Canada, You’ve Really Let Me Down

Oh, Canada, from the moment that I first fell in love with music, you’ve been a constant (and usually welcome) presence in my life. During those formative years, there was no shortage of Canadians with hits on the radio, acts like Rush, Loverboy, April Wine, Bryan Adams, and Red Rider.

Soon, I would discover musical neighbors from the north who weren’t as embraced by radio where (and when) I was growing up – Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, The Band, and, years later, Jane Siberry, K.D. Lang, and Bruce Cockburn.

Like most Americans, I know less about Canada than I should. I did have a drummer friend who lived on our couch for a year (sometimes drummer jokes write themselves) and he was an avowed fan of the country, touting the wondrousness of the Great White North and declaring the considerable merits of John Candy.

So, I was disappointed to learn that Canada is one of the biggest arms exporters on the planet.

Then, several days ago, I come across the following headline on msnbc.com – Man Guilty In Plot To Behead Canada PM. What is that all about? (I didn’t read the article as I felt certain that it couldn’t live up to the slapstick drama of the title)

The headline begged several questions. Is beheading really the route to go if one does want to take out a politician? I mean, it seems to be rather cumbersome and inefficient with slim odds for success.

The most important question that came to mind is what the hell is going on up there?! This, combined with the arms export thing, made me wonder if we Americans and our gratuitously violent television programs, films and political campaigns are having a negative influence on the Canadians.

It seemed best to consult a Canadian on this matter. And I realized as many different people as I’ve known and there have been very few Canadians. I’d always assumed that it was because Canada was such a lovely place filled with polite people (unlikely to behead a leader) that no one ever left to come here.

However, one Canadian I do know is a co-worker, so I queried him on this threatened beheading. I didn’t get an explanation, but I did learn that Canada, like the U.S., is in the midst of an election. Then, he informed me of something that truly floored me.

From start to finish, this election will take a mere 32 days.

So, I say sell munitions to every man, woman, and child on the planet, Canada. Let your citizens plot to behead every member of Parliament. If you folks can elect your officials in less than five weeks you are most certainly doing something right.

Oh yeah, and thanks for all the swell music.

There’s so much music by Canadian acts that are favorites (Gordon Lightfoot anyone?). So, I simply tried to pick a random selection.

Neil Young – Sleeps With Angels
Is Neil Young the greatest Canadian rock artist of all time? He’s got to be close and he’s certainly one of the most compelling. I logged a lot of hours listening to his album Sleeps With Angels in ’94/’95 and the title track was Neil & Crazy Horse in full, glorious fury.

Jane Siberry – Bound By The Beauty
I posted something by Jane recently, but Bound By The Beauty is one of her songs of which I am much more fond. Like Neil’s catalog, Jane’s takes a lot of zigs and zags. The one album that I would wholeheartedly endorse is When I Was A Boy, but it is an album best listened to start to finish. Bound By The Beauty is from an earlier album.

Bran Van 3000 – Drinking In L.A.
I first heard this song when I saw the video on MTV in Ireland. I was immediately smitten. Drinking In L.A. was on their debut Glee and it is an engaging, eclectic mix of strangeness (including a jangly, ’90s-styled alt rock cover of Cum On Feel The Noize).

Red Rider – Lunatic Fringe
Red Rider got a lot of airplay in the Midwest in the ’80s – Young Things, Wild Dreams (Rock Me), Human Race, Boy Inside The Man, and this song. Moody and atmospheric, I have a feeling that most people south of the border wouldn’t be able to name the band, but they’d know the song.

Bruce Cockburn – If A Tree Falls
I quoted part of this song’s lyrics in a speech on the rain forest in college (and I think it was a two or three years before Sting stole my thunder on the issue – oddly enough, we would kind of cross paths a decade later).

Anyhow, I apologize to Bruce for potentially sullying his good name with what was, I imagine, a clumsy effort at activism.

Leonard Cohen – First We Take Manhattan
Personally, I’d declare Leonard Cohen, from a standpoint of attitude, to be more rock and roll than any Emo band could ever dream of being. Acerbic, witty, and with more than a hint of menace in his lyrics and vocals, Cohen spent the early ’90s linked to actress Rebecca DeMornay (while he was in his mid-50s) and the latter part of the same decade living in a Buddhist monastery.

As both Canada and the States are in the midst of elections, I momentarily opted to post his song Democracy with its deadpanned chorus “Democracy is coming to the USA.” However, I’ve loved First We Take Manhattan since I first heard it on his album I’m Your Man in the late ’80s.

I Mother Earth – Not Quite Sonic
Out of college, I worked a couple of internships for record labels, including one in radio promotion. One afternoon, on my way out, my boss gave me a cassette and instructed me to critique it that evening. When I popped it into the player, I was blown away. It was demo recordings of I Mother Earth.

Combining the blistering, tribal rock leanings of Jane’s Addiction, the otherworldly poetry of The Doors, and percussive elements reminiscent of Santana (they actually toured with an ex-member performing percussion), I Mother Earth should have been huge. Our label lost them in a bidding war to Capitol Records who torpedoed their career by marketing them as a metal act. Well done, Capitol. Well done.

The Spirit Of Gordon Gecko Is Alive And Well

This evening, Dubya addressed the nation on the latest calamity to occur on his watch. Of course, these calamities seem to occur with the same dizzying frequency at which Pac-Man Jones used to get into legal scuffles.

The elderly woman who sold me cigarettes the other morning asked how I liked living in a Socialist country (as her cohort shook her head in obvious disapproval). If my head hadn’t been pounding with an intensity that was close to compromising the structural integrity of my skull, I might have actually voiced the reply which came to mind – “I always thought Paloma and I might end up in Italy.”

I did study finance and economics, but for the first fifteen years out of college the closest I came to using my degree was to occasionally balance my checkbook. So, I have only the slightest idea exactly what these clowns have gotten the country into or how they intend to get us – or some of us – out. It does have a vibe that conjures images of rats scrambling to flee a sinking ship.

A bunch of Wall Street characters and banks made a lot of money doing dodgy deals. People took on more financial responsibility than they could handle. Essentially, a good number of folks decided they needed more than they had (and, among those numbers, there are many who could be considered well off).

Now there’s trouble. (and I’m feeling slightly Buddhist)

This need for more seems to be pretty hard-wired into us, doesn’t it? That’s not the kind of thing that’s going to be solved by throwing a bunch of money at it (though that certainly seems to be what is going to happen).

And I couldn’t bring myself to watch Dubya’s address, so I’ve opted for highlights of the Oakland/New England “Tuck Rule” game on ESPN2.

Bob Marley & The Wailers – Burnin’ And Lootin’

Jane’s Addiction – Been Caught Stealing

The Motels – Little Robbers

Tricky – Money Greedy

Is It Possible To Put A Hit On Some Fish?

The fish reside in a small tank; no more than five gallons, and the entire set-up was a gift from Paloma several years ago. We’ve gone through several generations of fish, the population fluctuating and currently a trio.

Now, Paloma – ever the trooper – has actually been the one who has taken responsibility for their care. A couple of times, she’s lost one while cleaning the tank. She takes each untimely death quite personally (I on the other hand, while sympathetic to the animals, shake it off more easily as they don’t have names).

The other morning she crumbled some food into their tank and, staring down into their home, declared “I’d almost rather see you dead than see you live like this.” The fact that she delivered this assessment with a sigh added to the ichthyological melodrama.

She looked at me. I looked at her. Then, I burst into laughter and she followed suit.

The fish have no names and, at best, they’re ability to entertain is minimal. But, neither of us has the heart to send them to a watery grave, either.

If only Jean Reno lived next door.

Instead of fish songs or songs about assassins, I was inspired by JB at The Hits Just Keep On Comin’ who recently lamented that “1983 was not one of pop’s grander years.” So, I followed the link he had posted to a chart from this week in 1983 to see if it lived up/down to his assessment.

As music was a relatively new obsession to me at the time, I likely view the hits of the time with a bit less discrimination and considerably more nostalgia, though there was some fairly dire stuff. But, I thought that I’d post a quartet of tracks that I’d consider highlights a quarter century later.

Def Leppard – Foolin’
1983 was the year that folks who didn’t read Circus likely discovered Def Leppard – Pyromania was truly a phenomenon. The band was big with the metal kids I knew, but Def Leppard was hardly metal in a dungeons and dragons, we’re so evil way. Oh, they could be silly in their own fashion, but they also were musical toffee.

Elvis Costello- Everyday I Write The Book
I don’t think I’d ever heard Elvis Costello until I came across Everyday I Write The Book on 97X in the early autumn of ’83. I feel horrible to admit it but as much as I respect his work, Elvis isn’t someone I listen to as often as I feel I should. I’m not sure why. But, I did love this song from the outset and it’s still one of my favorites of his.

Talking Heads – Burning Down The House
In high school, my good friend Chris was a major fan of the Heads. Burning Down The House was the first time I ever heard them on the radio and, perhaps because one of our friends was a bit of a pyromaniac, we all loved the song. Of course, the atmospheric video (brought to us via WTBS’ Night Flights as MTV wasn’t available to us, yet) sealed the deal.

Eurythmics – Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)
Q102, the most popular Top 40 station within reception, was playing Sweet Dreams heavily by the time I heard it on American Top 40 (which didn’t seem to happen very often with new artists). Nonetheless, this sounded so different to my ears – none of the female singers I’d heard or was listening to possessed the Arctic cool of Annie Lennox. Eurythmics, visually and musically, were one of the most exotic things I’d ever come across.

They’ve always seemed a bit underrated to me. Dave Stewart was a fantastic architect of sound and the perfect foil for Annie. To me, their catalog is similar to Blondie’s – ambitious, drawing on a lot of diverse musical influences, and, at their best moments, pretty classic stuff.

I'm Not Really Superstitious (I'm Simply Not Taking Chances)

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The one thing that can make the most skeptical person become a strict adherent to superstition has to be being a sports fan. It doesn’t matter the sport, team, or athlete, if you have an allegiance it will drive you to ritualistic behavior with a certainty that to not do so will undoubtedly wreak havoc on your icon’s fortunes.

So, when I settled in to watch Pittsburgh play Cleveland the other night, there was a Terrible Towel draped atop the television. As the Steelers held a slight lead in a swirling rain, led by a quarterback playing with what announcers referred to as a “separated shoulder,” I was noting songs that were played as the game went into and out of commercials.

Jane’s Addiction’s Been Caught Stealing? Unexpected.

Gorillaz’ Feel Good Inc.? OK.

The Pretender’s My City Was Gone? Well, they were in Cleveland and Chrissie Hynde was from nearby Akron.

How did these songs connect and what did it bode for my team? All were songs by bands which Paloma loved. The tea leaves told me it bode well.

Along with my diligent search for signs, I engaged in behavior understood by all sports fans – doing (or not doing) certain things based on the results of each play. If you swallow a mouthful of water and your team runs a play that gets a first down, the next play requires another swallow to ensure success – things like that. It really is quite exhausting.

And, thanks to my heroic efforts – the Steelers defeated the Browns.

Of course, the theme to the Sunday night game (what’s the overly dramatic name they’ve christened it? Football Night In America?), is Joan Jett’s I Hate Myself For Loving You (with new lyrics pertaining to the event at hand) as performed by Faith Hill. I’m not taken with this update and, perhaps because of the song’s adaptation, I’ve soured on Jett’s original.

But, you do have to have love for Joan. Personally, my affection for Joan is tempered this week knowing that she is from Philadelphia (and, thus, possibly an Eagles fan) and the Steelers play at Philadelphia this Sunday.

Joan Jett & The Blackhearts – Light Of Day
Written for the movie of the same name by Bruce Springsteen. I only caught bits of the flick when it was on cable in college, but the concept of Joan Jett and Michael J. Fox as bandmates is confusing to me. I’ve read Fox’ autobiography (which is quite a worthwhile read) and he could have probably hung with Joan in his youth, but Marty McFly and Joan Jett…man, she’d have sent him back to Doc Brown in a body bag.

Joan Jett & The Blackhearts – I Love Rock ‘N Roll
The song that made everyone alive and conscious in 1982 aware of Ms. Jett. It was always on the radio during the late winter/early spring of that year. The damned thing still triggers a Pavlovian response from me every time I hear it – it must be spring. It’s that deeply ingrained in my psyche.

Joan Jett & The Blackhearts – Everyday People
Growing up in a small town in the Midwest, the ethnic make-up of our sleepy, little hamlet would have never led us to being mistaken for a Benetton ad. And, as I didn’t listen to much R&B on the radio, I likely had no idea who Sly Stone was when this version introduced me to one of his classics.

Joan Jett & The Blackhearts – Cherry Bomb
Isn’t Cherry Bomb about as gloriously elemental as a rock song can be? Proof that oftentimes there is no need to reinvent the wheel.

"I'm trying to figure out who's going to define cool now that Robert Mitchum is dead."

It was July 1, 1997. I know because that’s the date given when I checked on IMDb.

I walked into the dimly lit, catina-styled bar which was the favorite haunt of several of my friends and me during those days. Sitting there, nursing his scotch and Coke was The Drunken Frenchman, his haggard, craggy face bearing an obviously immense weight that made him appear to be even surlier than he often was.

“What’s wrong, Frenchman?”

The Frenchman barely glanced up, mumbling, “I’m trying to figure out who’s going to define cool now that Robert Mitchum is dead.”

Although only ten years older than me, The Frenchman belonged to another generation. As I had learned much from him about pop culture that had occurred before I was old enough (or even alive) to experience it, I was quite willing to defer to his assessment of Mitchum as the paragon of cool and the maven of manliness.

The Frenchman remained sullen throughout the evening and I understand why more so as the years pass. The icons of his youth were shuffling off this mortal coil on a too regular basis. As he existed in a near vacuum – no phone, no internet (which, granted was in its infancy), no cable – he relied on others to inform him of each grim piece of news. As we worked together most mornings in a record store, it was often me that would arrive and ask, “Did you hear…”

The Frenchman was, quite possibly, the most knowledgeable person I have ever known about rock music from its birth to the early ’80s. It was the early ’80s – and a confluence of synthesizers and bands like Kansas and REO Speedwagon – that had caused him to wash his hands of much of the new music which followed. The names of the deceased who we’d toast – barely familiar to me – were his touchstones.

I had never known a world without Beatles. He could tell me of their every move and where he was when it occurred. And someday soon, we will live in a world where the Beatles are nothing more than spirits.

And the ghosts keep getting closer to me. Pink Floyd keyboardist Rick Wright passed away today. By the time I became serious about music, Pink Floyd was nearing the end, but, like most teenaged boys, I spent many hours listening to Animals, Wish You Were Here, and Dark Side Of The Moon. I grew up with Pink Floyd’s music, but I wasn’t entirely connected to it – not like The Drunken Frenchman, who had probably bought Meddle on vinyl the day it was released.

But someday, the day will come. Bono will die. Or Dale Bozzio from Missing Persons. One will die. And another. Soon I’ll be learning of deaths and struggling to place the name. Even those who didn’t have much importance to me, names of those were merely the window dressing of my childhood, will become a steady procession of flickering images growing more distant.

So, Frenchman, wherever you are, a toast to Rick Wright, sir.

Pink Floyd – Wot’s…Uh The Deal

Pink Floyd – Us And Them

Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here

Pink Floyd – Sheep

A True Puppet Regime

A few days ago when I was pondering Cheerios, I considered serving the fine cereal at state functions. As I cannot gut a moose, I fear that I have no route to high office where I could enact this bold idea.

But I think I’d make a fine head of state and my only shot would seem to be overthrowing a current leader and installing a puppet regime.

Like moose-gutting, leading a coup d’état is not in my skill set. Yet I have an innovative twist that I would introduce to shake up this tired endeavor.

My puppet regime would consist of puppets. Literally.

I’m not sure if I’m ready for the responsibility of having my own puppet regime and I can imagine that it won’t be all seashells and balloons, but it’s time I grew up a bit.

I’m also going to have to put a puppeteer on my payroll.

Central to making this venture work is choosing the country, one whose population is amenable to having their present government ousted. I don’t drive an SUV and my family has no ties to the petroleum industries, so oil is not a prerequisite for consideration.

I’d prefer beaches and tropical climates, so I can cross off countries like …well Iraq. Besides, they’ve already been spoken for and the upkeep seems to be a bit much.

I do like the idea of press conferences with throngs of reporters jockeying for answers from wooden figures being beamed globally on CNN and Al-Jazeera. Yeah, I suppose we already have that now…but not with actual puppets!

And imagine if my marionette myopia starts taunting other countries? Imagine the hilarity as the leaders of Iran, Israel, North Korea, or the US go cowboy loco, puffing out their chests, and reacting with threats over statements issued by a non-living figurehead with a hand up its butt.

Just when you thought global politics couldn’t get more ridiculous, think of hearing Wolf Blitzer bloviate, “President Bush, today, had these comments in response to Micronesian President Pinocchio Magellan’s decision to withhold his country’s support for a US-led invasion of [country to be named later]. Bush reiterated that ‘freedom was on the march’ and hinted that puppets make good kindling.”

Lisa Germano – Puppet

Jane Siberry – Puppet City

P.M. Dawn – The Puppet Show

Laurie Anderson – The Puppet Motel

Et Tu, Cheerios?

Details and small things fascinate me. This allows me to space out for twenty minutes pondering breakfast cereals, specifically Cheerios.

I love Cheerios. Their simplicity is a thing of wonder to me and I find them to be the most diplomatic of all breakfast cereals. If I were a head of state, I would serve Cheerios at all state functions (but those thoughts are for another time).

I do have to consider the possibility that Cheerios is following the slippery path trail blazed by the folks who make Pop Tarts.

Not long ago, I noted how Pop Tarts started out as something that at least pretended to be somewhat good for you only to introduce flavors like Cake Batter with Double Chocolate Frosting and Pepperoni.

Now I find that there are Frosted Cheerios – tiny o’s of super-sugarized goodness. Has Cheerios sold out?

They are magically delicious, but I doubt they are as effective at lowering cholesterol, helping your heart, or making your bowels move with the precision of a Swiss clock as classic Cheerios.

I’ve also seen boxes of Fruit Cheerios which seems to be some cereal identity theft thing with Fruit Loops as the victim. And Fruit Loops which – if I recall – were pretty much sugar and colored dye probably wouldn’t be considered nutritional.

So much for a healthy breakfast. Soon, we’ll be topping our heaping bowls of Frosted Cheerios with piping hot chocolate pudding instead of milk.

I have no songs with Cheerios (or cereal, for that matter) in the title. A search for breakfast yielded a half dozen tracks – two of which I’ve already posted. The quintet which remained have not one song of which I am readily acquainted, so proceed at your own risk.

The Replacements – Beer For Breakfast

Van Halen – Up For Breakfast

Bijou Phillips- Breakfast

Stretch Princess – Breakfast For Champions

Meet The Korgis

During the past twenty-five years, I’ve probably owned more than six thousand CDs and, at last count, Paloma and I have accumulated nearly eight hundred albums in a mere two months or so.

Throw in a handful of jobs somewhat related to the music industry and I’ve had the chance to hear or at least familiarize myself with a lot of bands. It’s rare (or it used to be rare) for me not to have even heard or read of a name. And somehow The Korgis evaded me.

Anyone who does know the name likely does so from the autumn of 1980 when they had their only US hit with the song Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime. I missed it at the time – I was about a year from becoming interested in music – and I don’t recall ever hearing the song on the radio in the past twenty-eight years.

The first time I ever heard the song at all was in the summer of 1988 when The Dream Academy covered it on their second album. I knew that they hadn’t written it, but I wasn’t aware that it had been a hit song for another band.

Beck sang a version of Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime on the soundtrack to the movie Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind and, at some point, I ended up with a copy of The Korgis’ original.

So, I was excited to grab their album Dumb Waiters on vinyl and it’s been a delightful discovery. So much so that I was pleasantly surprised to find The Korgis’ debut album not long after. They’re one of those bands that – similar to more recent acts like Crowded House or the underappreciated Jellyfish – don’t reinvent classic pop but certainly, through their own eccentricities, make it sound new.

From a bit of perusing the Internet and the scant details on the band, it seems like a lot of people might have missed out on The Korgis as well.

The Korgis – Young ‘n’ Russian
Maybe there’s a reason The Korgis found so little success in the States. Could their debut single’s cover and (obviously) its title led folks in the heartland to believe that they were Communists? I mean, it was 1979 and the Soviet Union was the Evil Empire (although I don’t think Reagan gave them that pet name until several years later). My friend The Drunken Frenchman often, over drinks, yearned for such simpler times.

Anyhow, I hear a bit of The Cars in this one and The Cars’ debut had come out the year before that of The Korgis.

The Korgis – I Just Can’t Help It
Now here is The Korgis I’ve come to love – lush, dreamy, and some of the most saccharine-sweet sentiments this side of The Carpenters. And somehow, they manage to fit tracks like this one, effortlessly, with ones like Mount Everest Sings the Blues, a jaunty number whose lyrics detail the grievances of Mount Everest sung from the mountain’s perspective.

The Korgis – If I Had You

If I Had You immediately made me think of John Lennon’s #9 Dream. And, again, their lyrics are as gauzy as the music. The cover for the single is rather intriguing.

According to the Wikipedia entry, the song hit #12 in the UK, so somebody must have been listening.

The Korgis – Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime

My introduction to The Korgis and likely yours, too, Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime is a lovely song, wispy and fragile. There’s something both whimsical and melancholic about the artwork for the 45.