Kissing Alma Mater
Wilderness is that capacity of all things to elude the mind’s appropriations.
D. McKay

That’s some cool shit, eh? Not unlike

the sunny revelations of an afternoon’s worth
of good reefer, a mouthful

of whispy words and a Kilimanjaro look
in an eye, it has

just enough gravity to keep itself on the page and physic its
way into the way
you see the world. Man

that stuff blows my mind.

But here’s where we part ways, my scholar
and mentor and
closer friend than you know. You’ve
carried me a long
time, but I’ve seen enough of the landscape
from the back of your
metaphoric
pick up. So, I’m hitting the blacktop, thanks

for the lift Don, I hope
the birds keep you well and the Leafs
win the cup.

The daily practices of mindfulness and compassion are far easier to spout on about than actually accomplish. In recent months, these seemingly simple things have awakened demons (namely Guilt and Anger), brought about radical questioning into things that I had always considered to be rock solid (the work I do, the attitudes I hold), and have made it virtually impossible to take for granted all of the many things I just considered to be part-and-parcel of being me... Waking up, it seems, in metaphor certainly as much as in tangible reality, is far harder than going to sleep.

I am focussed on this path though, take it one step at a time, and look for guidance wherever it comes from.

It's in 1980. What the hell do I know? I'm like 10 years old, but in a short 4 years my world will be transformed by the glorious rips and chords of punk rock. Like a train waiting for collision, Ian Mackaye is in Washington DC preparing to make history.

As a recent article in Exclaim ! says:

"The last Teen Idles show takes place in November at the new 9:30 Club, with management heeding the band’s wish to allow X-marked minors inside; X-marked hands eventually become the key signifier of straight edge punk. After the show, Nelson and MacKaye resolve that their new band will be called Minor Threat but, along with Groff, re-visit their old band’s recent recording session. Using the Teen Idles’ savings ($600), MacKaye, Nelson, and Strejcek press and self-assemble 1000 copies of the Idles’ Minor Disturbance E.P. seven-inch on their own label in December, which MacKaye dubs Dischord Records. (“The Teen Idles,” Putting DC on the Map, Dischord Records, p.16) Minor Threat play their first show at a house party opening up for Bad Brains in December and, miles ahead of the ramshackle Teen Idles, they floor everyone with their prowess and intensity with a sound soon dubbed “harDCore.”

Ready, the Straight Edge scene and the Hardcore scene strat together. You see, it's not a Joe-Dick-let's-all-get-wacked-and-blow-our-brains-out, and neither is it the-only-way-is-the-violence-way... Punk is non-conformity. The Anarchy symbol doesn't stand for punk rock, punk is that 'A'... preaching means nothing.

DIY now and forever. Do it different-like.

***

Maybe I'll just put this here... who's to say what could happen.

It's in 1980. What the hell do I know? I'm like 10 years old, but in a short 4 years my world will be transformed by the glorious rips and chords of punk rock. Like a train waiting for collision, Ian Mackaye is in Washington DC preparing to make history.

As a recent article in Exclaim ! says:

"The last Teen Idles show takes place in November at the new 9:30 Club, with management heeding the band’s wish to allow X-marked minors inside; X-marked hands eventually become the key signifier of straight edge punk. After the show, Nelson and MacKaye resolve that their new band will be called Minor Threat but, along with Groff, re-visit their old band’s recent recording session. Using the Teen Idles’ savings ($600), MacKaye, Nelson, and Strejcek press and self-assemble 1000 copies of the Idles’ Minor Disturbance E.P. seven-inch on their own label in December, which MacKaye dubs Dischord Records. (“The Teen Idles,” Putting DC on the Map, Dischord Records, p.16) Minor Threat play their first show at a house party opening up for Bad Brains in December and, miles ahead of the ramshackle Teen Idles, they floor everyone with their prowess and intensity with a sound soon dubbed “harDCore.”

Ready, the Straight Edge scene and the Hardcore scene strat together. You see, it's not a Joe-Dick-let's-all-get-wacked-and-blow-our-brains-out, and neither is it the-only-way-is-the-violence-way... Punk is non-conformity. The Anarchy symbol doesn't stand for punk rock, punk is that 'A'... preaching means nothing.

DIY now and forever. Do it different-like.

***

Maybe I'll just put this here... who's to say what could happen.

GOOD
GONE
DEAD

Our days are filled with the bitter and the sweet, with moments lost and those forever instilled - and still, I can hardly believe what it was that I witnessed over two days in Toronto. The Rheostatics, after all those miles and years and litres and goals of music... just stopped. The last note sounded and then faded away. The people smiled inside and some wept openly and all of us were left milling on the street outside Massey Hall and couldn't believe that it was over.

Where does it go? What will we do?

It went nowhere and everywhere of course, and we will continue on, perhaps even richer for the experience.

My wife and I sat in silence afterwards, wondering outloud at the perfection of it all. Of how they could muster all that strength. Of how the glowed and shone as only falling stars can. Of how even laryngitis couldn't hold back the final, long, bitter sweet note.

We are the winter. It feels good to be alive.

BLACK TOP MOTORCYCLE GANG hits the pavement hard!

The satisfaction of starting something new can only be surpassed by actually accomplishing something with it -- and in under a week, we seem to have done both...

FredROCKton is filled to the gunnels with crazed people and their equally crazy plots. From Sir Charles GodDamn Roberts &c., up to and through the middle century antics of the street trolling stock car racers, and into the punk and jazz infused late 20th century, this place has always been a hotbed for the weird and wonderul, the exiled, the lunatic. (Remember everyone -- where nothing happens, anything is possible... don't forget, DTK records started here, the UNB Art Centre has pumped out shows on everything frojm the Holocaust to grafitti and tattoos, the creative writing department here is the oldest in Canada, Eric Hill lives here and Walter the Farting dog passed his gas on our hallowed streets...)

The BalckTop MotorCycle Gang, our quiet city's latest collective is set to squeel forth and lay down the rubber on the main drags. Watch out for us at art openings, and local coffee houses, birthday parties, weddings, and any open green space we can find.

You know them all.
You love them all.
Now feel the power of the Spoken Word...

Jeannine Gallant
Matte Robinson
WhiteFeather
John Heinstein
Biff Mitchell
Eric Hill and here
Old Skull

Strange how sometimes it takes so long to discover something -- how, for some reason, it just slips you by.

Well, regardless of all that time that I spent in the mosh pit in the mid 80's, and despite how much and how long I have loved and lived for punk rock, Tim Armstrong and Rancid have just entered my life -- and how very happy I am to have them here...

That combination of early style Clash/ east cost hardcore/ west coast growl is, well, music to my ears. A beautiful swirl of angst and anger and fun and love and hate and authenticity...



And speaking of happy accidents, these are the Weakerthans. Comparable to discovering Marilyn Manson and White Zombie when Rage Against the Machine broke up, it is a serendipitous moment that I should fall for these fine Winnipegian songsters just as the Rheostatics prepare to play their final gigs (at Masey Hall and the Horeshoe Tavern next week -- a moment in Canadian music history which I will be in attendance/ awe of and will report back to you directly)...

Never forget -- the world is BIG (really, REALLY BIG) and music is everywhere -- even in places where you figured you'd flipped all them rocks... As a matter of fact, if you still think you know it all, and just can't find anything new worth listening to, check THIS out.

Over and out,
A.

Watch it and weep...

One more time Sportsracers.

This is Noah Levine and his book "Dharma Punx".

Time makes us stupid -- causes us to say things like "oh wow, it's been THAT long" and some such shit. And such is the foolishness that has recently erupted from my mouth...

You see, I've been practicing zen sitting meditation for 18 years now -- yup, that's right, 18 years worth of sitting there, staring at the wall, counting breaths.

Not only that, but I started going to punk shows 23 years ago -- oh wow, that's a LONG time...

And for all that, they have coexisted inside me -- remember, it was the Buddha who said 'and question me too'. Question authority, question reality, question yourself... it all fits together...

So as time passes, and we see that passing, we sometimes slip into the stupidity that makes us throw our balding head back and laugh and say "Mick Jagger is still at it? Oh man!"

But here I am, still buying Rancid CDs and still sitting still, counting breaths.

And in my best moments, I know this to be right and true, that I am on a good path, and that it all fits together in grand stupidity.

Right on Noah. Thanks.

Whose demon is THAT?

Sometimes we just have to get down, get right on down in one's own kitchen, and face the demons... you know, pull the big foamy swords out and have it out with your ugly faced, venom spittin bad dudes that live inside your heart.

It's a nasty business, this living life to the fullest business... but we do what we have to.

Growin up ain't for sissies, and this vid ain't for the faint of heart...

I'm grouchy today. My parts hurt -- this one right here, the chest-rib section... and over there, the gullet bits... and in there, the back muscle complex -- and when my parts hurt I get grouchy. So there.

So here. I was recently surfing about and came across this and it reallt got my gumption because, well come on! we can all agree I think Jimi Hendrix was the greatest guitar player of all time, but there are so many fucked up things about this list that I don't even know where to begin.

No, wait, let's begin right here.






Django -- that dude, after a killer fire that didn't kill him, could only play with two fingers on his right hand and yet still wrote some of the most amazing licks that your or my sorry ears will ever hear -- oh yeah, but Jerry Fuckin Garcia (#13) was better than he was. Sure sure -- all that stupid strummity strummity truckin bullshit was righteous... COME ON!

And Woody Guthrie -- how about that punk rock dude? "This machine kills fascists" crazy wicked crooner of labout songs yes! But also the original man to pen "On top of old smokey", "The ABC Song" and innumerable (literally) others that made your and mine childhood's sing! Oh yeah, but The Edge (#24, 15 marks ahead opf Brian May for Chissakes!) who has admitted several times that he doesn't really know how to play, is clearly way better. WHATEVER! Je-sus!


And, how about this shit... where are all the women?






You know, Joan Jett, Auf Der Maur, Liona Boyd, etc etc etc...

Ugh. Not a wonder I'm sick.

Good times...

I have gone music buying mad. And let me tell you how good it feels... it feels, like totally good.

The beauty of being a musicphile is that it's really easy to get quality stuff relatively cheaply (by that I mean that I can buy a stack of CDs for the same amount of bones as what a wanker of a different ilk would spend on one Grammy Award winner...)

So, the booty for this weekend runs like a twisted narrative of my current existence. Read em and weep:

The Police - Ghost in the Machine
54-40 - Dear Dear
K-os - Atlantis
The Tragically Hip - Music @ work
The White Stripes - De Stijl
The RedHot Chili Peppers
Nirvana Unplugged
Hole
Smashing Pumpkins
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion

It's gonna be a groovy week from the looks of things.
A.

After so very long, I am back on, and so glad to be here.


There will be no update, it is in the present that we must live...

Here is one of the greatest and weirdest things I've seen in a long time. A sort of eclectic cross between Ze Frank and Hi Fidelity, Eric Hill has, in a bold move, decided to listen to all of his massive cd collection over the course of the next year. Although a seeming mundane thing to do -- I entreat you to listen closely, for surely there is no greater intellect amongst us when it comes to music.

I say again, listen closely -- the oracle will speak of music 300 out of the next 365 days. I for one will listen. Care to join me?