Songwriter's Circle

Despite freezing rain and ice pellets last night I hied me down to the Oakville Centre for what was billed as 'Songwriter's Circle'.  Joel Kroeker from Manitoba performs with Randy Bachman and looks like he could be his love-child.  Tal Bachman was born with music in his genes.  Andy Kim on the other hand is a generation removed from the other two and has connections with Ron Sexsmith and Ed Robertson, (Bare Naked Ladies).  Except for an association with the same agent I'm not sure how he got paired with these young turks.  Once he started performing I recognized songs like "Sugar, Sugar".  Joel and Tal did their own accompaniment but Andy had one Terry Gowan in tow to perform beautifully on the grand piano and on guitar.  One got the feeling that these two had a closer connection. 

 

In welcoming the audience mention was made of the printer of the Centre's programme.  A closer examination of that document would make one hope they did it for free—just who are (sic), "The Bind Boys of Alabama".  Just one of the many typos.  Joking mention was made after the intermission of the arm wrestling match that took place backstage.  Tal was quick to declare that they were all winners but Joel sports one impressive set of thighs; Tal, slim hips.  Reference was made to the wandering life of a singer/songwriter but it became obvious they depend on someone else to arrange their travels.  Joel has finished a Masters in Ethno-musicology and Tal is working on his Doctorate but he was repeatedly ribbed about naively grabbing a cab to Oakville from the airport during rush hour and Joel, though he spent some time in Haiti, didn't seem to know that it was on the island of Hispaniola. 

 

Aside from demonstrating the strikingly different musical styles of these three musicians who performed in turn; one would hope that if they continue this format they warm to each other enough to work together more closely on stage.  Singers accustomed to having a band at their backs require a great deal of courage to go solo and the strain of concentrating on playing guitar while remembering lines without a teleprompter was often obvious.  This group need a bit more practice before they can give an audience the sense of a group of friends gathering to swap stories and song.  The twenty minutes it took to scrap the ice off my windshield made me kind of wish I'd bought a couple of Joel's CD's rather than a ticket that required me to leave home this night.  The power black-out that interrupted the writing of this review proves the storm continues. 

Safely Through Another Week

The year 2007 is now 3 weeks old and certain themes are beginning to become apparent. 

 

Lake Ontario has cooled sufficiently and the Arctic Jet Stream switched direction enough to bring winter finally to Southern Ontario.  It arrived Sunday Night as a massive ice storm and the deep freeze that followed ensured that those who sell rock salt and provide auto-body repair services are well compensated.  Letter Carriers on the other hand are learning to creep around on pull-on cleats.  In the Vancouver Area a driver who was not so accustomed fell on the ice hitting the back of his head to his death.  I now have the right weather to defrost my deep freeze; what I lack is the enthusiasm for the task. 

 

What can anyone say about the Vietnam War that hasn't already been written over and over?  The passage of time, the objectivity of distance and non-involvement, and the act of watching 11 of the 14 DVD's that constitute the series, Tour of Duty, almost back to back leads me to make certain conclusions about the objectives of the creators of this series.  In the first place Sony Pictures have a nerve to call this "The Complete Series" when it is now obvious that they failed to negotiate a deal with the Rolling Stones for the use the series' theme music, "Paint It Black" in any of the episodes.  We've all heard about the demoralization factor in being drafted unwillingly to fight a war in a country that's been at war for generations while the people back home are protesting the fact that it's still ongoing.  It becomes obvious that the enemy here is war itself.  It can be argued that the pursuit of war is good for business but the costs in human terms on both sides are horrendous.  How can you win a war when it is impossible to tell your allies from your enemies and even your allies wish you'd go home?  The oxymoron status of the term "military intelligence" is reinforced repeatedly.  Rear-echelon Generals would rather trust information gained from surveillance aircraft 5 miles up than the instincts of the men on the ground.  What is most pointedly driven home is the slow descent into madness visited upon the men who fight what seems a pointless battle day after day.  I have now witnessed the series' representation of the My Lai Massacre and the first suicide by a monk by soaking in gasoline and lighting a match.  The pointlessness of attempting to rescue a people who don't want to be rescued, on their own turf which they have known intimately for centuries and are willing to die defending was never more plain.  The sad truth is that we've learned so little from history—the Americans and British in Iraq and the Canadian Army in Afghanistan.  Does anyone actually think we're ever going to find Osama bin Laden?  Does the term "pyrrhic victory" come to mind?  Has anyone seen the Vietnam Veterans Memorial?

 

http://thewall-usa.com/index.asp

 

On a personal level I lost interest in cooking this week especially after the events of last; so I ate out three times.  First at Bronte Chinese Cuisine at Hopedale Mall on the recommendation of friends—it's been over a decade since I went out for Chinese Food.  Then at the Niblick Pub in Upper Oakville Plaza on chicken curry in pita packets with salad. And finally at Swiss Chalet opposite the Go Station where for once they actually got my order correct—the food is good otherwise.  Speaking of eating, on Monday I actually got a compliment on the care I give my mouth from my dentist's hygienist. 

 

I should go grocery shopping now but somehow I lack the enthusiasm for that task as well.  Should I take in the Golden Griddles Buffet Brunch?  Before I do either I still need to shave. 

Assessing the Week that was.

Nearly two weeks of 2007 are already history and already certain familiar themes are making themselves felt. 

 

The weather here in Southern Ontario south of the Niagara Escarpment continues to be wet, mild, and drear.  I'm fairly certain there's a sun up there somewhere but from our vantage point it's been largely a stranger.  Mind you the fact I leave for work over four hours before sunrise, work inside, and then go home for a nap that ends after sunset doesn't help. 

 

Modern science has once again established that my medical problems are all in my head—my sinuses and trachea as a matter of fact.  Being seven years past my fiftieth birthday I was told a colonoscopy was in order.  There's nothing like entering a hospital, even a good one, to make one aware of one's place in the scheme of things.  In Ontario colonoscopies are booked twelve years in advance—and even then the doctor rescheduled it two weeks in advance.  That one is a number is established upon arrival when one is prompted to pick one to be served.  God forbid you arrive late.  At that point the theme of hurry up and wait is established.  Somehow I forgot to take my book with me and was forced to occupy myself with an issue of Canadian Living.  I learned all about balsamic vinegar and that Melatonin can now legally be sold in Canada—did you know that?  First one waits in the outer office, then in the outpatient's room.  Assigned a bed one is presented with the infamous backless gown and told to strip to one's socks.  An IV Stent is inserted and the waiting begins.  One hour later one is wheeled into the examination room.  There one waits another half hour—this time without one's glasses—the auto-blood pressure cup is timed.  Upon arrival without explanation and barely a greeting the specialist starts ramming drugs into one's veins—that actually hurt.  I'd agreed to sedation; what I didn't expect was that I wouldn't regain consciousness until the indignities were complete and I was back in the day room.  At this point the results were shouted from twenty feet across a crowded room.  Five years before the next insult.  Guess I'm supposed to feel relieved.  Anyone who has had such diagnostic work performed knows that it's the "preparation" that makes it such a joy.  I may never look at Jell-0 again.  The purgative costs $ 25.00!  The irony of arriving home from work for the second round to find the apartment building's water supply shut down lacked some humour at the time.  Yes I actually went into work after spending an entire evening on the porcelain throne. 

 

So went the first half of my week.  I actually lost 5 pounds in 2 days and have replaced only 2 of them.  Apparently someone wanted a night off as I arrived Friday to news that there'd been a bomb scare at the plant.  I pity the poor dog's bodies that have to search a building that size.  Our mail arrived late and we'll probably pay for it on Monday.  One thing there is no lack of is junk mail. 

 

I continue to have what are euphemistically called senior's moments.  How I managed to forget to renew the sticker on my car's license plate and drive it for six months like that—I live beside a police station—I really don't know.  The fact that it read 06 and it is now 07 was probably the tip off yesterday.  Don't know about you, but I'm not accustomed to being pulled over by unmarked cars.  The sticker is now in place. 

 

I'll be visiting my sister near Halifax in February and I'm presently on a mission to expose them to a few of the cultural events available in their area.  Just booked tickets to the ballet at the Rebecca Cohn.  Marvelous what one can do online at this distance.  We're now negotiating an evening of Dinner Theatre. 

 

Last Sunday I walked down to witness the Mayor's Levee marking Oakville's 150^th Anniversary.  Lots of hot air but no worthwhile libations to mark the occasion.  A new unused snow plough, a brand new bus were on display—half a mil each; along with the fire department's new sky crane—c.5 mil that one.  The exercise was good for me. 

 

Updated my OS with Microsoft's latest futile attempts to keep ahead of malicious internet users.  Somehow they manage to create more problems than they fix.  The recommended new driver for my pivoting screen is incompatible with Windows XP.  Took an evening to remember how to boot into 'Safe Mode', uninstall it, and re-install the original.  Some time I'll learn to leave well enough alone. 

 

And there you have my week.  Tell me about yours. 

 

Sceptics

We live in an era in which our children are not allowed to celebrate "Christmas" in their classrooms, it is argued that church property should be taxed, and malcontents complain about the ringing of church bells—(because it's too early for them to go Sunday shopping?)  In that context it is interesting to know that this little doggerel was written over a century ago.

 

 

The Sceptics

 

Said Grass, "What is that sound

So dismally profound,

That detonates and desolates the air?"

 

"That is St. Peter's bell,"

Said rain-wise Pimpernel;

"He is music to the godly,

Though to us he sounds so oddly,

And he terrifies the faithful unto prayer."

 

Said Grass, "And whither track

These creatures all in black,

So woebegone and penitent and meek?"

 

"They're mortals bound for church,"

Said the little Silver Birch;

"They hope to get to heaven

And have their sins forgiven,

If they talk to God about it once a week."

 

Said Grass, "What is that noise

That startles and destroys

Our blessed summer brooding when we're tired?"

 

"That's folk a-praising God,"

Said the tough old cynic Clod;

"They do it every Sunday,

They'll be all right on Monday;

It's just a little habit they've acquired."

 

                        --Bliss Carman  (the guy who wrote "The Ships of Yule")

 

 

In another aside, now that I'm forced to arise at 2:30 AM for a 4:00 AM shift and although we live in a 24/7 society it would seem the world still begins at 7:00. I'm beginning to feel a mild sense of discrimination.  Weather reports refer to tonight's weather—but it's actually last night's; today in history is a day old; the comics are yesterday's; and the news is history.

 

 

New Years 2007

I'm not normally into navel gazing and I'll attempt not to indulge in a 2006 retrospective today.  Obviously a lot happened in 2006.  The inundation of New Orleans has been covered ad nauseam but I just finished listening to a podcast from CBC about some food writers who have established a recipe exchange for people who lost their recipes for comfort food when their homes were buried by the floods. 

 

http://www.nola.com/food/

 

No matter what the story it seems it's always possible to find a new angle. 

 

Not much new under the sun around Oakville, including the lack of sunshine.  The sun actually put in a brief watery appearance this morning but that didn't last long.  By evening we can count on rain again.  I'm trying to decide if I want to walk down to Town Hall next Sunday to attend the new mayor's New Years Levee.  Seems to me they're a week late and a dollar short.  Did I mention he wasn't my choice for mayor?

 

It isn't raining yet so I suppose I should get out for a stroll for my health's sake. 

 

The best to everyone in 2007.