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Since moving to the Hat, I’ve always wanted to take in some camping at Reesor Lake and that finally happened for me last week. When not cooking burgers over the open fire or being the recipient of the conservation officer’s evil eye, Reesor was the basis for this week’s column in yesterday’s Medicine Hat News.

Campfire Music

Ahh, the great outdoors. Those that can’t appreciate being one with nature call it ‘living like a squatter’ unless you’re rocking the 38 foot house on wheels but for the rest of us it’s an opportunity to retreat from the sounds of city streets, a chance to escape the hum of power lines, a window of privilege to get away from the half naked neighbors of the world and to live off the land, or at least the portable generator and shrink wrapped farmer sausage.

I packed up the Road King with a tent and sleeping bag and nothing else except some cheese smokies, and all the wobbly pops my saddlebags could handle. Physically and mentally, I was prepared for a night of stargazing, smores, campfires and yes, campfire music. Ironically, eating hot dogs and baked beans from the can is frowned upon while sitting at your Royal Daulton dinner table while Sublime’s ‘What I Got’ is being blasted from the living room stereo but change the setting to that of lawn chairs and mosquitoes and it’s like living the life of a preferred guest at the Westin, paper towels and manners not required.

Amid the 100 per cent chance of laughter and 80 per cent chance of swearing originating from scattered campfires throughout, you could also hear memories being created through the association of song. Akin to men owning more underwear than the Crayola 64 pack, music has the ability for its’ fans to pick and choose what they prefer to listen to. I was no different and secured a number of Pink Floyd numbers, Patsy Cline, the aforementioned Sublime and brought it all home with some Dylan and Kings of Leon plus some David Wilcox and Dire Straits for good measure. Unfortunately and quite surprising, the VW hippie van parked adjacent to me had also brought what I think might have been music, if you consider Salt’n’Pepa, Snap and Ace of Bass, and even the Swift Current Swingin’ Fiddlers providing some sort of sounds for all to hear.

And after that glowing ball of burning gas had nestled into the western horizon one more time, so did the harem of hoodlums and their iffy musical selection. And then above the crackle of nature’s heat maker and over the quiet whisperings of conversations with no beginning or end, it was the undeniable sound of a guitar and voice that even Ricky from the Trailer Park Boys would have been proud of. I’m talking about the same reason we packed the Esplanade earlier this week, April Wine.

40 years in the biz and April Wine classics are still being listened to by the masses, or at least those who appreciate the great outdoors. If you ever recall standing on the shores of any lake anywhere there’s a positive probability that you heard someone’s conversation from across the open water, 800 yards away and this was very similar. Around the trees and through the crick came the reverberation of ‘Roller’, ‘Rock’n’Roll is a Vicious Game’, ‘Fast Train’, ‘Enough is Enough’ and even ‘Drop Your Guns’. So thanks to the guy in the plaid fleece camping pants and his functioning 8 track tape player for sharing with the rest of us, some old memories and newly created ones.

And if you ever wanna chat about nothing or everything, you can find me hosting me ‘Poncho in the Morning’, on Medicine Hat’s Best Rock, Rock 105.3 every weekday from 5:30 – 11:00 AM.

You know it’s a sold out gig at the Esplanade when they roll out the beer tent in the main foyer. That’s the first thing I noticed as Niki and I headed backstage to prepare to intro April Wine last night, who are celebrating 40 years in the biz by the way.

Yes, there is an official Green Room where the bands hang out before and after but I’ve always liked the dark lighting that happens backstage. Dark blue and red lights are everywhere, reminding me of my hippie days of living in some basement somewhere, lava lamps, incense and bead doors a must.

The picture below (thanks Niki) was taken at The Esplanade, looking at the entrance of the door that will lead you front and center. Note the arrows on the floor, directing the musicians to the stage, just in case a state of excess would confuse any of those crazy rock and rollers.

Had I known that when Niki signed up for Firefighters 101 here in town, I failed to recognize that upon passing the fire prevention course, official fire helmets were handed out.

For Fox Valley, who couldn’t use a ligit firefighter lid?! I’m not anti-cap but my large noggin’ fails to fit 99% of all hats, hence my early induction into the whole bandana scene.

The exception are well built safety hats and as you can see, I think I’d make a good firefighter.

Then again, maybe not.

The No Go Fleetwood Mac Show

Murphy’s Law played the ace up the sleeve last week and ultimately nixed my chances with Nicks, of the Stevie kind. For anyone that had to charge their kids room and board in order to afford a Fleetwood Mac ticket, I feel your frustration, regardless if your name is Rhiannon or not.

Tickets for the Calgary show that didn’t take place weren’t exactly on the cheap side of a finback either. If you’re charging your fans a minimum of 200 dollars for a seat that isn’t wide enough to house an anorexic standing sideways, you had better show up to play the gig because even Cold FX pills aren’t even that pricy, I don’t care how bad of a case of the sniffles you have. Put into another perspective, I would have needed to cash in 4,500 empties for a pair of tickets and that well exceeds my capacity over the course of spring season of sipping the wobbly pops.

I should state that my ticket company did let me know that the concert would not happen, 24 hours after the fact and long after I burnt half a tank of fuel cruising the Trans Canada. This leads me to believe that makers of concert tickets are the same people that convert the fuel we put into our station wagons and half tons however I’ll save that conspiracy theory for a later date.

This isn’t the first time Fleetwood Mac have given the golden handshake to a concert and if I didn’t have such a thing for Stevie Nicks, I would have refunded those pricey little pieces of cardboard the moment I found out. A lot like a high wire walker that’s fallen without a net, I’m clinging onto a very cheesecloth like, onion skin transparent glimmer of hope that they won’t pull a 1997 stunt and cancel the show altogether.

Much like the dude who lands the sixty pound trout and can’t take a picture because of his faulty Polaroid camera and has to throw the monster back, the lawdy mama took time off work and I even scheduled my holidays around the show that didn’t happen. And then I heard about the people who traveled as far away as Fort McMurray to check out Fleetwood Mac, rolling down the blacktop in their Gremlin, risking the Highway of Death and the hundreds of dollars it would have taken to drive to Calgary, only to be shunned away at the door. That’s got to set some sort of road trip record I’m sure if nothing else. If 25000 strangers can manage to drive, crawl and hitchhike their way to the Saddledome for a few hours of what should have been ‘Mac magic, then it shouldn’t be a problem for four musicians with mounds of disposable income to do the same.

And if you ever wanna chat about nothing or everything, you can find me hosting me ‘Poncho in the Morning’, on Medicine Hat’s Best Rock, Rock 105.3 every weekday from 5:30 – 11:00 AM.

You wouldn’t know it now from the current weather but with the induction of 2009′s May Long Weekend a few days back, I’m thinking all of southern Alberta left their homes to go camping because I know I couldn’t find a site anywhere.

I phoned and drove to no less than a dozen campgrounds; national, provincial and even municipal, only to be turned away and in one instance, the threat of a ticket for not having my dog on the leash.

Unhampered, I found two very private campsites, both of which did not incur the liquor and fire bans. One of the campsites could be called German’s backyard and for all intents and purposes, that’s exactly where I spent a lot of my May long.

And when I wasn’t there, I was camping at my other campsite, sometimes known as my garage. Yes, I cleared away all the crap so I could build a tent in the carport and here’s the proof to boot. (and yes, those are patio lights and yes, those are my wraps hanging from said lights, and yes, that’s another picture of my pal, Dr. Jake and if you look real close, you can see the unicycle and Hammond Organ I have, courtesy of the Pawn Shop)

It’s the first time I can remember taking some time off work and then staying at home and frankly, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would.

A ‘staycation’ as it’s known in some circles, is an opportunity to rest the mind and finish up the projects on your to do list. Aside from cutting the grass and setting up a tent in my garage complete with patio lights, it was an uneventful few days off.

No book was written, no deck was built, no pool was installed and despite getting tendinitis from too much Guitar Hero, most of my time was spent watching Johnny Cash documentaries (and there are a lot of them out there) beside my best albeit hairy friend, Dr. Jake, as pictured below.

Tonight Medicine Hat plays host to one of the biggest concerts to grace our Gas City, that of Rev Theory, The Trews and Buckcherry. I definitely want to be there but have had bad luck attending shows on time as I’ve missed out on Black Tooth Grin and Mustang in the past.

And so if you’re reading this and it’s after 11 AM, I’m more than likely face down in my pillow right now, catching up on my zzzzz’s so that I can bring the ‘A’ game to the front lines tonight.

I know this is an all ages show plus it also has beer gardens and normally you’d be able to find me alongside Niki, in the Eden of Ale but when it comes to the mighty rock and roll show, I prefer NOT being in the beer gardens. Hangin’ in the gardens is like watching a show from way off in the distance.

I know I’m not nearly as young as I used to be and therefore stay away from the mosh pit but I do enjoy standing shoulder to shoulder with a crew of strangers, letting the ears and the soul take in all of that rock concert atmosphere.

If you don’t see me, can you give me a call? It’s more than likely I’m still snoozing.

By the time this ‘goes to print’ (I always wanted to say that by the way), only 3 square meals will separate the Medicine Hat masses from one of the biggest shows to hit the Gas City, that of Buckcherry and the Trews.

The first time I met Josh Todd and Keith Nelson, they were astounded to hear that us Canadians owned gadgets that would start your 85’ Scottsdale without the use of keys or being in the cab of the truck for that matter. Any dude that can find the excitement in owning a car starter gets my crooked thumb’s up because when not on-stage, the guys from Buckcherry are just like you and me, except they’re covered in tattoos and oddly enough, are in great physical shape too, not necessarily the epitome of rock and roll.

I’ve wandered off the tracks though and need to get this train of thought back on course. Ironically, it was a long and lonely train whistle that, fortunately, drowned out my first concert experience, that of ‘Boys Don’t Cry’. I don’t need to reminisce and you definitely don’t need to hear about the only pop/rock concert that ever visited my hometown hamlet but suffice it to say the highlight of the show came when the audience egged their van on the way out of town.

Not wanting to give up on that pins and needles feeling of buying a ticket and then letting the momentum build until the night of, I have Skid Row to thank for re-instilling my faith in the mighty, mighty rock and roll show. I was fourteen at the time when Sebastian Bach brought his long locks and squelchy voice to the Winnipeg.

The music was loud, the people were boisterous and it was the first time my young eyes had ever experienced so many scantily clad women, all in the name of rock. The seats were horrible and I hated the people I was with but it wasn’t about them or even me for that matter. Bic lighters were lit throughout and a literal blue and purple haze surrounded everything within 6 blocks of the arena. I lost my Velcro wallet and couldn’t buy the mandatory T-shirt after the show let alone the Big Mac that was always a necessity when visiting the bright lights in the big city.

It was about the experience of going to a concert, something that has become a staple of our culture and I’d be willing to give up three of the nine lives of my neighbor’s cat to re-live that moment all over again.

And with morels 36 hours to go before Rev Theory, The Trews and Buckcherry turn the Hat Arena into a Friday night spectacle, it’s an opportunity on a couple of fronts. Being an all ages show and the big Mother’s Day weekend, this could provide an opportunity for your wee ones to take in their 1st rock and roll extravaganza and still play the angle that it’s all for your Mom. Assuming it’s not sold out yet, you can get your tickets at the Mall, Tixx.ca or at the Esplanade Box Office.

And if you ever wanna chat about nothing or everything, you can find me hosting me ‘Poncho in the Morning’, on Medicine Hat’s Best Rock, Rock 105.3 every weekday from 5:30 – 11:00 AM.

I’ll never understand why certain Canadian bands have more success overseas than they do in their own backyard. The Tea Party, Rush and one of my personal favorites, Danko Jones, the man with a tongue longer than Gene Simmons all fall into the group.

Rock Army members know that Danko is back with a new CD, well kind of. It’s a compliation of sorts but not necessarily all singles. If you’ve ever remembered attending a Danko show, then this album will sound vaguely familiar as a LOT of the songs are from his live set and the guy puts on one helluva set.

If you want work out or work up music, this CD is for you. Having a bad day and need to vent some emotion? Grab the new Danko.

And yes, if you’ve got enough rock army points, you can grab the album au gratis in our rock shop.

Unless your ideal spring weather means a combination of rain and snow, it was a less than stellar week for riding.

And now that we’ve got all our qualifiers for Born To Ride 2, I plan on hitting the road this weekend for some time spent in the saddle.

However, even before I fire up the King I’ve noticed that I’ve fallen into a ritual that none of my riding buddies know about, until now that is.

I inadvertently do laps around my bike, almost psyching myself up before I hit the highway. Mentally, I’m telling myself things like, ‘It’s going to be a great day to ride’, ‘enjoy that feeling that only riding can bring’, ‘never hurry to get to a destination’ and little thoughts like that.

Meanwhile, I have a song that I play before I go on any ride and while it’s not a stereotypical biking song, it works for me. No, I will not be sharing that song with you because as weird as this seems, I don’t want to mess with Karma, or in this case, Riding Karma.