23 October 2014

Beavers, Screech and Wilf Carter



Was a time
Everybody
Who came to Canada
Loved the fucking place.

Guess Canada
Is not
As lovable
As it once was.

Canada is not all beavers,

Screech and
A Wilf Carter record
Playing on the hi-fi
On Saturday night any more.

19 October 2014

Change For the Better



Here in British Columbia it looks as if our Indians have had their ambition to once again control their land and resources, realized by a still recent Supreme court decision which made clear that stealing land, even if that land is stolen by white people, does not mean the stolen land remains in the control of the thieves forever.

The fucking government and the fucking corporations (who have been watching and beating off the whole time), have been fucking the Indians for well over 100 years on this coast. It is the only thing they are good at: Indian fucking and watching the Indians get fucked.

I would suggest the size of our fucking government is due for a good shrinking. The Department of Fucking Indians and its big steaming shitpile of lawyers, for one, ought to have a fork sunk deep in its ass - its done. The Legislature in Victoria should be turned over to the Indians. If there is anything left for the old Indian fucking government  to do they ought to be able to manage their affairs from a few cheap offices in Newton.

Seems to me the political parties that call British Columbia home ought to turn themselves over to the Indians as well. Our next Premier and Premiers forever more ought to be Indian people. Our province is their fucking land, they ought to manage it without interference.

I hope they change the name of this place too. The one we have now is way too fucking white. I, for one, would prefer Spuzzum to British Columbia.

Long as they do not close any liquor stores, I do not give a fuck what they do. Indian management of the place I call home cannot get any worse than the screwing of the people we have seen going on year after year after year.

12 October 2014

Brand New Age, Same Old Pigs



Briefly, for the benefit of those of you who do not live near, a cop was charged who, along with some screws, thought it good fun to sit back and watch two female inmates grind one another in a cell some years back. I am not saying the pig and his screw buddies were having themselves a good old circle jerk as they watched the live sex video but if they were not literally doing so they most certainly were doing so figuratively.

Canadian justice, when it arrives at all, arrives slowly, by dog sled one might say, with chihuahuas pulling the sled over thawed ground. So it was that last week a judge provided the clarity judges are so famous for in her ruling regarding the policeman's behaviour - a clarity all were expecting.

Scandalous behaviour by the police is permitted in Canada. Perhaps that is why my country has been so slow to permit police monitoring of society by closed circuit camera. We permit the police to behave like scumbags but we try to limit the possibilities for them to do so.

My country is really quite fucked. But then, so too is yours.

6 October 2014

Canada Pulls On Its Big Girl Panties



Looks like Canada is pulling on its big girl panties and going to drop some fucking bombs on some Muslim Loon Beheaders if we can find any. My government, fuckheads all, would like it if I would show some enthusiasm for our Air Force and its bombs. A little good old Canadian rah-fucking-rah.

Alas, my cupboard is empty of good old Canadian rah-fucking-rah. Cannot even find any way in the back of the cupboard to support the murder of the homicidal religious assholes we are pissed off at presently. No tears need be shed for those soon to be dead or maimed motherfuckers.

My tears will however flow when non-combatants get blown to Hell. If wars were only about soldiers killing and raping other soldiers I would be war's biggest supporter. Shit ain't like that. War is an indiscriminate killer: a psychopath.

We Canadians, we westerners generally, are supposed to see our civilization as superior to the one we are about to splat with bombs and misery. Could be our civilization is superior to theirs but everybody knows it will not be long before the ever widening gap between the 1% and you and me inevitably results in our own pile of smoke, ashes and bodies. The bodies, in fact, are already getting piled up pretty fucking high.

It is written.

So you go ahead and plaster a Support the Troops bumpersticker on your car and think you could not possibly be wrong for standing behind our religion deranged Prime Minister and his sickfuck yes men and yes women. But remember this:

The planes and their payloads are not going to get us anywhere and their cost to our society will not be small.

Fuck them and fuck their fucking war.

2 October 2014

Double Checkin' Dishrags



Some time ago I bought the Dishrags' complete recordings. Double album's worth of two-tittied motherfucking punk rock history. I was supposed to write something about it long ago. Got sidetracked I guess. Not the first fucking time.

The studio tracks are every bit as good as the 45s on which they first deafened disco fever urban cowboy Earth. The live tracks, I am talking about the ones recorded when the 'Rags opened the Clash's first North American show in Dope City, are another story.

In those days magnetic north for my dick was the Dishrags. They had all the attributes a punk rock boy (or girl) could hope for. Tough as a loggers; sweet as sugar cookies; creative as Stompin' Tom Connors on Sudbury Saturday night.

I recalled their show as being about as good as punk rock got. Fast and loose as a two-bit whore loaded on speed and alcohol. As I may well have been that enchanted evening.

The recording does not quite live up to that. Their cover of Eddie and the Hot Rods' "Double Checkin' Woman" cannot even save them. But I still think you should go out and fucking buy it.

For the music.

And the photos.

Now, wet dream motherfuckers.

26 September 2014

Long Live Rock, Long Live DOA



From day fucking one I have preferred listening to Metal Machine Music at maximum volume to watching music videos on my television. I can see why the imaginationless would go for music videos. The imaginationless go for all sorts of rot.

Have a listen to Hawkwind's "Psychedelic Warlords" with your eyes closed if you have lost touch with the power of your imagination. You know what to do should you wish to push your imagination into four wheel drive.

If it were not for the rare film in which a really good bit of song gives the action a little extra spark I would have the same feeling about music in film as well. For every "Easy Rider" there are a thousand films with music I would have preferred not to hear - ever!

What I do like (and have always liked) are filmed rock shows. That is how I first heard Status Quo, Rush, Mahogany Rush and a great many more when in my stiff dick youth. Still like a good rock show turning up on my television screen.

Watched The Who's 2013 performance in London last night courtesy of my cable provider. My cable provider offers very few good rock shows but this is one of them. Odd thing about the show is the back drop behind Roger, Pete and their damn near faceless band is a giant video screen which takes the watcher through British history, both musical and otherwise, with a focus on the mod sods themselves, of course.

Highly recommend it. Glad Pete and Roger have chosen to rock on. Take a bow, motherfuckers.

Oddly I received news after watching the concert that DOA are officially unretired, making a new record, a rock opera tentatively titled "Gino" according to my suspect sources, and preparing to tour once more. Hope Joe sees The Who show. A similar video historical/biographical backdrop behind Dope City's most durable rockers (besides Sparkling Apple) would be pretty fucking cool.

22 September 2014

8-track Collection



Spent the weekend,
It was hotter than most,
Getting loaded and
Listening to 8-tracks.

Stompin' Tom,
Elvis,
The Beatles,
Jerry Garcia,

10 cc,
George Carlin,
Creedence Clearwater Revival
And West, Bruce and Laing.

There ain't no more than that.

17 September 2014

Silver Wood Machine



I do not collect 78s or any of the even older means music and words have been distributed through the years.

33s, 45s, cassettes and 8-tracks.

Trouble was I had no 8-track player. Never owned one in my life.

Until now.

Bought a working 8-track amplifier/tuner yesterday. Couple book shelf speakers to go with the archaic technology.

Called Hunky Z over to have a beer and a listen. Jammed Stompin' Tom Connor's Greatest Hits into the glowing silver and fake wood veneered machine.

"No fucking way!" Hunky exclaimed as the smiling ghost of Stompin' Tom and his big black boot splintering Canadian plywood boomed from the speakers.

We laughed so hard it hurt.

My head may be right here in the present but my heart is still somewhere way back in the motherfucking 1970s.

9 September 2014

Today a Bunny, Tomorrow the World

Sonja and I were eating dinner. The Hammer was watching us eat, like she usually does, when she was called to the window by a noise we heard as well. Squeaky ball rubber duck sort of a noise. The dog did not seem to see anything so she lay back down to look at us.

The noise, however, continued in fits and stops.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Sonja got up to look. "I don't see fuck all," she said and sat back down.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.



I got up. Saw the three of the neighbourhood cats tormenting a baby bunny. It was the bunny squeak, squeak, squeaking.

"The fucking cats are killing a bunny," I yelled.

"Nooooooooooooooooooo!" Sonja screamed. "Not a bunny!"

I grabbed a box and went out and rescued the little fucker. Gave the cats the stink eye. Bunny's flank was tore up some but his neck was intact so I figured he might make it.

While I was on my rabbit rescue mission Sonja was talking on the phone with the hippies down at the wildlife rescue centre. They told Sonja where I should take the bunny (a vet) and asked if we could leave a donation in the rescue centre's money box there.

As I pulled up the road in my bunny ambulance the cats were giving me the stink eye. "Fucking buzzkill you are," they would have said if they were not stupid fucking cats.

I could hear the bunny moving around in his box as I sped to the vet. Motherfucker was going to make it.

Today a bunny, tomorrow the world.  

 

3 September 2014

Humble Pie's Heavy Metal Soul



I have previously in this space extolled the virtues of Humble Pie. Rock 'n' roll superstars they were. Long fucking time ago. Back when I thought the only thing you needed to change the world for the better was a match.

Their "Rockin' the Fillmore" double live album has found itself spinning on every record player I have ever owned. Something of a high water mark for English music it is. Heavy metal soul.

Never figured the record to be expanded upon. But the two surviving members of the band who performed on the nights the record was recorded, Peter Frampton and Jerry Shirley, have gone ahead and released the four shows which, once culled, became the record I love.

Four "Rockin' the Fillmore" records. I got my copy on cd. Paid about ten times what I paid for the original record. Worth every penny.

Get out there, buy it, and rock on, motherfuckers.