No time, no time, no time
No time, no time, no time
I got, got, got, got no time
I got, got, got, got no time
I got, got, got, got no time
No-no-no, no-no-no, no time
No-no-no, no-no-no, no time
I got, got, got, got no time
I got, got, got, got no time
Guess Who
Sonja tried to get us tickets to AC/DC but the scalpers and the long hair dope fiends of Surrey shut us out. I should have seen them in '78 at the House Andre Boudrias Built, but I was too fucked up that night and got on the wrong bus, ending up in Langley Hotel instead of the East End before I reversed course and got to the show just in time to watch Aerosmith piss heroin on the sick spirit of rock 'n' roll. So no AC/DC tonight. To console ourselves we caught the Headpins' and Randy Bachman's outdoor shows at the PNE last night.
Awfully considerate of the PNE to have a beer garden with a great view of the stage. There is nothing quite as perfect as an unlimited supply of beer, a warm summer night and bags and bags of mini donuts. I did not think I would remember any of the Headpins' music but I did. Their music reminded me of when the old punk rock crew invaded The Smell Cabaret, the very cradle of every sexually transmitted disease in Canada, and shitkicked every heavy metal motherfucker in the place the way the Westham boys took it to the Millwall faithful a few nights ago. That was the night that went down in history as the Revenge of the Whalley Tuxedo because that was how we all dressed - no way we were going to show up in The Smell in our punk rock gear with a Kick Me! sign on our backside. The old ICF taught the world, a world that would later include Bin Laden's crew, a valuable lesson: do not wear your colours when you are planning to ambush your enemies, literally or figuratively, with your Daytons.
Randy Bachman, thankfully, was as good as the Headpins were not. He played an electric set of Guess Who and BTO songs that the whole crowd sang along with; chucked in a medley of '70s radio hits by Free, Rod Stewart and AC/DC (the crowd sang along to those too); and sang a handful of songs, without his shit-hot band, as he strummed his acoustic just like Neil fucking Young. Randy's voice, like his contemporary Anne Murray, may not be what it used to be, but the crowd cut him some slack, hit the high notes for him and grooved to the best guitar player living in Canada today. The old Winterpigger may be turning 66 next month but he can still scorch the Earth with his sunburst Gibson like it was 1972.
Randy Bachman, the Dope City Free Press salutes you. You are our kind of motherfucker.
2 comments:
Hi Mr. Beer,
It was 1981 or so while working in Merritt that I attended a concert by the Headpins (or the Pinheads, as we liked to call them) at some arena in Kamloops. They played a few catchy hardrockers, but they had a pretty limited sound I think you could say, especially with that screechy woman lead singer.
It's hard to believe that their minor rise to abbreviated local rock stardom could induce them to reconstitute themselves, but there you go...
Regards
An arena in Kamloops, eh? You must have seen the Headpins at their peak.
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