http://www.rock1053.ca

Spring cleaning had my rumpus room in a death grip last weekend and when the Electrolux had passed over the shag one last time, I knew the moment had arrived to part ways with a selection of my music collection. Despite my feeble attempts at convincing my wife that 8-tracks will make a comeback much like vinyl records, her eagle eye was attuned not to my dusty collection of cassette tapes but compact discs, the bulk of my music media library.

Sure, the majority of my physical, tangible CD’s haven’t seen daylight in years and yes, I would require a room the size of a bachelor suite closet to house them. I’m positive that if loaded the shiny little circles onto the back of a flat deck, the combined weight would be more than the East-West connection (that’s an ole AWA reference by the way) and some highways would have to impose weight restrictions.

Let’s examine this conundrum in a different light. Hypothetically, let’s say you had your favorite Uncle Maury living under your roof for the past two decades or so. His work boots are still brand new, coated in a thin layer of dust from a serious lack of ambition and drive. This unkempt man hasn’t contributed monetary funds to the household since he bought a case of beer during the Winnipeg Jets’ run in the playoffs, and even then he didn’t share. Now Uncle Maury doesn’t cook and he doesn’t clean but excels in the areas of stinking up your bathroom and ensures that you haven’t had a ‘private’ moment with the missus since he missed his Greyhound ride home from Red Earth back in ’98. Do you offer Uncle Maury the golden handshake and politely tell him to ‘get bent’ or just suck it up because he is your favorite, after all.

The correct answer is to slingshot that relative out of your digs no matter how many lego kits he brought you when you were a child but that’s the delicate decision I had to make with my CD’s. My music collection saw me through my days as a silk shirt wearing bank teller and it was this same growing collection that got me through many a white knuckled winter night behind the wheel of my 92’ Pete. The music kept me company when I was covered in ‘buffalo brown’ paint from my days as a spray painter and played the role of consoling friend in times of lady troubles.

With the exception of hindsight, historians and archeologists, dwelling in the past never got anybody anywhere and I’ve made my peace with that because I also possess current memories of my music collection. I can tell you the first song that was in the distance when I laid eyes on the lawdy mama for the first time and I can relay the track that was playing in my garage the first time I took the Road King for a ride. And so with a little luck and remembering to stay away from the bacon buffet every other Thursday, I’m relying on more music memories to continue contributing to the ongoing soundtrack for my life, with or without my cassettes, 8-tracks and compact discs.

*As an afterthought, I think I may have stumbled onto a very obvious solution for this lil’ situation. I think I’ll import my music into the ole’ computer and then get rid of the music library. It’s a win-win me thinks.*

I’ve always believed in karma or what comes around, goes around.

If you’ve been listening to Rock 105.3 since our days of broadcasting out of the little trailer, you’re aware that we have an affliction for letting rock jock Ian Sharek believe that he’s not necessary a ladies’ man. I’d like to think I played an integral part of messing with Ian’s love life however the dude is now spoken for and so it just isn’t the same harrassing the man.

Ironically, I know what Ian’s going through, albeit in different circumstances.

I have planned a weekend road trip on the King which entails approximately between 1000-1250 kms of being in the saddle. Originally, I had two fellow riders making the trip with me and another rider joining us halfway through. In a matter of two hours, all three riders have backed out, not to mention I also had a lunch meeting that has now been cancelled.

In a nutshell, four of my buddies have/will be standing me up.

Fortunately for me, I’ve always appreciated running solo as much as running with a team but I can’t help feeling just a little, mmmm, Ianish as of late.

Karma, it’ll get ya’ every time.

So now that the 2009/2010 winter has arrived about 8 months early, I thought I’d re-examine my riding season so far, or lack thereof. I’ve actually spent more time this year cleaning the King than I have been riding it.

And it was a fellow biker from Bow Island by the name of Simon that brought something to my attention when we shared a cold one on the banks of the South Saskatchewan a couple of weeks back. Simon had been parusing our website and noticed my blog about The King and how it was in a million little pieces. He had a good point that I had a ‘during’ pic of the King but no ‘before’ and ‘after’ pics.

Simon, I’ve taken you up on your offer so here’s a before and after of the King.

The Lawdy Mama would also like to point out that while I keep referring to the King as ‘mine’, it’s more like ‘ours’ even though I’ve logged all the miles, not that I mind of course.

For some, August 26th, 2009 will be a memorable day as AC/DC hits Alberta for their only stop. For others like me, it’s a time to reminisce about AC/DC if you weren’t lucky enough to score a ticket.
Gone in 60 Minutes.

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once. -Albert Einstein

Those are some fine words from one of the world’s pointiest pencils and I’m not about to attempt to prove Al and his crazy coif incorrect. I will state that it’s a safe assessment to note he probably wasn’t talking about AC/DC when he netted that nugget of consciousness.

It was a flurry of sleeveless jean jackets not quite a week ago as hands and fists unwillingly unfurled their devil horns in a mad dash to secure tickets for AC/DC’s only Alberta stop, the Coliseum in Edmonton. And for those about to rock come August 26th, even if your tickets come with complementary binoculars, thank your lucky mullets you’ve been blessed with that cardboard paper that states ‘admit one’. If the ‘super highway’ was tangible, it would have been backed up longer than the winner of a cheese eating contest.

From what memories I can retain, the decibel level at which Angus and Malcolm crank their instruments to is similar to that of a C-14 taking off from your bedroom complete with an attached megaphone. And don’t make any assumptions about the lack of quietness because I do realize that the majority of us AC/DC fans are getting long in the tooth and our hearing isn’t what it used to be but we can still spike that shuttlecock with the best of them. We might not be able to figure out how to run the microwave but when ‘push comes to push harder’, we can log into Ticketmaster, create an account and order tickets within that two minute time limit.

Music aside, I wouldn’t recommend wearing your suit jacket and favorite 101 Dalmations tie to the gig either. As excited as the Lawdy Mama was to hear that she’ll be on the floor for AC/DC, she’s almost as fired up to pull out the concert gear which will probably entail some Levi’s with holes on them, a cowboy hat/bandana and her favorite summer T.

On a different front, for those of you unfamiliar with the ‘cigarette pack in the T-shirt’ look, or the ‘I haven’t washed my hair since two dollar bills were in circulation’, look, not to mention the multitude of hair do’s like the ‘2 into 1, Tennessee Top Hat or The Canadian Passport’, the aforementioned will be brazenly broadcast in numbers only similar to that of locusts when the thunder from down under come to strut their rock’n’roll stuff. It’s a little scary and a little wrong but then again when was rock ever about making a fashion statement? I mean, Angus still wears his school uniform on stage.

I know what you’re thinking, ‘Poncho, we have to put up with your constant incessant ramblings about biking, you have the perfect riding weekend and then don’t go for a rip?’

You see, the Lawdy Mama recently purchased a ‘build it yourself’ greenhouse a couple of weeks back. Unfortunately, it was short on parts and I only realized this during its partial construction. Soooooo, after disassembling it and bringing it back to the store, we got another greenhouse. This too, was shy on building materials and yet contained extra parts for a different greenhouse.

To make a long story short and ensure that the vein in my left temple doesn’t explode, my free time was spent swearing, cursing and re-assembling the same greenhouse over the course of the last 96 hours.

I may not have logged miles on The King this weekend but I can say through gritted teeth that the lawdy mama’s greenhouse is now complete and I will be expecting a dazzling crop of tomatoes and basil in the following weeks.

So the big guy left his office door unlocked and I just so happened to accidentally wind up with the new Tragically Hip album -We Are The Same- in my back pocket. Later that day and after the album had been transferred to the i-Pod, I loaded up Dr. Jake on the leash and away we went.

What can I tell you? I’d rather not paint a review as I feel that music should be interpreted subjectively and not treated like a safety rating on a mini-van.

Take the album, Day For Night, Fully Completely or even my favorite, Road Apples. Like most albums from The Hip, they need to be listened to a few times before you can assume if you truly like the music or not. ‘We Are The Same’ is no different but I think is worth listening to.

Let me sum it up like this. Take a look at your favorite shoes. They’re worn, a little dusty and oh so comfortable but they didn’t start off like that. They started off a little too clean, stiff to wear and those shoelaces never stayed tied but after spending some time with them, those high top canvas sneakers became one of your best friends.

Music is very similar to your comfy shoes. After picking out a pair or in this case, the new album from the Hip, it takes some time to attain an opinion. Thus far, I think the latest efforts from dudes from Kingston will fit me quite well.

And I’m not talking Easter weekend however I will be putting Good Friday to good use when I take out the newly vamped Road King, aptly named ‘Elvis’ courtesy of Lucky.

I’ve been in talks with the boys and there will be a definite ride this weekend we’re just not sure where. Elkwater? Writing-On-Stone? All of the above?

Regardless, I’m thrilled that Elvis is no longer looking like the picture below.

I’ll admit, I was a little cynical of what to expect at the theatres last night when I took in The Tragcially Hip as they broadcasted across Canada from their famous recording studios, The Bathouse, in Kingston.

For the first time in the 15 years The Hip have owned this bathouse/recording studio, the public were given a virtual tour in high def and surround sound of the many rooms and inaminmate objects that have been the inspiration for many a song that we have all come to know and love as a nation.

Finding out that ‘Thompson Girl’ was recorded in a kitchen only adds to the appeal of that song and after revealing that many of the Hips’ tunes were inspired via the Bathouse, makes me want to head home, slap on the headphones and re-examine my Tragically Hip library.

Now if the dudes running the movie projector would have turned the volume up past 3 and remembered to shut off the house lights before the film was almost over, it would have made it that much better.

Lately I’ve been seeing a lot of John Candy on the tube and I’ll state for the record right now that some of his best stuff were his skits from SCTV. Mayor Tommy Shanks and Johnny LaRue will always have a place in my heart, or at least a place on my television.

You wanna talk John Candy movies, a lot of people opt for ‘Stripes’ and I never understood it when it was a new flick and decades later, I still don’t understand it. John also had a supporting role in ‘Splash’ which I thought was great, not to mention that I’ve got a thing for Darryl Hannah.

‘Wagons East’ was far from good as was that movie where he plays a detective. It’s so unmemorable that I genuinely can’t think of the title.

Saving the best for last though, ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’ and ‘Uncle Buck’ were his big screen highlights and if you ever see those flicks at the bottom of the dollar bin, they’re definitely worth buying, even if it means hooking up the VCR again.

So as we await Round 2 of the Tigers’ playoffs to commence, why not cuddle up with a balogna sandwich, a glass of milk and a copy of ‘Spaceballs’ another keeper.