23 January 2017

Too Bad They Do Not Stay There

Attended an anti-racism rally today with my neighbours and a few out-of-towners. There were speakers of course. The best speech was an Anarchist one encouraging us not to depend on the fucking government to give the Nazis the old heave ho. Do it yourself, motherfuckers. The oldest Anarchist message of them all.

Of course no government fucker from my city, province or country was there. All on holiday in Hawaii probably. Too bad they do not fucking stay there.

22 January 2017

The Spirit of '76 - 40 Years On

It began a little before this date. 40 years ago. Punk rock. For me. Just what a young Anarchist needed - a proper soundtrack for his life inside and outside the schoolyard I was still fenced in by.

What I mean by "a little before this date" would push my punk rock days to either when Lester Bangs tipped me off on the Sex Pistols a year or so before I first heard them on a morning English pop music show in late '76 (or thereabouts) or much further back when I bought Lou Reed's first solo record in my neighbourhood department store. The streets Lou Reed was singing about were much like the streets I was walking on - every lowlife up to and including Clifford Olson could be found there - and looking at through fogged up bus windows except there were no transsexuals on the streets of Sliverville then - they would have been beaten to death within minutes of stepping onto the street.

A little after that I saw Sweeney Todd play a dance in a town near where I lived - they had a little of the punk rock sound then and covered Mott the Hoople - a massive punk rock influence - extensively. Soon thereafter I saw my first rock shows. I like to think of Slade's (again a massive punk rock influence) roller rink show as my first rock show. There were enough fucking police hanging uselessly around that show to make an instant Anarchist of me.

But, alas, it was not really Slade who were my first rock show. It was Arlo Guthrie. My Guitar 11 class went to see Arlo on a field trip at the big university in town. Everybody there but my class were smoking dope like it was going out of style. Rolling it up out of huge bags in their laps. We all wanted to join in, including our teacher, who was probably the only straight person in the audience. Her whole class had dropped acid just before we headed for the rock show.

The punk rock moment of that rock show was Arlo telling the wasted members of the audience who kept yelling for "Alice's Restaurant" to "Go buy the fucking record!"

Heart played a high school dance that year too. 1975 was not a bad year for rock 'n' roll itself.

Having passed all my grade 11 courses, including Guitar11 (C+), I continued my schooling in England. Lot of work that was - in a school that had and continues to have high expectations of its students. After first adapting to the increased workload I managed free myself up all day Saturday and Saturday night so I could catch rock shows at a nearby club that had, not so long ago, once hosted bands like The Who and the Rolling Stones. Club had an adjoining pub with a huge oval bar as its centre piece where its patrons could fight one another for a bartender's attention. The English may be good for fuck all else but in those days they could sure drink and make great music.

The first rock show that was very much like a punk rock show was Eddie and the Hot Rods. Amphetamine rock 'n' roll band they were. I already owned their "Teenage Depression" 45. (Treasure it still.) I was not the only kid in the audience who needed some of the ecstasy a high energy rock show and a lot of liquor will get you. I would get to see them once more a few months later. Two of my favourite rock shows ever. I would not be without their first three albums - great songs enthusiastically played.

But I knew I had not seen or heard nothing yet.

Soon enough I would hear and see the Sex Pistols on television. Lester Bangs could not have been more right. My generation, the first in the west faced with grimmer prospects than our parents' in several decades, had produced the greatest rebel culture of them all. And did I fit in! Noisy, obnoxious, drunk and wasted as all fuck it was. The biggest FUCK YOU ever.

Never did get to see the Pistols until the '90s in Dope City. They played a place I saw The Adverts, Chelsea and Generation X but word did not reach me of their secret appearance until it was too late to make travel plans to get to the somewhat distant show.

Indeed it was The Adverts who were my first punk rock show. Their singer TV Smith is one of the greats and I think it is Gaye Advert I still dream about when I make one of my less and less common nocturnal emissions.

Chelsea would be one of my favourite rock shows ever. They encapsulated the anger and hopelessness of the time as well as anybody. Gene October, their singer, was one of the scariest, biggest motherfuckers of the day.

Generation X was my first sold out punk rock show. Audience was more than half girls - all there to see Billy Idol in his black fucking leather. I think it was Sandy from the legendary Pink Fairies, who I had seen a week or two earlier, who I saw and spoke with at the show. He was so wasted! Just what I needed - another fucking wasted role model.

There were other shows - the Stranglers a couple times, the Runaways, Talking Heads, Ramones, (Lou Reed, Television and Blondie in London - where I saw only a few shows), Ultravox and others I cannot think of just now. Plus the non-punk rock shows! Judas Priest, Curved Air, Stray, The Groundhogs, John Cale, Hawkwind, Motorhead and more.

It was a great year to be a rock 'n' roller. A great year to get pissed and destroy. A great set up for the years of wild, wild west coast punk rock just around the corner that would leave me for dead several times in the coming years but never quite kill me.  

16 January 2017

La Casita Swiss Army Man Saturday Night

Should you be a fan of the peculiar, as I can be, and you have not watched the movie "Swiss Army Man" do so. Sonja and I watched it with Hunky Z and Kitty last night after we had each had dinner and a pitcher of Margaritas at La Casita (on Cordova) Saturday night. At one point or another during the first hour of the movie each of us begged one another to, "Turn the fucking thing off!" Yet we persisted with the movie to it's oddly satisfying end.

Was a time my favourite restaurant in Dope City was another Mexican place on Cordova called the Travellers. Miss that unpretentious joint to this day. Good to see it has finally been replaced by another just as fucking good.

I would not suggest you drink as much tequila and eat as much Mexican food as we did before you watch "Swiss Army Man" however. If I had to do it over I would have drank more tequila and not ate at all.

13 January 2017

High Priced Whore

Now it comes out Prime Minister Trudeau is being ferried about free of charge (ha!) by the Aga Khan's private Air Force.

Prime Minister Trudeau you are just what the world needs more of - high priced whores.

11 January 2017

Canadian Death Machine Sales To Saudi Arabia

In a nutshell I am an Anarchist because even countries like Canada, known more for our beer, marijuana and hockey than our statecraft, act like it is perfectly acceptable for whole nations of human beings to have a shit covered, heavy boot crushing their head FOREVER.

I am referring this morning to Canada's relationship with Saudi Arabia. Selling armoured personal carriers (statespeak for Death Machines) to a bunch of motherfucking head chopping, back lashing, crackpot religious philosophy thumping, .1%ers is not my fucking idea of Sunny Days Canada. I am not so sure Saudi Arabia would look good in a shithead to shithead comparison with North Korea, a country whose ass Canada has not kissed - ever.

For the record Justin Trudeau and his Death Machine Liberals can go fuck themselves - FOREVER.

9 January 2017

Everybody's In Show-Biz - Even the DCFP

(Some people get shit for Christmas. Industrial workers like me know just how thin the line is between relative prosperity and joining the people who get shit for Christmas and get shit on the other 364 days of the year. We need to organize our world in such a way that one fuck of a lot more people do not get shit or shit on 365 days a year. It is in ALL of our best interest to do so.)

Sonja and I went downtown on Saturday. It was Sonja's idea but we both had Christmas cash to burn still in our pockets because it has been kind of hard to get around what with the snow and all.

"Can we start the day down there at the pub?" I asked when she brought it up.

"Why not?" Sonja answered. I drive a hard fucking bargain.

The pub, packed when we patronized it in December, had five people in it having lunch when we walked over a homeless fucker in its doorway and had a look around inside. No one else came in the whole time we were there. That is how far people extend themselves financially at Christmas. Do not even have pub money once New Year's is done. It is motherfucking insane.

It was warm inside, our waitress sweet, the food more than adequate, the liquor effective. Humble Pie's fired up version of "I Don't Need No Doctor" got played not quite loud enough for either of us on the house stereo.

"To Steve Marriott," Sonja toasted, knowing I am still sort of bummed Status Quo's Rick Parfitt died on Christmas Eve. We clinked glasses and swallowed an appropriate amount to once again commemorate someone who sure knew how to rock 'n' roll.

Sonja found lots of clothes to spend her money on. While she shopped I had a look at the guy's clothes in the shops that had any. Everything appeared to be made in fucking China. Did not buy any.

What I did buy was a re-release of one of my first records - one which I have played less than I would liked to have because it is one of the few I own that is plain wore out - too many spins on the old family record player before I started spending my money on stereo equipment - The Kinks' "Everybody's In Show-Biz."

Odd the record would be my favourite of their's. It has to be one of the least punk rock records ever made. Great songs though. Nice horn arrangements. When I was a teenager the record convinced me England must be a fucking magic place. Of course England never was, is not now, nor ever will be Magic unless it is Black Magic you are looking for. That, motherfuckers, is the Magic of the well written song.

7 January 2017

The Mighty Sparkling Apple

Some people believe in God.

Some people believe in Allah.

Some people believe in Anything.

I believe in Sparkling Apple.

We go back to the dawn of motherfucking rock 'n' roll.

I saw them in the Roller Rink. I saw them in the bars. I saw them at the PNE. I saw them down in the street.

I thought I had all their records - they only made a few. Then yesterday I spotted a copy of the first Vancouver Seeds lp. On the back cover I found Sparkling Apple had performed two of the songs on it - "It's Criminal" - maybe their best known song - and "Mighty Flight" - which I had never heard before. Turns out it is 6:40 of loud as fuck space rock written by their loud as fuck drummer Colin Hartridge.

Colin, my friends and know best from when he joined us first on a sidewalk lined up to see the Ramones nearly 40 years ago. He asked us after maybe half an hour or so, "You aren't going to keep smoking that shit until they open the doors are you?"

"Why the fuck not?" someone asked him back.

"The fucking bulls. They are all over this street," the man better known as Captain Maniac replied as two of the fuckers walked by.

"Fuck them," someone answered. "They smoke twice as much fucking weed as we do in our dreams."

6 January 2017





5 January 2017

Gordon Campbells

Despite the fucking snow, fucking cold and fucking wind traffic on the fucking highway between my house and the fucking mill has been both light and orderly. There are probably more reasons for the change from chaos to order than I could ever think of but I can think of two.

1. The sudden rise in petrol prices right after people are spent out after Christmas.

2. There must be one fuck of a lot of Gordon Campbells wasted on a beach far away from here.

30 December 2016

RIP Rick Parfitt

I began writing yesterday about the 40th anniversary of my enthusiastic participation in the Punk Rock Rebellion but while researching just what day it was I saw Eddie and the Hot Rods, The Stranglers and The Adverts (my first exposure to the rock 'n' roll that was much better than pretty much everything I had been listening to up to then) I came across news of Status Quo guitarist and songwriter Rick Parfitt's death on Christmas Eve.

Rick wrote or co-wrote both my most listened to Status Quo songs: Mystery Song and Rain - both off their Blue For You album.

Status Quo were my favourite rock 'n roll band until I heard the Sex Pistols. I will be listening to them until I too die.

North America was never kind to the band so far as sales went. Deaf cunts, we are.

Thanks for the music Rick Parfitt. You were my kind of motherfucker.