST (July 1, 2025).  When Jex and I did this show originally, it happened to fall on June 30.  I am happy to run it on the actual date of Canada Day in 2025!

If you missed this episode, it was a really special one.  For Canada Day, Jex and I dug through our collections of physical media to present what we think are the Top 11 Canadian Bands that are less known outside Canada.  It was a very popular episode and a great way to re-launch Grab A Stack of Rock list shows.  (You can even see a remnant of the ill-advised “heels era” in Harrison’s art if you look closely!)  Most importantly, this episode showcases a whole bunch of bands that you really need to check out.

Thanks Jex Rambo Russell for a terrific Canada Day celebration.  We wanted to list 11 Canadian bands that we thought you should know.  I think we did a sweet job of it, with plenty of really cool “Show & Tell” on vinyl, cassette and CD.  Loads of rarities and obscurities here to check out, and a music video as well.

HAPPY CANADA DAY!  Below you’ll also see a graph of the cities from which the listed bands originated.  Hamilton won handily!  Check out the show and see who, what, and where!

Tuesday July 1 at 1:00 PM EST, 2:00 PM Atlantic.   Enjoy on YouTube.  You can click the graphic below to jump to YouTube.

 

REVIEW: Alan Frew – “Free To Be Strong and Free” (2025)

ALAN FREW – “Free To Be Strong and Free” (2025)

Like my previous review of Jim Cuddy’s “We Used to Be the Best of Friends“, this is more of a share than a review.  Glass Tiger’s Alan Frew is voicing his love of Canada with his new song, “Free To Be Strong and Free”.  Like Cuddy’s already-classic, this song evokes some of what we love about being Canadian.  It is based on simple acoustic instrumentation, and features a nice middle section that you can’t call a guitar solo, but fills that gap.

As for Alan, he still sounds fabulous, even though it will soon be 40 years since hearing Glass Tiger’s debut.   “This is Canada’s song, where my heart belongs,” he sings, and you can feel his passion.  You will rarely find people who love their country so much as Canadians.  Alan Frew was born in Scotland, and he has written songs about that, but make no mistake:  he is Canadian.

5/5 stars

 

 

REVIEW: Jim Cuddy – “We Used to Be the Best of Friends”

JIM CUDDY – “We Used to Be the Best of Friends” (March 7 2025)

This is less a review, and more of a share.

We currently live in the darkest times in our lives.  Decades of history washed away.  The gravity of this situation is hard to express.  Google “Manifest Destiny”.

Jim Cuddy has captured our disappointment and fear in his brilliant new song “We Used to Be the Best of Friends”.

The poignant final lines are simple.  “Give us a call when the fever ends…maybe we can be best friends again.”

“Let’s hope,” adds Jim.

5/5

 

Tim’s Vinyl Confessions Ep. 558: Canadian Top 100 Singles September 14, 1974 with Mike Ladano

This was a fun show to do.  Recorded at the cottage in the summer, Tim and I had a look at the Canadian Top 100 Singles chart, for September 14, 1974.  There were plenty of head-scratchers and a few well-known hits.  Tim provided the education, all I did was read the listings!  Even so, a majorly fun episode to do.  Here’s what Tim had to say:

 

Mr. Lebrain is back and we REWIND the CHARTS back an even half century. We discuss the most popular songs in Canada on this date in 1974.

#1096: Winter Woes: The Shovel Incident

RECORD STORE TALES:  #1096: Winter Woes: The Shovel Incident

Expanding upon a story told in Record Store Tales Part 18.

Winters at the Record Store were messy!  We had a little front vestibule – a glass enclosure that you had to enter before coming in the store.  In the winter, it was always sloppy.  Filled with slush, water, mud, dirt.  It was impossible to keep clean for very long.  Customers would come in, stamp the snow off their boots, and this would splatter snow and mud on the glass.  In the winter time, as soon as you cleaned it, it would get filthy again.  The mats in there were always soaked wet from slush and snow.

In that front vestibule was a snow shovel.  We often had to shovel in front of the store after a bad snow.  Pretty standard winter gear in Canada.  The front vestibule was the sensible place to store the messy shovel during those times, rather than create a puddle of melting slush in the back.

I was working one afternoon when three to four aimless teenagers were killing time in the store.  I hate to paint all teenagers with one brush, I was once one too, but I was never as snotty as the kids that I dealt with that day.  Like most teenagers, they were just there to kill time.  No money was spent.

I kept an eye on them on their way out, and saw one of them grab my shovel and make a break for it!

Who steals a shovel?  A fucking shovel?

I ran outside into the cold and yelled.

“HEY!  HEY YOU!  BRING THAT BACK!  THAT’S OUR SHOVEL!”

Having been busted, the kid turned around and said, “I was just trying to see how fast I could run…with a shovel…”

What what?  A true WTF moment and one that had me lose faith in the next generation one more time.

I remember one other detail that must be relayed.  I sometimes felt that the Big Boss Man did not have my back, and this was just one other incident.  I called him and told him what happened, and his reaction was not what I expected.  I expected a “Good job,” or “Thanks for keeping your eyes open.”  Instead I received, “Mike…you probably shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

What?  Now there are two WTF moments!

If the kid had stolen a $5 CD and got away with it, I’d be scolded for not paying attention.  He tried to steal a $20 shovel, and I’m the one who got in shit?

I’ll never understand the upper management I dealt with for those years.  And I’ve never had to deal with managers like that since.  Tells you something.

WTF indeed!

 

#1080: S.A.D. Origins

RECORD STORE TALES #1080: S.A.D. Origins

As long as I can remember, I’ve hated winter, and craved the warm rays of summer.  My dominant genes are Mediterranean.  My not-so-distant ancestors made their living on the balmy coasts of Sicily, and Amalfi before that.  I was never cut out for the cold months.

I took hockey lessons as a kid.  I hated putting on those uncomfortable skates and all that cold-weather gear.  “Why do I have to take hockey lessons, mom?”

“Every good Canadian boy should know how to skate,” she answered.

Why?  Why couldn’t I just stay indoors where it was warm and I didn’t have to bundle up in three layers to go outside?  Hockey lessons never appealed, and to this day, I can’t really skate.  I mean, I can go forward…I can turn…but I can’t stop.  So, I can’t really skate.  Do I care?  No.  It’s been 27 years since I was last on skates.  More than half my life ago.

I can’t ski.  I can’t even get on the chairlift properly.  I haven’t been on skis since…1986 maybe?  No interest whatsoever.  We would build snowforts and take toboggans downhill, but I would much rather it be warm outside, riding my bike and playing in the sun.  The winter was always wet and messy.

My earliest memory of seasonal affective disorder was studying a globe with my dad as a kid.  I’ve long been obsessed with maps.  I’d study maps until the cows came home.  This time, we were looking at a globe.  He was explaining how the analemma on the globe worked: that figure-eight line that tracked the movement of the sun over the 12 months of the year.  The line can be traced by finding the position of the Sun as viewed from the same position on Earth at the same time every day.  In the winter, the sun can be found travelling the line in the southern hemisphere on our globe, but my dad explained, once December 21 came and went, the sun would be making its way back north again.  I would look at the globe and find the date on the analemma.  It sure made it feel like summer was coming, to see it translated into mere centimeters on a globe.

It’s quite remarkable that I was feeling those feelings as a kid.  Not even 10 years old yet?  Counting the days until the sun was back in the northern hemisphere.  To the days when I shed my outer skin of parkas and boots, and went back down to a T-shirt and shorts, basking in the comfort of the Canadian summer.  Seasonal affective disorder has been with me at least that long.

Another memory:  winter time, putting on my layers to go outside.  By the time all the layers were on, I didn’t want to go outside anymore.  My parents really struggled with trying to keep me active in the winter.  I wished I could have hibernated through it all.

I wonder if the added component here was school?  I hated school.  I hated the bullies.  The summer represented time away from all of that.  I wonder how much that fed into my seasonal affective disorder?

I guess that’s something I can explore with my mental health team this winter, as I try new strategies to stave off the S.A.D.ness.  We have some tentative plans and vitamin D is on the menu.  Let’s make the most of it.

Wish me luck.

 

#972: Snowfort Hippies

RECORD STORE TALES #972: Snowfort Hippies

2022:  the winter that snow came back in a big way! The sheer size of the snowbanks brings me back to the winter of ’85, in my old neighbourhood.  The snowbanks on the corner rival the ones we had in my youth, something I have not seen in many years.  And I remembered the snowfort that George Balasz built on that corner; a regal thing indeed.  The most palacious snowfort I have ever occupied!  And even this story works its way back around to music.

1985 was the year I got seriously into hard rock.  The Pepsi Power Hour was my favourite show and I was just absorbing all this new music through my neighbours.  George had an excellent LP collection and he’d always let me tape whatever I wanted.

He had a house on the corner, and in the winter the snowbanks built up as high as I could stand.  That was the year he built the ultimate fort.  As I remember it, the fort had plywood roof supports, and four rooms inside, lined up in a row.  You could squeeze four or five kids in there.  My dad was always afraid we’d get taken out by a wayward errant car, but it never happened.  He didn’t like us hanging out with George (thought he was a pervert) but he really didn’t like us hanging out in that snowfort.

George ran an extension cord out to the fort so we could listen to tapes on his ghetto blaster.  We had a conversation about Judas Priest.  Defenders of the Faith was their latest record and I was well familiar with the music video for “Freewheel Burning”.  But I was just learning the basics and I had a lot of questions.

“What’s a hippie?” I asked George.

He didn’t really know, but acted like he did.  His authoritative answer was “Hippies have long hair.”

“Well then what is Ian Johnson at school talking about?” I asked him.  “He said he didn’t like Judas Priest because they’re a bunch of hippies.  But Rob Halford doesn’t even have long hair.”

“You’re right,” said George.  I was happy to know a few things like the names of some of the members.  George or Bob Schipper gave me my first Priest poster, with the five of them standing in a row in the Defenders-era costume.  I thought Dave Holland looked the coolest because of that moustache.  I taped a copy of the album, but Priest songs like “Eat Me Alive” were still a bit on the heavy side for me.

I wonder what Ian was on about, with that hippie comment.  He probably had no idea what the word meant either.  Priest might have been considered hippies in the early 1970s, when they were wearing kaftans and denim floods.  They abandoned that look a long time ago and were really known for their leather and studs.   Meanwhile, Ian Johnson ditched the metal for new wave, by his own admission, in order to find a girl.  His opinions and stories changed regularly.

Though my dad worried, and this irritated me, we had good times in that snowfort.  George was a bit of a local punching bag, a strange guy slightly older who shoplifted and read porn.  He seemed desperately lonely some times, and maybe he had to be if he was hanging out with all these younger kids.  He was the oldest teenager in the neighbourhood and it didn’t seem like he had a lot of friends at school.  I could identify with the latter.

As the snowfort hippies bantered about Priest, one teaching and one learning, the boombox would be moaning out our favourite songs.  We talked about how cool it would be to put in a TV in the fort, but a warm spell eventually caved in the roofs.  Although George undertook a mighty rebuilding effort one afternoon, the fort was all but done for the year.

But not done in my memory.  As I drive around the corner, I smile remembering my dad’s warnings about safety.   I play some Defenders of the Faith and raise my coffee to George, now long gone himself.

To the good times, my snowfort hippie friend.