highschool

#858: School Days

GETTING MORE TALE #858: School Days

Did anybody really enjoy doing speeches in school?  I dreaded them year after year.  Pick a subject, write a speech, memorize it, time it right, and then it’s showtime.  My first speech was an award winner.  In was in grade three, and I wrote a speech about falling into the Athabasca glacier on my summer vacation.  It was a hit.  But that didn’t get me off the hook.  Year after year, you had to keep coming up with new speeches.

Grade five was Pac-Man, and it didn’t do as well.  Not that I minded.  I wanted to do just well enough, not so well that I had to do it again in a semi-finals.  I was obsessed with Pac-Man that year.  I truly had Pac-Man fever.  In my speech I discussed sequels like Ms. Pac-Man, and how the Atari 2600 version was such a disappointment.

In eighth grade I changed things up considerably and did my speech on Kiss.  I can tell you that the teacher Mrs. Powers visibly reacted every time I said the words Hotter Than Hell.  My speech was like a condensed version of Kisstory, a predecessor perhaps to what I like to do today.  It was actually really good although it was mostly off the cuff.  I knew I wasn’t going to get a good grade because of the subject matter, and I knew a speech about Kiss wasn’t going to make it to any kind of semi-finals, and I really knew they didn’t like the word “hell”.  Name dropping Mick Jagger didn’t help.  But it was really good, natural sounding and I only stumbled a couple of times.

The teachers didn’t really want you to do a speech about rock bands, but I was determined to express myself.  I didn’t want to spend five minutes talking about, I dunno, making steak sandwiches.  I could have whipped up an easy speech on Antarctic exploration or World War II, and gotten a better mark.  The more I look back, I guess I was a teeny tiny bit of a rebel.  But it was the teachers who gave me shit about my Judas Priest shirt that brought it on.

In grade nine I did my speech about Iron Maiden.  I should have diversified.  I could have spoken about nuclear power, Baron Von Richthofen, or Wrestlemania.  To my credit I was always good at telling a story, and I made them interesting.  I just tried to squeeze music into my schoolwork any chance I could.  If the jocks could do a speech about baseball, I should be able to do one about heavy metal.  I do remember one guy had a really well written comedic speech about a blind date.  If I knew fiction was a category I would have tried a hand at that!

In later years I did more expansive independent studies on other subjects, but still managed to work in music.  I did it for a sociology project and a few English ones.  And why not?  I couldn’t do that in algebra, physics, chemistry, or calculus.

These little acts of rock and roll rebellion didn’t get me an A, but I did well enough to be admitted to Wilfrid Laurier University in 1991.  So:  no regrets.  I can still write about Manfred von Richthofen if I want, and I’m fortunate enough that you would probably still read it.  I’ve written about history (tied into music) here a number of times.  I’m sure I’ll do it again.  And why not?  It’s easy to tie this stuff to music; Iced Earth have a song about Richthofen.  Queen have a song about Robert Falcon Scott.  Iron Maiden have songs about everything that ever happened.  The field is wide open.

 

#833: This Is Me in Grade 9 (Part Five of the 1986 Saga)

GETTING MORE TALE #833: This Is Me in Grade 9

(Part Five of the 1986 Saga)

“If you’re going to keep sitting next to me, never sing again,” said Steve Vanderveen.  It was the first day of grade 9, the first day of highschool, the first day of my new life.  And I fucked it up!  In Catholic school, we had to sing “O Canada” and we had to sing it like we meant it.  Little did I know, in public school, they didn’t sing.  They just stood at attention.  But on that first day of school, it was me and only me singing, without even realizing it.

What a winner.

I managed to recover from this embarrassment, and make a go of highschool.  Without all the loser baggage I carried from the grade school days, it was a fresh start.  The bullies were gone.  I was making new friends!  There was Rob Daniels and his buddy “Gumby”, there was Danesh and Anand, and I had never seen such diversity in a classroom before.  As strange is this sounds, in all the years from kindergarten up, I never had a black kid in my class before.  And now here was Carlton, a popular kid who loved to talk about how beautiful Jamaica was.  I don’t think I knew anyone who’d even been to Jamaica before.  I wanted to be his friend!  And of course there was Peter Cavan, who absolutely was not my friend in grade 9!  I ratted him out for eating liquorice in Geography class, so you can understand why it took him a few years to warm up to me.  By the end of highschool, we were best friends.

And the girls?  I had never seen so many in one place before.  I developed many secret crushes.  They never knew, because I never quite figured out how to talk to them!  But they were there, lots of them, and I thought maybe I’d have a shot.

The first week of school, I bought some new music:  Turbo, by Judas Priest.  I did my homework on the back porch, with that cassette on the boom box.  I only had three Priest albums:  Screaming, Defenders, and Turbo.  Turbo was easily my favourite.  While not as heavy as the other two (and let’s face it, Screaming for Vengeance can rip heads clean off), Turbo was more the kind of music that I was into.  It was melodic, with hook after hook, and possibly even female appeal.

But soon after, something monumental happened.  Monolithic.  Youth-defining.

Iron Maiden came out with a new video.

“So, understand!” sang Bruce Dickinson in what was, quite honestly, the best video we’d ever seen.  “Don’t waste your time always searching for those wasted years!”  A bit of a word salad.  If a certain president said something like this today, we’d consider it another sign of his declining mental faculties.  But even to us as kids, it was obviously a road song.  A song about the loneliness of touring.  Many of the new Maiden songs were darker and introspective.  This was not lost on us.  Nor was the lack of Dickinson writing credits on Somewhere In Time.  It was clear to us that some of the rumours were true, and Maiden were starting to burn out a bit.  That they put out an album as awesome as Somewhere In Time is remarkable, but I recall an air of disappointment in the press.  Certainly, after the triumvirate of Beast, Piece of Mind, and Powerslave, it had a lot to follow.

My best friend Bob and I sat in the basement, watching my recording of “Wasted Years” over and over again, pausing to catch every single Eddie painting.  The video was a combination of black & white performance, with still photos and album artwork edited in quick flashes.  The kind of thing two kids should be obsessively pausing and analysing!  Eventually we both got the album and naturally gravitated to the same songs.  I used the lyrics for “Alexander the Great” as a calligraphy project in art class.

My friendship with Bob was the cornerstone of my youth, and as much as I looked up to and emulated him, there were times he did me no good whatsover.

One night we were throwing a ball around the park, and one of us (probably me) threw it over someone’s hedge.  Steve Pushcar’s hedge, as it turned out.  Bob jumped the fence to retrieve it, and got yelled at by Steve’s mom.  Bob said he was only getting his ball back, but this quickly degenerated into an argument.  Bob always was a bit cocky.  Whatever he said that night, Steve Pushcar went at me for the next two months.

Me?  Why me?  I was just the sidekick!  I just stood there?  I didn’t say one word!  Why me?  Because Pushcar couldn’t get at Bob, and he’d have been flattened if he tried.

Pushcar was in my art class.  First he stole my pencil case and returned it to me completely empty.  Then he stole my art.  He was a fucking asshole.  The shitty thing was, he did all this anonymously.  I didn’t even know he had a grudge against me.  Not until a mutual friend told me.  That’s the kind of coward he was.  But his campaign only lasted a couple months, and highschool was actually pretty uneventful after that.

As the year went on, I discovered two “new” bands:  Bon Jovi, and Europe. Neither were really new; they were both on their third albums.  But the teen magazines pitted them as rivals:  heartthrob vs heartthrob, Jon vs. Joey.  Who would win?  (Jon.)  Really, all they had in common musically was the use of a full time keyboardist.

Partway through the year, who should show up but Steve Hartman, my old nemesis from Catholic school.  He had transferred from wherever the hell he was.  But he couldn’t get to me.  I was in the “advanced” program and he was in the “general” level.  We had no classes together, and I think he only lasted half a year.  I do remember him showing up in our gym class, wearing his shirt over his face so the teacher wouldn’t realize he had an extra student.  We were doing ball hockey, and the teacher Mr. Paull was too spun to figure it out.  I had a malingering wrist injury that I really milked so I could stay on the benches.  As if Mr. Paull would even notice.

At the end of the year, it was obvious where my talents did not lie.  My two worst classes were French, and typing,  66% in each.  Typing?  I know, right?  I type all day.  It’s all I do.  And I still fucking suck at it.  I was never good at proper form, and today type using only four fingers.  Funny thing.  The French and typing teachers were married.  Monsieur and Madame Euler.  They were fantastic teachers, just because I was a disappointment doesn’t reflect on them.  It reflects on me absolutely sucking at languages other than English, and my lack of physical coordination.  I mean, the following year I tried to play guitar.  The same problem followed me from keyboard to strings:  I can’t make my extremities go exactly where I want them to.  I’m sloppy and clumsy and have no timing.  Madame Euler wasn’t going to be able to fix that in a grade 9 typing class.

I didn’t get any girls to talk to me, but I had a good year.  For what might have been the first time, I really had a good year.  They’d only get better.  I was heading into a summer full of great music.  Stuff like Priest Live, Frehley’s Comet, and Love Is For Suckers.  Even then, I could not believe how much my life had changed for the better.  I succeeded — I escaped.

The future was bright.  Bob and I went on to have many adventures and a few “Crazy, Crazy Nights”.  But that’s another story.

 

 

THE 1986 SAGA

#768: Scanning the Notebooks

GETTING MORE TALE #768: Scanning the Notebooks

Mrs. LeBrain and I have been downsizing of late, and getting rid of old stuff we don’t need anymore.  In the process we have discovered lots of cool treasures we have been hanging onto.  In the last few months I’ve shown you a treasure trove of cassette and VHS rediscoveries, and things keep turning up all the time. The lady that helped us downsize, Elanda, didn’t understand why I needed to hang onto old yearbooks and CDs.  This kind of thing is important to me.  I’ve built an entire series of stories on nostalgia!  Preserving this stuff, to me, is preserving musical history.  It’s a part of the extended story of these bands.  It’s my autobiography.

Another great place to find old treasures is the parents’ basement.  I didn’t realize they hung on to some of my old, beat up highschool notebooks.  The covers are falling off, but like an archaeologist, I have to preserve this stuff for posterity.  Look what I found!

I didn’t just scribble band logos on my notebooks.  I painted them on.  My mother had a basement full of paints for her ceramics classes.  I had access to all the brushes, colours and textures you could ask for.  Most of the paints I used were water soluble, so I probably sprayed this binder with a clear coat to protect the paint.  30 years later, my artwork is still about 90% intact.

The Van Halen, Def Leppard, Dio, and Van Halen logos are self explanatory.  Look a little further.  I took the trouble of drawing Ratt’s titular mascot using three colours, including silver for his sunglasses.  The lightning bolts here are there are meant to be a reference to Frehley’s Comet.  (From looking over my homework inside, it seems I also signed my name with a lightning bolt.)  In the bottom front corner of the binder, “Dawn Was Here” was written on there by one of my sister’s annoying friends who took ceramics class at our house.

Digging inside, I discovered that I clearly put more effort into the front covers than my English homework.

Next to the very bored notes about American literature are more logos, more lightning bolts, a few grim reapers, and designs for multi-neck guitars.  More rats!  Cartoon portraits of Gene Simmons (no makeup; it was 1988) and Rob Halford.

Judging by my careless scribbles, it seems I was not a fan of Huck Finn.  The notes in English class are not legible and it looks like I didn’t do much homework.  That’s not to say I wasn’t working hard in class.  Some of the best sketches came from English class.  I obviously spent a lot of time on some of them.  A page called “Scenes of Death” looks alarming at first, until you look a little closer and notice that one guy is getting jumped by a giant Schnauzer.

 

And, of course, a giant page of logos.

Everyone had the giant page of logos.

Bob Schipper had the idea of calling our “band” Paragon.  “Not Paradox,” he stressed, “but Paragon.  It means we’re among the best.”  Our logo is the centerpiece of the page, coloured in yellow highlighter.  The entire page is like a “Where’s Waldo?” of bands and references.

My science and history notebooks are much cleaner.  Fewer band logos, more meticulously taken notes.  Still,  found of portrait of Satan in my History book.  I was trying to copy the style of Derek Riggs.

I’m grateful my mom and dad hung on to these books.  It makes up for my dad throwing out my Chopper Strike board game and damaging my ZZ Top Eliminator model.  There is still a ton more stuff at their place for me to go through, including a mountain of cool T-shirts that I forgot I owned.  My original Judas Priest shirt is there, the one that got me in trouble at Catholic school.  Imagine if ol’ Mrs. Powers at the Catholic school had seen my later Satan drawing!  I’m certain it would have raised concern and probably a meeting with my parents.

I’m glad I switched out from a Catholic grade school to a mainstream high school.  My logo and Satan drawing skills certainly flourished there, even if my appreciation for Huck Finn did not.

 

#741: Homework

GETTING MORE TALE #741: Homework

Teachers and counsellors used to tell us it was OK to listen to music when you’re studying, but don’t play things you like so much that you find it distracting.  Nothing you love too much, nor anything you hate.

That was always a problem for me as a kid.  I loved music!  Then and now.

There were always a few albums that hadn’t clicked with me.  In 1992 I was studying for exams, and I chose Mr. Bungle’s debut to do it.  I was also working with the belief that listening to more complex music got your brain juices flowing even better.  I had my method for studying, and I really don’t think music had much impact.  I just remember choosing Mr. Bundgle for the reason that it was complex, and I didn’t get it.

When I was younger, in highschool, I remember listening to a lot of different things while studying.  I had a vinyl phase in early 1988.  I was 30 years ahead of the hipsters.  My sister and I had discovered B-sides in the singles rack at the local Zellers store.  Def Leppard’s “Ride Into the Sun” was playing in store, and my ears perked up.  I knew it was Leppard, but I never heard that song before!  Another single I purchased at that time was Triumph’s “Let The Light (Shine On Me)”.  Rik Emmett played it a few weeks earlier live and acoustic on the Power Hour.  The single got quite a few spins while I was doing my homework that winter.

For some reason, Iron Maiden’s Piece of Mind was also on the turntable a lot while studying that year.  I may have purchased the record off Bob, because I am sure I got it from him.  There were a couple songs I played repeatedly.  One was “Still Life” and the other was “Sun and Steel”.  At that age, Bob and I thought we could really sing like Bruce Dickinson if we worked hard enough at it.  Those were two songs I was practising at the time!

Listening to music while studying seemed to work for me, but I will admit to one distraction.

Do you remember when Wayne’s World came out on home video?  The first releases came with a free pair of Wayne’s World drum sticks.  My sister bought the video and got the sticks.  However, I would frequently steal them and claim that I needed them to study.  It wasn’t untrue.  A lot of the time, I would pound out a beat on the bed while I was memorising names, dates and events.  However, other times I was just playing a solo.  Probably most of the time!

One could argue that drumming on the bed eventually led to my degree.

Hey, the teachers and counsellors also told us to take breaks from studying.  Sometimes mine were the length of a song…or several!

 

#733: Joy In Blue

GETTING MORE TALE #733: Joy In Blue

I was never going to be a rock star.  I knew that.  I couldn’t play a song all the way through.  A fella could dream, though.  I carefully plotted out my super-stardom.

First I needed a name for a band.  In highschool, my best friend Bob wanted to call our band Paragon.  “Not Paradox,” he stressed, “but Paragon.  It means we’re among the best.”  We used Paragon as the name for our non-extistant band until Bob graduated highschool, at which time a real band used the name.  When Bob and I went our separate ways (he sold his guitar), I settled on the name Godspeed.  I wasn’t interested in doing anything “wimpy” and I wanted a name that got that across.

However, once again a real band took the name I wanted for my fake band.  I needed to get more original, instead of just picking a word I liked.  I came up with Joy in Blue.  I liked the name because it summed up what I wanted to do with music.  Listening to music is a joyful experience, but you can still get dark when expressing those inner emotions.  Hence, Joy in Blue.  I still like it.

I drew up some logos.  Not the best ones ever, but I wanted something a kid could easily draw in a binder.  Like Kiss.  I even wrote some music!  In 1994 I poured everything I had into a song called “Midnight”.  It was roughly 20 minutes long.  I had some parts recorded.  The rest of it, I was unable to play — all I could do was hum it!  It was meant as a Rush-like epic in eight parts.  The truth is, it was easier to mash my ideas together into an eight part song than to try and write eight complete songs.

The problem with Joy in Blue was that there was nobody capable of playing the music I was hearing, a minor inconvenience.  I had bigger things to plan.  Album titles, projected year of releases — I plotted out the next 30 years of Joy in Blue.  It was going to start with our demo tape, which would get a commercial CD release.  Then three studio albums and a live record.  Finally after the live record, I laid it all on the line:  a double concept album!  To appease the “old” fans, a few records later we’d go back to basics.  I called that LP Back to the Garage, and it was to be done with the same spirit as the first demo.  I knew when I wanted our box set to come out, and my solo album Sweat.

Jesus Christ…a solo album….

Think that’s all crazy?  I even wrote out who I wanted to produce each album.  For our early material, I wanted David Bendeth.  I really liked the heavy groove he got on the Sven Gali album.  I wanted to see if we could get Bob Ezrin for the concept album, and self-produce the Garage album ourselves.  As we got into the tail end of our career, I realized Wolfgang Van Halen would be old enough to produce records.  Therefore I pencilled in Wolfie for our last three or four albums.  I also knew that I wanted us to do a proper farewell, not drag things out forever.  Final albums, box sets and live recordings were planned.

All of this without being able to play more than two minutes of a song.  It would have been glorious though, had I been able to figure out the music part!

 

Early Joy in Blue circa 1991 – absolutely awful.

 

 

 

#674: Bad Moon Rising

GETTING MORE TALE #674: Bad Moon Rising

A sequel to Getting More Tale #455:  How to Make a Music Video (The Old-Fashioned Way)

Best buddy Bob and I shot and edited a successful music video for Poison’s “Nothin’ But a Good Time” in the 11th grade.  We were sent to the local Charlie awards, representing our school in a film competition.  We didn’t win one (audio sync issues caused by the unreliable cassette format) but by summer holidays, I was back to the drawing board.

I called up a couple friends:  Danesh and Anand.  They came over and we hashed out an outline for a horror movie.  The truth is, I just wanted an excuse to do another music video but I needed a different concept this time.  It had to be a step up.  That summer, I was enthused about Leatherwolf’s second album, and their cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising”.  I thought it was the perfect track for a cheesy horror movie.  Any 80s horror film needed a heavy metal theme song.  Leatherwolf’s “Bad Moon Rising” struck me as perfectly fitting.  “I hope you got your things together, I hope you are quite prepared to die.”  So I had the idea of a double feature:  a horror movie with a heavy metal music video accompanying.  The other guys were into it.

Over a fun afternoon in the basement, we came up with our little movie.  Bob was no longer available.  He would be in college the next year.  It was my first film project without him.  As the film’s lead actor, we chose David Kidd, who was the “drummer” in my Poison video.  He was a drama geek.  His nickname was “Emperor Kiddspeare”.  He’d be perfect.

At the start of grade 12, we approached the Film Education teacher about our new project.  She was not enthused and objected to the music video.  “Why don’t you just use the original song?” she asked about “Bad Moon Rising”, when I explained the concept of the heavy metal tie-in music video.  She just didn’t get it.  The video was the whole seed of the idea!  Maybe she was completely unaware of the metal/horror relationship, based on past movies such as Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm St.  We proceeded with the project anyway.  Trying to make your own horror movie is like a rite of passage.  Hasn’t every school kid tried?

We only shot one scene.  It was a hospital scene where the lead character played by David moved a chair with his mind.  It looked great although we were already short on footage.  We had to loop a couple shots to edit together the full scene.  So we did, and it was a start.

But I had just started my first part time job, at Zehrs at the mall.  This cut into my after school hours and the film project dissolved.  I don’t have the scene we shot; it is lost for good.  So is our script.

For a project of that size, I really needed a partner with the dedication and creativity of Bob, but he was off in college doing his own thing.  We couldn’t get it done in grade 12 without him.  Grade 13 was also hopeless for a film project.*  Everybody was far too busy trying to get into University.  Everybody except Emperor Kiddspeare.  He seemed to go off the rails a bit when he started smoking.  First, he burned a “lucky horseshoe” into his hand with a cigarette lighter.  Then he just stopped showing up for school.  Danesh and I used to (jokingly) calculate the odds that he was dead during Algebra class.  Every once in a while, he would actually show up, throwing all our “calculations” to the wind.  Either way, I didn’t have Bob, and Dave was a write-off.  There would be no more highschool film projects.  Bad Moon Rising was dead in the water.

Emperor Kiddspeare ended up becoming a goth, and is very popular in the local industrial music scene.  The last time I saw him, a decade ago on a sweltering hot July day, he was wearing a full length leather trenchcoat.  Good on him.

* Partially.  One weekend, Bob and I rented a camera and we shot a video for our long-distance girlfriends.  It was called Mike & Bob’s Cross-Kitchener Adventure.  I still have that but it’s not particularly watchable.

#670: Censor This Too! – The Star Chamber

GETTING MORE TALE #670: Censor This Too! – The Star Chamber

This is the sequel to Getting More Tale #669: Censor This! In a footnote to that story, we discussed the evil, corrupt English department at Grand River Collegiate Institute in the school year 1990-1991.  With music as part and parcel of everything I do, here is the students’ revenge.

This story was written by myself and Andrew “Abbis” anonymously.  (You may remember “Abbis” was the subject of a Zeppelin-esque song I co-wrote called “Abbis’ Stomp”.)

Context:  A brilliant young student named Danny was accused of plagiarism for his independent study on part of Milton’s Paradise Lost.  The entire English department were united in their belief that he had cheated, not realizing this young dark-skinned kid with a strange sounding last name was actually just really gifted.  In a parallel to Paradise Lost, Danny soon found himself in a hell of his own.  The school treated him shamefully, but could not prove he cheated.  Instead of the A+ he deserved, he got a “no report”.  This was his final year of highschool, and he wanted that A+ to get into the university program he had applied to.

This story was our revenge on his behalf.

I take a lot of pride in our creative little rebellion. This was about as misbehaved as we got.  Our scathing story The Star Chamber (an obvious mashup of MacBeth and Star Wars) was published in the underground school newspaper, in June of 1991, exactly as you see it below.  Pay attention for a Zeppelin reference and plenty of Shakespeare.  My character is an homage to Han Solo named…Guitar Solo.

Please enjoy.

THE STAR CHAMBER
(The Uncensored Version)

BY: Robin Hood and his Merry Men

 

A long time ago, in a Collegiate Institute far, far away, a battle was being waged between the forces of Good and English.  The leader of the rebel forces, Danny “The Terror” Skywalker, had for months been a thorn in the side of the English Empire…

ACT I, SCENE I

In the caverns of Smithers the Hutt.

Enter with a flourish and really neato special effects, Darth Chamber and his English entourage.

DARTH:  (To Smithers) By Jupiter!  We must capture that foul wretch known to all as Danny “The Terror” Skywalker.

SMITHERS:  I say yea my Lord.

Exuent Darth and entourage with an even bigger flourish.

END OF SCENE

ACT I, SCENE II

Enter Danny, his faithful companion Guitar Solo at his side, zipping through space in the Tarachan Falcon.

Their favourite album, “Ten Classic Books in Ten Minutes” is suddenly drowned out by the wail of an intergalactic police siren.

Enter Robo Bolt, with colours and drums.

DANNY:  What hast thou pulled me over for, sucka?

ROBO:  Dost thou thinks that “E.N.G.-S.U.K.S.” is an appropriate licence plate for thine vehicle?

DANNY:  What say you?  Thou art a strange fellow.

ROBO:  Your horrid image doth unfix my hair!

DANNY:  Methinks thou art (and I quote Willie Shakespeare) “a coward, a rascal, an eater of broken meats, a beggar, and a lily livered knave”.

ROBO:  Draw thine sword, I’ll make a sop’ o’ the moonshine of you!  (they draw and fight, Guitar Solo slain by accident.)

GUITAR:  To be…or not to be.  What a stupid question!  GAHK!!!  (he dies.  Robo is then slain.)

ROBO:  I am slain, I am slain, dead, defunct, kicking the bucket, etc. etc. etc.  (he dies.)

DANNY:  What have I done, o Lord, o nature?  What evil spirit hast possessed me?

Exit Danny, delirious from the battle.

END OF SCENE

ACT I, SCENE III

Enter Darth Chamber having been notified of Robo’s death, mad, and garlanded with wild flowers.

DARTH:  Oh what foul deed, what evil, for my fair fair Robo.  He is killed.  (Enter Danny, furious with rage upon sighting Darth.)  Draw, or surely thou shalt perish!

DANNY:  Have at you, bud!

Enter Smithers from behind.

Smithers strikes Danny over the head with Roget’s Unabridged Dictionary, knocking him unconscious.

END OF SCENE AND ACT

ACT II, SCENE I

Later in the Star Chamber.

First trumpet.
Second trumpet.
Third trumpet.
       Trumpet answers within.
Enter Darth Chamber and Smithers, armed, a trumpet before them, attendants, the Fool, Edgar, Edmund, Oberon, The Duke of Cornwall, Elvis, drums and colours, Danny Skywalker in chains, Gloucester wandering around outside.

DARTH:  Hark, four-score and seven years ago this treasonous wretch, Danny Skywalker, hath committed the ultimate crime against the English Empire.  May his trunk be devoured by butterflies.  By Jupiter!  Behold his foul deed.  (cries of astonishment within)  He hast plagiarised the almighty Milton!!!

DANNY:  Oh Hell!  Oh spite me!  What manner of accusation is this?

DARTH:  Silence scurvy knave.  (Darth to attendants) Place him in…(drum solo)…the machine!

SMITHERS:  Goody goody gosh!  By the fairies, Darth is mighty!

FOOL:  (sings)  O nuncle, court holy water in a dry house is better than this rain water out o’ door.  For he’s buying a Stairway to Heaven.

Exuent all.  Death march, colours and banners.

END OF SCENE

ACT II, SCENE II

Enter with a flourish, Darth Chamber and Smithers the Hutt, with entourage carrying fluorescent banners with matching tights, led by an Old Man.  Danny strapped to the machine.

The machine, a relic left over from the late 20th century, known as a “Dunking Machine” is filled with water, with Danny strapped to a chair above it.

DARTH:  By Jupiter!  My seated heart dost knock at my ribs.  For the time is near o’ blossom.

SMITHERS:  Skywalker thy trial begins!  If thou float’est, thou art guilty of plagiarism and shalt be sentenced to die…slowly.  First we shall tear all the of the hair from thine body, then soak you in lemon juice, and Kraft salad oil.  Then we shall take you out to the Dune Sea you shall be eaten alive by the almighty Mouth, while’st being garnished with tomatoes and olives!  But if thou sink’est and die’est, we shall know that thou art innocent and we shall let’est you go.

DANNY:  Sorry, but I’ve got a prior engagement.

Enter Abbis Man’s ghost.  (See last issue — ed.)

Abbis Man runs onto the stage, dropkicks Darth, hits Smithers with the D.D.T. and frees Danny from the machine.

DANNY:  Thanks bud!

ABBIS:  No problem, let’s get a beer!

Exuent, too tired to flourish.

DARTH:  Gosh darn it!  Methinks this ending really sucks!

Exuent Darth and all remaining.

END OF SCENE AND ACT

EPILOGUE

Danny and Abbis Man, having formed a powerful alliance, travel to Earth where they take on aliases and fight crime as Siskel and Ebert.

 

#669: Censor This!

GETTING MORE TALE #669: Censor This!

A sequel to Record Store Tales Part 219: Parental Advisory – Explicit Lyrics

Grade 13, otherwise known as our “OAC” (Ontario Academic Credit) year, was critical.  They don’t have grade 13 anymore, which is a real shame.  Some of the best courses were in that year.  I worked my tail off, and got accepted into Wilfrid Laurier University’s History program.  That’s why today, I try and mix music and history together in many of my articles.  You’ve read about Billy the Kid and the real wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald here, all within the context of songs.  It’s what I enjoy; it’s what I do.

Some of my friends were taking some serious math courses, to enter Computer Science at the University of Waterloo.  Those guys worked diligently and I barely saw them all year.  I worked hard too, but my courses weren’t like theirs.  I had two maths (Algebra and Finite) and three courses in the arts:  American/Canadian History, Sociology, and English.  All three courses required a major project called an “independent study”.  And me being me, I worked music into each.

These were massive projects.  An entire term was spent working on them.  Because I had so many arts credits, I had more than the average independent study to complete.  By sheer bad luck, all three of them were due in the same week.  All three also involved a full one-hour presentation.  I busted my ass and delivered the goods, in my own unique way.

First was American and Canadian history, which was easily the most intense of the independent studies.  I chose to do the War of 1812, which I thought I’d never get because everybody would want to do it.  Wrong!  Nobody else picked it; it was all mine.  My goal was to research books by Canadian and American authors, and compare and contrast their perspectives on the war.  It was a very enlightening experience.  Do you know how hard it is to find a book written by an American author on the War of 1812?  Back then, virtually impossible.  I had to resort to American history books on broader subjects.  Meanwhile, Canadian books were numerous.  For example I used one by noted historian Pierre Burton.

This disparity made it clear how differently the two nations viewed the war.  Americans didn’t spend much time thinking about it, while Canadians were eager to boast that it was us who beat the Yankees (more accurately, the British empire beat them) and burned down the White House (that was pretty much us Canucks*).  American authors barely mention the war, but don’t consider it a loss.  They tended to focus instead of the Battle of New Orleans.  This battle took place after the war had officially ended, but because it was an American victory, it was celebrated.

I illustrated this in song.  Johnny Horton’s “The Battle of New Orleans” was enjoyed by the classroom, but the point was, it demonstrates how important this one battle was to America, in context of their conflicts with the Brits.  Canadians would rather talk about our fiery misadventures at the White House.

I prepared intensely for the presentation.  The essay portion was done, so I rehearsed the spoken part several times to get the timing just right.  You had to leave time at the end for questions.  That was another challenge:  you couldn’t prepare for the class questions at the end!  You had to know your stuff and be able to answer things off the cuff, which I did.  A+!  Thanks, Johnny Horton, for all your help and inspiration!

Admittedly, I didn’t put as much effort into the English independent study. I rolled with what I knew best, which was music. For my project I did “Lyrics and Poems on War”. The Gulf War was on, and it was topical. For the presentation portion, I wore a shirt with a picture of Elvis Presley on a tank. It said “Iran, Iraq, I roll”. I hated that shirt; it was a gift from my dad, but it was actually perfect for that day. Some of the lyrics I used were Guns N’ Roses (“Civil War”), Sammy Hagar (“V.O.A.”), Queensryche (“Surgical Strike”) and Iron Maiden (several including “Tailgunner”). I got an OK grade on that one. Considering my work load, I was glad just to have completed it.

For Sociology, I chose censorship as my subject. I knew this would be easy for me to do. Finding books and articles on the subject was easy, but I had an ace in the hole. I had amassed a huge collection of video interviews with rock stars, and many were on the subject of censorship. I didn’t take the easy route; I worked very hard. The only advantage I had was access to my own library, which was extensive, and I knew where every single quote was that I needed.

I put together a video tape with all the censorship related interviews: Blackie Lawless, Bruce Dickinson, Dee Snider, Alice Cooper, and Gene Simmons among many.  I also used the words of Frank Zappa and George Bernard Shaw. My stance was clearly anti-censorship.

By coincidence, the Sociology teacher was also my History teacher from the prior presentation. In a way that made things easier. She was an amazing teacher and part of the project involved sitting down with her every step of the way. I had to do a proposal for each of the projects, and check-ins as things progressed. This is all normal at the University level, but for highschool, it was all new to me. It enabled her to get to know me a bit better and guide me to better results.

One of the things I wanted to do in the presentation was show the class some album covers that had been banned.  I learned from one of the interviews that Scorpions covers were routinely banned.  In one of our consultations, I showed the teacher the two banned covers.  I figured there was no way she would let me use Lovedrive.  A woman’s breast is partly exposed with a man’s bubble gum all over it.  Love at First Sting is a rather sexy shot of a woman getting a thigh tattoo.  You can see some sideboob,  but to me it seemed less dirty.

To my surprise, she chose Lovedrive and said “no” to Love at First Sting.  I don’t know if it was the tattoo or the sideboob, but she was clear that I couldn’t use it.

I can’t explain what came over me next.  As I rehearsed the presentation the night before, I decided to use both anyway.  I didn’t have any other banned album covers that I could use.  I didn’t want to present Appetite for Destruction to the class because it’s just a little rape-y.  I just didn’t think Love at First Sting was that bad, and I didn’t have anything else to replace it with.  I wanted to have more than just one example of a banned cover.

So, I defied my own censor, and used both.  As I handed out the album covers for the class to look at, I caught my teacher’s glance.  Not pleased!  But she said nothing.

I nailed that presentation.  It was another “A”, but she did speak to me afterwards.  “You used it anyway!” she said, but I had already won.  She knew I did a great job so she didn’t penalize me.

Was I ever glad when that week was over.  I worked so hard; I had a little schedule in my locker to make sure I kept on top of everything.  I remember walking out of the final presentation, tired but feeling so good.  There was only one girl who was in all three of those classes.  She came up afterwards and asked, “Didn’t you do two other presentations this week?”  I sure did!  I admitted that I chose subjects that I was knowledgeable about, but that didn’t mean I didn’t sink many many hours into it.

One of my friends didn’t have it so easy.  Danesh was concentrating on his math courses, but English was compulsory for everyone.  He chose to do his independent study on Milton’s Paradise Lost.  He studied it meticulously and wrote an essay so professional that he was pulled out of class one day and accused of plagiarism.  He had to defend his essay, for hours, in front of the entire sceptical English department.  All of his friends knew he wasn’t a cheat.  He was just gifted.  The constant meetings with the English department absolutely tapped him out.  What they did to him was unfair and we all knew it.  There were some pretty scathing things said about the English department in the underground school newspaper, which I may or may not have had anything to do with.**  In the end they declined to give him an F, but instead gave him a “no report”.  And they were 100% in the wrong.***

It wasn’t a pleasant note on which to end highschool for us.  At least I was able to give myself a little bit of a rock and roll ending!

 

* My biased Canadian opinion.

** I co-wrote a new version of MacBeth, in Shakespearean English, with Danesh as the hero, all the teachers as villains, and myself as his hotshot pilot sidekick Guitar Solo.  I still have it.  

*** I don’t know if race was a factor or not, but Danesh was a quiet, dark-skinned Guyanese kid.  The teachers were all white, and our teacher that year was actually a fill-in.  He didn’t know Danesh at all.

#657: GUEST SHOT! Operation: Van Halen (Derek’s Story)

GETTING MORE TALE #657: Operation: Van Halen (Derek’s Story)
Guest post by guitarist and songwriter Derek Kortepeter

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 Derek.

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.

#646: “O Canada”

GETTING MORE TALE #646: “O Canada”

What’s the worst first impression you ever made?  Mine must be unique.

Every Canadian knows the national anthem.  The music was written in 1880, and the modern lyrics emerged in 1908, updated slightly in 1914.  Even so, it did not become Canada’s official national anthem until 1980 when it finally received royal assent from the Queen.  My dad remembers singing both “God Save the King” and “God Save the Queen” in his school days.  Today, true north strong and free, we are all taught “O Canada” from our youngest years.  We are brought up to know and respect the anthem, and in fact we always honour it every year at Sausagefest.  Before the festivities begin, hats are removed and we all stand for “O Canada”.

Controversially, the government of Canada just announced a lyric change.  The line “In all thy sons command” has been altered to the gender-neutral “In all of us command”.  Less poetic, yes.  How do you feel about that?

When I was in Catholic school, you really had to sing it.  The teacher would walk around the room, listening to make sure we were all singing, not just going through the motions.  This went for all the hymns we had to learn as well.  If you were just mouthing the words and not singing, eventually you’d get caught.  We all learned to belt it out.  A general rule of thumb at Catholic school was:  thou SHALT sing along.

Our anthem is far easier than the more complex “Star Spangled Banner” that our neighbours to the south must sing.  All the notes are generally within range, and the words are easier to remember, even the bilingual version.  (And we don’t have rockets and bombs in our anthem either!)

When I graduated grade 8, I went into the public school system.  I didn’t consider myself Catholic anymore, but I was more interested in putting some distance between me and some of the school bullies.  I would be making a fresh start in grade 9.

First day of grade 9, I arrived in class but didn’t know anyone.  I was seated next to a guy named Steve Van Der Veen, potentially my first new friend.  The national anthem came on, and I sang it as I was accustomed to.

 

“O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!…”

 

I thought I was doing a good job, until it was over.

 

“From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee!”

 

“If you’re going to keep sitting next to me, never sing again,” said Steve.

It was at that moment that I realized nobody else was singing.  Not one person.   Just me.  Apparently, in the public schools, you didn’t have to sing “O Canada” like you did in the Catholic system.  You just had to stand at attention.  I didn’t know, and I didn’t notice.

First day of class, first impressions, and I blew it!

 

 

Rene Rancourt is my favourite anthem singer of all time.  Enjoy your retirement, Rene!