Welcome back to WTF Search Terms. These are real search terms that somehow led people to mikeladano.com. Today, I thought I’d answer some people’s musical questions.
1.why is lenny kravitz last two cds a disappointment
Lenny Kravitz has sucked since cutting off his dreads. Scientists call it “Samson Syndrome”.
2.whats the dirt on richie kotzen screwing bandmates wifes
Great question. Kotzen was actually screwing Rikki Rockett’s girlfriend/fiance while on tour with Poison. Kotzen later married her after being terminated by Poison.
3.glenn tipton can’t play anymore
Incorrect.
4. iron maiden lyrics “what information do you need”
“We want…information…information…information!” – The Prisoner
5. does blackie lawless ever talk to anyone? 2013
Blackie Lawless has taken a vow of silence and now speaks through a computer like Stephen Hawking.
6. i wonder book list of names in the rock roll band kiss used to be in ks benny gene simmons paul stanley ace frehley peter criss and vinnie vincent
I decided to do something special for Part 250…by not doing Part 250 at all.
This isn’t one of those bullshit prequels, like when George Lucas says, “Oh, Episode I, I had that written for decades,” when it was pretty obvious he was making it up as he went along! Nope, this isn’t like that. I started writing the Record Store Tales over 10 years ago, and what you see below is the original first chapter. It existed solely for the purpose of background and context, but I excised it in favour of starting things faster with the second chapter,“Run To The Hills”. Since that became Part 1, it makes sense that this earlier introduction should be Part 0. With hindight, I kind of wished I’d kept it in, so here it is! And don’t forget to check out my new complete Table of Contents, should you wish to read more!
Yeah…don’t ask. That’s me on the right.
A Few Words for Days Gone By…
What is childhood made of? In my mind, when you’re a kid, life consists of two things:
1. School
2. Summer Holidays
That was the cycle. To break it down to the core, to an 11 year old life was 10 months of school followed by two months of glorious, warm sunny freedom. Sure, you’d get to go home at the end of the day, but you were never truly free until the end of June. No more pencils, no more books, all that stuff. It was way better than Christmas holidays. The Canadian winters offered such fun treats as shoveling, besides snow pants, parka, boots (laced up too tight), and mittens which prevented you from using your fingers.
Our summers were boisterous. My sister Kathryn and I were like peas in a pod. We would play some kind of game every day, usually under my leadership. I would declare that today, we were going to play Star Wars. Other possible declarations included building fleets of Lego ships and cars, and having a giant war. Or inventing a new ball game. Once GI Joe came along, we’d dig trenches in the yard, as well as forts and garages of twigs and leaves, and have an entire day (or week) dedicated to Cobra Commander’s new secret weapon. Aside from an occasional rebellion from my sister, our summers were mostly uninterrupted merriment.
My sister and I both clearly remember one such rebellion, where she wanted to do things her way. It involved our Star Wars figures. We were already mid-battle. I was setting up a perfect counter-offensive. The Millenium Falcon would sneak attack Vader’s base, take out his Tie Fighter early in the melee, while Luke would take out Boba Fett. Leia and Lando had to distract Jabba The Hutt, so that he couldn’t stop Luke when he eventually confronted the Emperor. Game over! The plan was perfect. Now I just needed my sister to coordinate the battle with me, under my command of course.
Much to my disappointment, she had moved around some of the figures and now had them seated. Luke and Vader were next to each other. “Why are Luke and Vader sitting there? Luke is about to attack and Vader should be getting into his ship.”
My sister continued playing with the figures, and without looking up, replied, “Luke and Vader want to be friends now. They’re having tea.”
It didn’t matter that half the figures were hers, if she didn’t know how to play Star Wars right. So I’d yell a bit, act like a big brother usually does, and eventually she’d go along with the plan, or cry and leave. The evil Empire would be defeated once and for all, thanks to my brilliant leadership and strategy. We were definitely pals, growing up.
For years, this was the way of the summer holidays. We’d be doing something awesome at home, or at the cottage, but it would always be something cool. It didn’t matter where we were: games continued wherever we went. We’d make a game out of anything. You give us a pile of junk and we’ll make a game out of it.
All things do come to an end. The Star Wars trilogy ended in 1983 and something needed to fill the vacuum. While GI Joe and later Transformers would temporarily take its place, I was getting older. My attention was drifting. I was looking for something cool, new, and exciting. Video games didn’t hold my attention and neither did sports.
Starting in 1983, several things happened in a short time frame. Styx released a single called “Mr. Roboto” that some of my friends at school were obsessed with. Then I heard a song called “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by AC/DC, and it was pretty cool too. Then, a newer band called Quiet Riot came out with an album called Metal Health that would go on to sell three million copies. This was my first rock cassette purchase when I was in the 6th grade. Something connected…
AC/DC. Van Halen. Ozzy Osbourne. Black Sabbath. Def Leppard. Motley Crue. Iron Maiden. Who were these people? I had a lot to find out.
One of the biggest thrills during the record store days was the last vacation I ever took from that place! I’ve always wanted to go to Eastern Canada, and see the ocean. I have always been drawn to the sea. I think this is because of my Italian side, it must be in my blood and DNA. We came to Canada in 1904 from Porto Empedocle, Sicily. It is a fishing village on the coast, and my great-grandfather Luigi owned a shop there around the turn of the century. My great-great grandfather Salvatore was from Amalfi, near Naples. If you ever see pictures of Amalfi, you might understand why I have always loved the sight of water.
In May 2002, I finally visited the beautiful province of Prince Edward Island. I got to see the ocean, the harbors and the lobster boats. We checked out a lot of cool sideroad shops, walked a lot of trails, and played with the vibrant red sand. We met some of the friendliest people we’d ever encountered. But there was no way I was leaving Prince Edward Island without doing three important things:
1. Eating lobster in some form every single day.
2. Visiting the Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Odditorium, one of only two in Canada.
Obviously, I had to pay my respects to the boyhood home of one of the greatest Canadians (# 13) and folk musicians of all time, Stompin’ Tom Connors. In the end, I accomplished all three of my goals. Of the five days I spent on the island, I had lobster on every one of them, even having the bizarre McLobster on one of those days. As an added bonus, I found an interesting piece of guitar-shaped folk art, made by a fellow named Keirras Jeffery, that I had to buy. It looks awesome on the wall.
Photos of Stompin’ Tom’s eponymous road are difficult to find online, so I proudly present to you a selection of my holiday snaps, May 2002.
Kids – do not crack your neck. Don’t do it. I know it feels good. Just don’t. I know the feeling, the release of pressure. The sudden relaxation of the nearby muscles. The temporary but instant relief from pain.
I used to crack my neck, apparently a bit too much, and by early 1996 it had caught up with me. I was about to go out for lunch at Casey’s with an ex-girlfriend of mine. We’d started to hang out again. I thought there might be a chance of getting back together, so I was looking forward to it.
I was toweling dry my hair, perhaps applying a bit too much force on one side, when suddenly: snap. Something hurt. Something hurt a lot. I collapsed to the ground, cradling my suddenly-too-heavy head in my hands. I’d experienced neck pain before (which started me on cracking it in the first place), but nothing like this! I was completely immobile. I sat like that, in pain holding my head in my hands, for 15 minutes. Finally I was able to find a comfortable way to stand up.
I took some Aspirin, and collapsed again in the stairway. I literally could not take both hands off my head without being in extreme pain. I had to be holding my head with at least one hand at all times. I considered cancelling the date with the ex, but quickly dismissed that option. The perceived opportunity for pity outweighed the physical pain. Now all I had to do was figure out how to put on my boots.
The ex arrived to pick me up, and she advised me to see a doctor. Nahh! I said. I took an Aspirin. Doctor Schmockter. I did know that, feeling the way I did, there was no way I was going to put able to pull a 4 hour shift at the record store that night. All that bending over and filing…one handed? No. Even though I was very proud of my perfect attendance record (no sick days in almost 2 years, a milestone I wanted to reach), I had to call in sick. I felt the pain of my now tarnished sick record.
We sat down at Casey’s, and I stupidly ordered French onion soup. Only when the dish arrived did I realize how hard it was to get the spoon all the way to my mouth without leaning. Leaning equaled pain, but by moving slowly and steadily, I gradually ate the soup.
I had a heavy scarf around my neck, and the warm soup going down my throat felt great too. Plus, the painkillers were kicking in. My mood brightened by the time my chicken arrived. When I had finished that, my sore neck muscles began to loosen up. I was regaining some mobility. Plus, the lunch was going splendidly! Conversation was brisk and good humoured.
“You know what,” I said to the ex, “I think I’m going to work after all.”
“Are you sure?” she queried. “Your neck looks really stiff.”
“It is,” I replied. “But it’s Wednesday. It’s a slow night. New stock arrived yesterday, Trevor would have finished stocking everything. I’ll be OK.” Plus, I was digging the new Extreme and wanted to hear it again.
Mike Mangini on drums
I excused myself to go to a pay phone and call the store.
“Hey man, it’s Mike,” I said when my boss answered. “Have you got anybody to fill my shift yet? Because I can do it. I feel alot better.” He told me that he was just going to work straight through. I assured him I was OK, and I got the ex to drop me off at the store.
I walked in, head cocked at an awkward angle, wearing a silly scarf. My boss was with a customer but he glanced at me, noting my odd posture. As soon as he was done with the customer, he turned to me.
“Oh, Mike…how in the heck did you do that again?”
Slightly embarrassed I answered, “Drying my hair.”
“You did THAT drying your hair?” he cried.
“Yeah,” I said sheepishly. “Does it look bad? Can you tell?”
“Can you tell?” he replied. “It’s as obvious as the nose on your face!”
Oh man. Oh man. I didn’t realize how comical I looked. Sure enough, several customers asked about my strange posture. And all of them had the same question:
“How in the heck did you do that?”
Drying my hair! Now leave me alone about it!!
Unfortunately this was merely the first of many such episodes. A high price to pay, for the temporary relief of cracking your neck. I should have just said it was whiplash from banging my head too much.
Some at the record store made fun of me for being such a serious Star Wars fan. I’m not a hard core fanboy; I don’t go to conventions or follow the books and TV shows, but I am pretty dedicated to the films. I booked May 19, 1999 off work well in advance to see The Phantom Menace on opening day.
I’m not going to turn this story into a review for Phantom Menace. That movie’s been reviewed by thousands of people and I’m not interested in contributing to the background noise. The only thing you need to really agree with me on is that there was a tremendous excitement for Phantom Menace back in 1999. I had been dreaming of what might happen before and after the Holy Trilogy since I was 5 years old. My sister was only a baby when the first Star Wars came out, but she did get to see Empire in the theaters. She is a slightly bigger fan than I am, but she doesn’t follow the expanded universe or any of that stuff.
We both booked the day off work and planned to go together. Our strategy was this: Since we knew that the theaters would be absolutely packed for the midnight opening, we picked an out of the way (but still THX) theater that had a noon showing. So, all we had to do was wait an extra 12 hours (at home), and we’d get in no problem!
We showed up at the theater and were, like, seventh in line. No sweat. Soon we had our seats in a sparsely seated theater. Then the trailers (something called Titan AE, which inspired a heckle of “What the hell was that?” from the audience). Then the Fox fanfare, the Lucasfilm logo and finally…”A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away….”
136 minutes later (we stayed for the credits of course) we were pretty satisfied with the movie. Keep in mind that fast shit had been whizzing in front of our faces for over two hours. There were things that didn’t make sense, there were things we didn’t like much (the kid, Jar Jar) but we kept telling ourselves the same thing.
“Yeah, but it’s the first chapter. The next one will be where it really starts.”
As we were talking about it, I said, “Wanna see it again? It went so fast there was a ton of stuff I’m sure I missed.”
“Sure!” she answered. “Yeah!”
We went back out to the ticket counter. There were a few people in line, but not many. “Two for Star Wars, please,” I said as I approached the counter.
“Didn’t you just come out of Star Wars?” she said with that snooty tone.
“Yep. We liked it,” I answered.
“And you want to see it again?” We did.
We went back in. The second time lacked a bit of the awe. This time, I paid more attention to the details. Questions came to my mind. “If Yoda is the Jedi Master that instructed Obi-Wan, then why is Liam Neeson training him?” Stuff like that.
I still remember that on the way home, we stopped at the HMV store, and I bought Ed Hunter by Iron Maiden. When we got home, we were still excited about the movie, telling Mom and Dad all the details. My dad was skeptical.
“Does it have the emotion of the first one? Does it have the feeling?” he inquired.
“Well…no not exactly,” I rationalized. “This is just the first chapter. The next one will be where it really starts.”
My dad was onto something.
The hilarious Red Letter Media review
I also distinctly remember watching Phantom Menace again with Tom and a franchise owner, on VHS, shortly after it came out.
In 2005 I first met the girl who would later become my wife, but she had never seen Star Wars. I was really excited to be the guy that got to watch Star Wars with her for the first time. For some stupid reason that to this day I will never understand, I decided to start her off with Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Bad idea.
“That stupid fucking dino-guy” is what she named Jar-Jar Binks. She hated it. (She liked Episode III though.) Then, her dad (rest his soul) decided that he wanted to see the Star Wars prequels too. One Saturday night I went over there with my DVD copy of Phanton Menace in hand. And so it was that Jen had to see Phantom Menace not once, but twice.
We’ll be married five years this August, more awesomer than ever, so “that stupid fucking dino-guy” couldn’t have been all that bad, right?
In the continuing saga of all the pets in the greater LeBrain clan, you may recall that Lil’ Shit was the most recent addition to the family. Bass clarinetist extraordinaire Kathryn Ladano recently acquired Daisi aka Lil’ Shit, below. I finally got to meet Daisi this past Canada Day weekend!
It was a great weekend full of bonfires and awesome Canadian scenery too.
Stompin’ Tom Connors – “It’s Canada Day, Up Canada Way”
RECORD STORE TALES Part 199: Hooray! Hooray! It’s Stock Transfer Day!
A couple weeks ago, I was out driving, rocking to Kiss’ Hotter Than Hell. Suddenly I realized the car in front of me was being driven by my former boss at the record store. We happened to be going in the same direction. I followed him as he pulled into the old record store, where he turned off. He didn’t see me wave but from the stop lights, I could see him go to the back of the vehicle and pull out a big box of discs for the record store.
This brought back a vivid memory — Stock Transfer Day! STD!
Twice a week, the local store managers were required to travel to a central location to pick up stock from the other stores. This stock could include special orders being transferred from store to store. The majority of the boxes were full of stuff for our shelves, and fresh jewel cases since we went through hundreds a week. These would fill the trunk, pile up on the back seats, and once in a while the passenger seat too.
The managers decided to do stock transfer on Monday nights, and Thursday afternoons. I hated Monday nights and Thursday afternoons. The only good thing about stock transfer was the chance to see some of my store manager friends, such as the eternally interesting Joe. It was during one of these stock transfers that I witnessed the immortal Open Door Piss.
What bugged me most about the stock transfer arrangements were that the time, gas and mileage on our cars was considered to be “part of our salaries”. This part of it really sucked, as you could spend a good chunk of your night hanging around doing nothing, waiting for someone. Sometimes a traffic accident or tie-up on the highway could screw somebody’s route home. That’s just the way this city was(n’t) planned out.
So while you’re waiting for someone with some orders that you absolutely need, you’re sitting doing nothing, burning your own time. This happened frequently in winter, but in the summer too. While this is ensuing, at home your porch is unoccupied and lacking in beverages. And that is a shame.
RECORD STORE TALES Part 196: Happy Rockin’ Mother’s Day!
I’m hoping I don’t embarrass my mom too much with this post. I love my mom. My friends love my mom. Everyone loves my mom, they always have. It used to drive me nuts, actually. Particularly with my friend Bob, it drove me nuts. My friends would come over and spend more time talking to my mom than to me!
Joe, who ran one of our stores, was one friend that always enjoyed seeing my mom in his store. Unfortunately for me, Joe really used to tease me about it, too. Long time LeBrain readers will remember one story in particular. Here’s the pertinent text from that tale:
One morning I was opening the store, and my computer beeped the sound that told me, “An order just arrived, please read me!” So I did. Only the order looked something like this.
ARTIST: I’m totally going to
TITLE: bone your mom.
I was digging through boxes of stuff, as Mrs. LeBrain and I prepare to move to a larger place this year. In a closet I found a card from the record store. Joe had signed it.
“Yeah, uhh,” said the kid once again. “I heard that, like, at a Marilyn Manson concert, he sucked himself off. He had his bottom two ribs removed so that he could bend far enough over to do it.”
“Wow,” I uttered, a little stunned. “Where did you hear that?”
“I bet another kid at school $5 that it wasn’t true. He said it was.”
I paused to build anticipation. “He owes you $5 then.”
“YES!” said the kid as he high-fived his friend. “I knew it wasn’t true.”
RECORD STORE TALES Part 193: Dandy Douche 3 – Scary Carrie
Dandy Douche had two girlfriends simultaneously. The one he really liked was a long distance thing in Toronto, and he had a local one too. She worked at the mall at a music store there. Both knew of the other, and supposedly accepted the situation. He was really mean to the local one too, and dubbed her “Scary Carrie”, because she was clingy and did “annoying” things like make him lunch to bring to work.
Dandy moaned about Scary Carrie a lot. One afternoon at work, while he was complaining about Scary Carrie, this father came in with a little kid. He was a boy about 3. The little boy heard Dandy talking about “Scary Carrie” and started running around the store chanting “Scary Carrie! Scary Carrie!” Except he couldn’t say his “R’s” and it came came out as “Scawwie Cawwie! Scawwie Cawwie!”
It was pretty hilarious at the time.
Whether Scary Carrie was as frightening as this dinosaur remains unknown.
I mean, this dinosaur is so scary, he took the dude’s gun away and the dude took off. That’s scary.
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