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Trapper and I were talking of the days of yore while on his patio last week and next thing you know, we were wondering where our mullet days went.

 While the following do not sport the Kentucky Waterfall, here’s a couple of my favorite album covers from the 80′s because just in case you weren’t into big hair music, there was always a chance you’d buy an album all because of the picture on front.

 Extra points if you know these album covers and even more points awarded if you still own the cassette.  Now where’s that tub of Dippity-do?

Almost obscure as television antennas these days and despite how strong your love of music might be, there’s a good chance you didn’t watch the Junos last night.

I knew they were on and actually made plans to clean up all the doggie land mines so I didn’t have to experience the worst TV broadcast since the days of Road to Avonlea and if you don’t remember that show, consider yourself privileged.  There wasn’t even a host for the Junos this year and knowing that Ben Mulroney is out of work and STILL didn’t want to make some cash, that’s a sure sign that Canadian television has taken yet another turn for the worse, if that’s at all possible.

 It’s a shame that one of the few great homegrown shows was sold to the U.S.; namely The Trailer Park Boys. 

With that being said, I think it’s time to grab my clearing stick, don my TPB jersey and cruise the trailer park.

Okay, what’s late for me is probably the bed time for most 8 year olds but regardless, I have no regrets on missing out on some sleep after the sold out gig at the Esplanade last night, featuring an institution of blues; Colin James.

It doesn’t matter when or where but after seeing this picture I couldn’t help but imagine being a fly on the wall to hear what two of our nation’s finest story tellers might have to say to each other.

Here we have living legend Stompin’ Tom Connors with a beer in one hand and his other mitt around another living legend, Mr. Gordon Lightfoot.

Seeing those two converse would be similar to that of a kid watching Santa and the Easter bunny having dinner together, in my mind’s eye anyway.

I’ve spent some time thinking about this and concerts just aren’t the way they used to be. Bic lighters have been replaced with the sheen of cell phones and the wafting aroma of those crazy left handed cigarettes is no longer wafting.

I’m not advocating the use of West Coast Smokes but it was all part of the concert experience, you know? You need to see the guy with the mullet, you need to see the cougar dressed like a lady of the evening and you need to have certain aromas when attending a show.

Even more depressing than that is all these people that spend more time looking through their LCD display of the camera, clicking photos instead of experiencing the big show. 200 pictures later, you’ve missed out on the event of a lifetime but you’ve got a million pictures that nobody, even yourself will ever look at.

Simply put; ‘you’ve bought the ticket, now take the ride’.

I got myself a copy of Iron Maiden’s Flight 666 the other day and once I settled into my TV chair, complete with a 3 pack of chocolate chip cookies and big glass of milk, I was prepared for some metal movie magic.

Ed Force One, is the star of the show, Maiden’s extremely cool looking 757 plane and I had no clue that it was piloted by the one and only, Bruce Dickenson. Imagine being on a plane when the pilot walks out of the cockpit and it’s the lead singer of Iron Maiden. I’m not sure if that would leave you with a sense of panic or an overwhelming feeling knowing that the in-flight movie should be a doozy.

I think what I liked the most of the documentary are how crazy the crowds get during their stint in Latin America. I’d tell you know more but then I’d be one of those guys who ruins the movie for you. (And I hate that guy)

I rolled into Medicine Hat at around 2 AM last night, following the long awaited Fleetwood Mac show at the Saddledome. It’s fair to say that I was there to focus my attention on Stevie Nicks, which I did by the way, but it was Lindsay’s performance that got me and the rest of the arena standing on our feet.

I knew the man was good but I didn’t realize just how good until last night. For a guy in his 60′s, he rocked harder than most teenagers, no lie. Of the two standing ovations, Lindsay commanded both of them with his furious licks, the first one happening when the entire band left the stage, leaving Lindsay in the spotlight with his acoustic gitbox and a blistering rendition of ‘Big Love’.

And as sultry as Stevie is and likewise, the true gonzo animal that Mick turned out to be, it was Mr. Buckingham that had the entire arena fired up.

Fast forward to the impromptu gathering place for post concerts for Medicine Hatters, the Esso in Strathmore. After sharing the bathroom with some of my fellow concert goers, discussions were had in between the Doritos Aisle and the coffee area. So there we were, a handful of strangers brought together by some of the greatest music created, thanks in part to Fleetwood Mac. Turns out I was not alone in my opinion of Lindsay, which was at the top of my rock echelon to begin with but after witnessing this man play lead and rhythm at the same time there was no question in anybody’s mind that this cat still has it.

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.

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.