Over and Out

Not that this quiet announcement will change the course of human history or disrupt the space-time continuum, but this is my final post on Morrison's Nifty Drivelarium & Gubbins Repository. 

 

There are several reasons for this, one being that 2018 has begun with three goodbyes to friends who have relocated far and wide, so as I've been considering shutting up shop here for a while now, it seems like an apt time to do so.

 

When I used to blog on MySpace (creak, groan...those were the days), I stopped because it had started to feel like an obligation.  Upon starting this one, I promised myself that if the same feeling overtook me here, I would do likewise and quit.  That is exactly how it's become.  Because my life is increasingly (though 'quietly') busy - more so than ever in the first weeks of this young new year - I must concentrate on things that really matter at the expense of follies such as this, rather than agonize about what nonsense I might wish to blather about in this forum.  As I said in opening, disappearing from here is hardly earth shattering: the Drivelarium lurks in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of cyberspace that nobody* gives a damn about, and why should they?  I certainly will not lose any sleep over not doing this anymore!

 

However, at the heart of my main reason to jack in the Drivelarium is that - even though, with good reason, I don't engage in social media - I am bored shitless with the all-pervading social media culture we live in, in which it is generally expected that we share every last detail of our lives.  I would rather live out my days considerably more privately, choosing to share anything I wish to only with those I want to know about it.  At the tail-end of 2017 I sent out our traditional year-end round up email, 'sharing' the significant events of the previous twelve months, and - whether inadvertently or deliberately - one response revealed something I can only term a betrayal.  That was kind of the final nail, really.

 

Over and out.  Have good, happy, productive lives, everyone.

 

                                                                           ***** 

 

*Except George.  Thanks for sticking with me, loyal reader.  

Merry Christmas to All

With Glowing Hearts...

 

Short of always wearing a beaver pelt hat and listening to Gordon Lightfoot 24 hours a day while holding a hockey stick in one hand and a box of Timbits in the other, as a Canadian citizen for the last six years I have been as Canadian as it's possible to be, yet with just one final, definitive piece missing to complete the picture: a Canadian passport.

 

With an irresistible invitation to visit friends in San Rafael, California, for a few days (including New year's Eve), ours having expired long ago both Susan and I had to apply for passports, and they have arrived!  I got mine on November 14th, and I have to say standing there staring at it, reading 'Canadian' under the nationality section on its main page was rather surreal.  But it felt, and feels, good.  However, it is certainly odd to think that when we do eventually return to the UK for a visit, I will do so as a 'foreigner.'  I have no problem with that, nor do I bear any confusion of national identity, but it cannot help but feel strange!

 

Stranger still, perhaps, is that Susan's new passport is her first Canadian one!  Having been born in Lancashire, yet lived in Canada as a Canadian citizen for most of her life, without any particular profound reason for it she has always held a passport of the country of her birth.  This has proven to be a good thing for so many reasons, especially in that when we met and fell in love a UK passport made it SO much easier for us to be together.  While I could not without a great deal of red tape hoop-jumping difficulty move to Canada to be with Susan, she could very easily move to the UK to be with me.

So, we two are now fully-fledged Canadians in every way we can be, and very proud of that fact.  Having gone through everything that has befallen us since we got together, this feels like a greatly significant milestone in our life's journey together.   

   

Gord 'n' Gordon

In the last week two deaths have affected me quite deeply, though in extremely different ways.  The first was of someone I never knew or met, and although he was greatly revered and very famous I was not a fan of his art.  The other passing, a considerably more personal loss, meant a significant part of my youth died at the same time.  

 

The Tragically Hip was a big enough band that I had heard of them in the UK, but they never had any hit albums or singles.  I had listened to them over there, but the Hip's music did nothing for me, and I was not a fan of the dude's voice.  Since moving to Canada the band obviously became much more visible to me, obviously especially in my workplace, where I sell their CDs (and now recently reissued vinyl) pretty much every week.  As a 'new' Canadian keen to learn as much as I can about the history and culture of my country I have tried listening to lots of music that means a great deal to Canadians, and to this end I have heard plenty that were new names to me that I now love - Lighthouse, Five Man Electrical Band, David Francey and lots more - and I have heard even more that, although I appreciate their cultural significance, is really not my bag, such as Spirit of the West and, indeed, The Tragically Hip.  I have tried, but they are simply not for me.  However, as the "most Canadian of all Canadian bands"' I can understand the great love for the latter, especially via my friend Justin Rutledge, who grew up listening to the Hip and loves them so much he released an entire album of their songs, entitled Daredevil.

 

Just as, for example, I can appreciate Marilyn Manson as a valid rock star and find him a fascinating, intelligent human being while his music leaves me cold, when it comes to the Hip's Gord Downie I am fully aware of Downie the activist and his amazing philanthropic, environmental and humanitarian work, especially in respect of First Nations people.  Downie looked beyond the generally speaking happy-go-lucky Canadian outlook and natural wonderland that Canada is viewed as around the world and, to quote CBC, he was "...inspired by headlines, history books, personal experiences...to paint a picture of a country that was equally fascinating and flawed.  Downie's Canada was anything but perfect, but in his attempt to honestly capture it over a 30-year career he taught a nation how to confront its darkest moments and dare to not repeat them."

 

That is the Gord Downie I love: musician or otherwise, it matters not, but a man working tirelessly and bravely to do good and effect change in this world, and to inspire others to follow suit.  As this world seems to be spiralling out of control in so many ways, as our humanity seems to be further eroded day-on-day, we need many, many more like Gord Downie to step up to the plate and teach us how to learn from the mistakes we have made and continue to make.  So, when such an important figure should be taken from us at just 53 - almost four years younger than I - it is heartbreaking.  Feeling the country's grief - seeing our Prime Minister in tears on live national television - really affected me, as this is the first death of its kind that I have experienced as a new Canadian.  When Leonard Cohen passed - at the grand old age of 82, remember - it seemed to be greeted with a reverent quietude, rather than the outpouring of national sadness that followed Downie's passing.  I felt it, too, vicariously as someone who feels more Canadian by the week, yet not as a fan of his music.  In my way, then, I will miss him as much as the most hardcore Tragically Hip fan, but for entirely different reasons.

 

And in the same week, I learned of the death of my youth-hood friend, Gordon.  He actually passed in 2014, but the news somehow did not reach me, and I found out completely by accident just a week ago.  This came as a huge shock.  Gordon played a big role in what I guess should be termed my formative years, as in fact did his brother, James, and his wonderful parents.  Gordon is the first person I got stoned with - while listening to Jethro Tull in his bedroom, I seem to recall - and it was with Gordon that I queued overnight to bag tickets for the very same band at Birmingham Odeon.  That remains the only occasion that I have done that, and that it was with Gordon makes it very special.  We also saw Black Sabbath together at least once, but perhaps more times than that (it was a long time ago).  As you shall read, this fact is important.

 

Gordon was a BIG man - probably 6'5" and 25o pounds - and I felt like a Hobbit in his considerable physical presence. One enduring memory of this man-mountain that I treasure was following him as he thundered at top speed down a Birmingham Odeon aisle, towards a startled-looking security guy, swatting him away like a paper doll in our (successful) efforts to reach the mosh pit.  (Don't worry, security guy was fine and, like his colleagues at that show, in a pretty futile role.)

We hung out together for many years, getting into all kinds of scrapes and drinking way too much at our local boozer.  They were heady, often wild days when we thought we could take on the world and frequently tried to, but despite our 'spirited shenanigans' we never really overstepped the mark into total idiocy.  We just had a lot of fun, as young people tend do.

 

We kind of lost touch when Gordon joined the Royal Navy and I moved to Brighton, but reconnected many years later, sporadically emailing and reminiscing therein.  I also lost touch with his beautiful, spiritually-inclined brother, last seeing either of them something like sixteen years ago, I would guess, but again later reconnecting with him by email.  Pointed there after thinking about the obscure prog-rock band Druid, it was by dropping in on James' pagan rock band Druidspear's website last week that I learned of Gordon's death from a beautifully written, heartrending statement on the homepage.  My blood turned to ice for a time when I read the words, "I have been asked to deal with loss on a frequent basis.  The greatest loss being that of my brother Gordon who passed away in 2014."

 

It took me several days of introspective grief before I could summon the strength to email James, and his reply shattered my heart.  Gordon passed of cancer - such a colossal, foul presence in my life - and I also heard from James of his own awful health issues and the passing of his and Gordon's gorgeous mother.  This has all hit me very hard, and since this sad discovery my mind has been a projection screen for a non-stop reel of my adventures in youth with Gordon and James, some excerpts making me cry and others making me laugh.  The biggest laugh of all, a bittersweet piece of news to receive if ever there was one, came from the conclusion of James' extraordinary email, in telling me that at Gordon's funeral his coffin slipped through the curtains to the strains of Black Sabbath's Fairies Wear Boots!  That is about the most 'Gordon way' he could have left us all, and I love him all the more for it.

 

 What a star.

 

Every time I hear that song, which will be plenty more times before my own day to go comes, I will think of my dear friend, and smile like the Cheshire cat.  And the beautiful big bastard will know it, too.  

There Goes Summer

Although there are still three months of the year left, during which anything can happen, when I reminisce about 2017 in years to come it will be all about the summer.  These summer months have been the busiest and best in living memory, almost a blur, and whatever happens for the remainder of 2017, and however wet and bleak the Fall and Winter are, we have absorbed enough energy from the events of the hot season to carry us through.

 

Bookended by two great music festivals (with one meh one in between), Summer 2017 was a season we grabbed by the scruff of the neck and truly made the most of.  We visited several places for the first time since moving to Vancouver Island, including the Port Renfrew area on our wedding anniversary, where we saw a mama bear and cub on Botanical Beach.  Far from anything manmade, in their natural habitat with the ocean as a backdrop, it was a marvellous natural scene that moved Susan to tears.  Similarly, at Stamp River Provincial Park we saw salmon leaping up the waterfall there, in their extraordinary, hardwired determination to reach their spawning grounds.  It is impossible for us puny humans to comprehend the strength and fortitude required to complete this Herculean task, in the last act of their species before they die.  Imagine trying to hurl yourself up Niagara Falls.  All we could do was watch in awe.

 

In Summer 2017 we made new friends, lost others to death and relocation, and received visits from others we have known for decades.  We saw lots of live music, attended BBQs and parties, threw an epic block party of our own - truly one of the best days of my life - and in a world becoming crazier and seemingly closer to Armageddon every day, our community of dear friends closed ranks to look out for each other, to enjoy the good times as long as they are destined to last.

 

It has been a summer to remember.  Now it is in the rear view mirror we will start to hunker down for what, we are told, will be a bad winter.  Whatever.  It will be what it will be and there's nothing anyone can do about it.  Bring on the rain, bring on the snow and bring on walking to and from work in the dark.  I will keep upbeat during the miserable weather by thinking about those bears, those salmon, my friends, and all the talented, wonderful people I know, folks that inspire me while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.  And I will look forward to Summer 2018 in the hope it can deliver even a fraction of the magic of its predecessor.     

 

 

Classically Speaking

Classical music is becoming an increasingly big deal for me.  I've listened to it since I was a small boy, rifling through my parents' extremely random, small selection of LPs, immersing myself in such as Gustav Holst's "The Planets."  On and off my whole life I've dipped back in for a time, mainly the extremely obvious 'popular' classics, then drifted away from it to continue my rock 'n' roll life's journey. 

However, with Susan also having a deep appreciation for the genre, it has become a permanent feature of our listening pleasure, and over the last couple of years we've been listening to it more and more, exploring composers and works new to us.  Having previously gone about our individual morning routines without a soundtrack, this year we've started playing music over breakfast and when getting ready for work.  It's usually instrumental, sometimes jazz, but more often than not classical.  It's a great way to start the day.

This newfound and prolonged rediscovery has led to us, when thrift shopping, looking out for great or interesting classical CDs to add to our rapidly burgeoning collection, now numbering in the hundreds.  And at work I'll look out for interesting stuff, sometimes guided by regular customers and classical music authorities, Bert and Murray.  My appetite for all music has always been vociferous, but getting stuck into a genre that spans centuries, with hundreds of versions of everything, is a unique challenge presenting many great rewards.

Naturally, this has crossed over to our social life, and this year the two most powerful live concert experiences I've had have been classical concerts.  At the end of Orff's "Carmina Burana" at the Royal Theatre in Victoria, I was so moved by the power of that extraordinary piece - incredibly performed by the Victoria Symphony, under the direction of Maestra Tania Miller, and the Victoria Choral Society - that I was shaking, with tears running down my cheeks.  It's a massive piece, and to hear it live is akin to standing in a full force gale, trying to keep upright. 

Then two weekends ago we experienced a great double-header of classical awesomeness, firstly with Susan's Aunty May at Maffeo-Sutton Park for the annual free "Symphony by the Sea" concert with the Vancouver Island Symphony, under the direction of Calvin Dyck.  This concert traditionally presents the very well known variety of classical and light classical music, this year including movie themes.  Nonetheless, sitting in the sunshine with a picnic, listening to a full orchestra doing their grandiose thing, is one great way to spend a few hours.

The following evening we went to the Port Theatre for a free concert by the astonishing National Youth Orchestra, performing as part of the Canada 150 celebrations.  Oh my, what a night this was.  We sat in the 5th row downstairs, feeling the full, colossal power of this remarkable group of young musicians.  The first half had me absolutely enraptured, as one of my very favourite pieces - Modest Mussorgsky's majestic "Pictures at an Exhibition" - nearly brought the house down, provoking a five-minute standing ovation.  And this was just part one.  Part two, after a much needed interval just to calm down, brought Sergei Prokofiev's Symphony No. 1 in D Major (Op. 25), and Richard Strauss' epic "Death and Transfiguration," so after that we left the theatre euphoric and exhausted.

There is absolutely nothing in a live music scenario to match the enormous power of an orchestra.  What it must be like to be part of that, I just don't know, and cannot imagine.  When watching Canada's finest young musicians play, I spent time watching individuals - their expressions, attention to the conductor and so forth - and, though I may be reading too much into this based on my own emotional response to the music, I swear I saw one female violinist struggling to hold back tears during "The Great Gate of Kiev," the enormous, soul-stirring climax to "Pictures at an Exhibition."  It seems only natural to react in such a way, as it seems for all the world a melody sent from another planet, such is its remarkable power to move the listener.

So, as you do, we've started checking out the classical concerts taking place in Victoria in the first half of next year!  There are many concerts we fancy, particularly a performance from the Tallis Scholars at Alix Goolden Hall; an evening of the fantastic Tania Miller (whose feet left the ground several times during "Carmina Burana") conducting Rachmaninoff; Verdi's "Requiem" and, oh yes indeed, "The Planets."  There is no way I can miss that one, it being something of a portal to this world of music for me.

There is a reason classical music is still listened to hundreds of years since it was composed.  It is immortal and timeless, emotionally rewarding, and always will be.  And right now, we just cannot get enough of it.      

And, All Well and Good, I Aim to Bow Out in the Same Manner

This has been quite a week, a veritable rollercoaster of emotions with euphoric highs and crushingly sad lows.  Of the latter state of being we experienced another death this week, that of a beloved customer of my workplace.  There is little more I can say about it other than what you can read below.  Offering to post a tribute on the store's Facebook page, I have been attempting since Tuesday to compose something in my head, and set about the task today when I could have quiet, uninterrupted time to do so.  All I can hope is that it serves this lovely man well.
  

"Hello everyone.  We have something we wish to share with you all, so thanks for taking a few minutes out of your day to read this.

This has been a sad week in the music world with a number of notable deaths:  Linkin Park’s Chester Bennington; Streetheart’s Kenny Shields; Christopher Wong Won (Fresh Kid Ice) of 2 Live Crew; Tuxedomoon’s Peter “Principle” Dachert; South African musician Ray Phiri; Canadian reggae artist Wayne McGhie and the French singer Barbara Weldens have all left us in the last few days.

However, we have also experienced a significant loss at the store with the passing of a popular long-term customer.  He was such a lovely man, so we feel compelled to share a little of his story by way of a tribute, but particularly concerning the remarkable and inspiring way he faced death, and lived his final months.

For over 25 years DAVID HALL shopped at Fascinating Rhythm.  A self-confessed music (and comic books/graphic novels) nerd, David’s taste was very wide, so as a weekly customer he amassed an enormous CD collection from us alone over that quarter-century.  He really knew his stuff, too, and in particular was a real authority on African music.  Since we started stocking them in depth David must have bought hundreds of CDs in this genre, as well as mountains of other international sounds, soul, rock, blues, folk and…well, you get the picture.  He was, by any measure, a music fanatic, and as is the case with certain customers we could order esoteric titles in so-called specialist genres with full confidence that David would either buy or investigate them!

As you will read later, of poignant significance to this story is that David was an avid concert and music festival attendee.  We would often see him out and about, checking out bands or artists that he either already knew and liked, but also those that simply piqued his interest or we had recommended, then buying CDs at the show or picking them up from us at a later date.

A couple of years ago, noticing a dramatic weight loss in him, we inquired as to David’s health, and he informed us that he was battling an aggressive cancer.  We were obviously shocked and concerned, wishing him every strength for his fight, and asked him to keep us as updated as possible, if he could.  Several months later he told us he had been declared cancer-free, which naturally delighted us and came as a huge relief.  However, as cancer can and unfortunately so frequently does, it returned with a vengeance.  Not yet aware of this, upon inquiring how he was feeling when he paid us a visit one day, he informed us it had returned, but that this time other than very risky surgery there was nothing any doctor could do to help him.  This was somewhere around the turn of the year. 

Incredibly, David delivered this news as if he were discussing the weather.  Casually, making no great deal of it, he said simply that we all have to go sometime, and as he now knew his time was on the horizon he had starting laying plans for everything he wanted to do with the rest of his life, however long that turned out to be.  Most important, he said, was to return to his favourite place on earth, New Orleans, to once again attend the Jazz & Heritage Festival, taking place this year between April 28^th and May 7^th.  And so off he went to that spectacular event, to witness performances by such as Stevie Wonder, Earth, Wind & Fire, Alabama Shakes and many more.

As his health grew considerably more fragile, David’s attitude became ‘a day at a time,’ but without a single ounce of self-pity.  It was seemingly more about what he could achieve in any given day than looking down the line with dread to what was coming.

And then, get this, after just the week prior having been given 24 hours to live, David somehow summoned the strength to head to the Comox Valley with a good pal to attend all three days of the Vancouver Island MusicFest last weekend, one avowed intention being to see one of his all-time favourites, Emmylou Harris, one last time.  Back from the festival, presumably having checked everything off his list, David quietly slipped away on Tuesday.

Store owner Steve and I (Dave) visited David at his Ladysmith home during his last three weeks on earth, drawing incredible inspiration from the matter-of-fact, Zen-like way he was, at least outwardly, facing the end.  He was sat under a parasol on his terrace at the edge of a pretty forest, listening to his favourite music, reading graphic novels, just chilling in the sunshine, all peaceful and full of smiles.  We knew he loved his beer, so my wife Susan and I took him over a couple of bottles of our favourite IPA (Fat Tug, if you’re curious) to share with David; it transpired he had not tasted that one before, and loved it.  We had such a good time, chatting about music and life and all manner of things that organically arose in conversation.  He wanted to know more about my own cancer history (I’m a three-time survivor) and his eyes filled with tears as I related my tale.  I have no words for how moved and humbled I was, and remain, that a man in David’s situation should cry for me like that.  As we left, Susan - who had met David at gigs, but barely knew him – was beside herself, saying, “Wow.  What an incredible man.”

We had planned to pay him a visit again this weekend, but alas.

We have so many wonderful customers, and down the two-and-a-half decades he shopped with us David was one of those that Steve and, in my ten years at the store, I, also, grew very fond of.  He was a highly intelligent, gentle, sweet, private man, full of wit, wisdom and knowledge from a life well-lived, including time spent teaching in West Africa and Northern China.  We will miss him a great deal, and I personally will miss how he liked to push my buttons with banter about The Black Keys and Dan Auerbach; he was a big fan, but I’m not so struck!

So, that’s David Hall, part of the store’s little world for 25 years, and claimed by cancer at just 62.  Thank you for reading about him.  We hope, like us, you can draw something of inspiration to you from his story.  As Susan said, he really was an incredible man.

R.I.P. David."

Much ado...

We humans are absolutely ridiculous creatures.  Besides the obviously terrible, evil ways we can behave towards each other, not forgetting towards other species', we can behave in simply stupid ways that defy belief.

 

Although it appears on a great many other news sites, a few days ago I read a report on the BBC website about a ludicrous global craze - or 'scourge' as it has been termed - that is so damn stupid all I could do was shake my head.  In the wake of utter nonsense like planking and pouring quarts of milk over ourselves - you know, for a laugh - we now have 'manspreading' to concern ourselves with.  Even the word itself is preposterous.

 

Rather than me blathering on further about it, getting myself all riled up over nothing, here's the report for your amusement/fury/disbelief: Delete as applicable.

 

"Transport chiefs in the Spanish capital, Madrid, have launched a campaign discouraging 'manspreading' - men encroaching on other seats by sitting with their legs wide apart.

Bus operator EMT is putting up new signs showing a seated male figure, legs akimbo, next to a big red cross.  A similar campaign is planned for the city's Metro system.  The move follows an online petition by a women's campaign group, which garnered more than 12,000 signatures.  Manspreading - which was accepted as a word in the online Oxford dictionary two years ago - is already discouraged in some other cities around the world.

EMT said in a statement that the aim of the new signs was to remind male travellers "of the need to maintain civic behaviour and to respect the space of everyone on board the bus".

The women's group Mujeres en Lucha (Women in Struggle) said in its online petition that it was not uncommon on public transport to see women "with their legs closed and very uncomfortable because there is a man next to her invading her space".

It's hashtag #MadridSinManspreading (#MadridWithoutManspreading) has been widely used on social media.

In 2014, New York's Metropolitan Transportation Authority decided to crack down on the manspreading scourge with signs on the city's Metro that read: "Dude... stop the spread, please."  The US city of Philadelphia also launched a "Dude, it's Rude" campaign, while Seattle's transport provider put up signs showing an octopus with its tentacles draped over bordering seats."

 

 

What Were They Thinking?

As you can imagine, in my work at the music store I see a constant stream of CD and LP sleeves and packaging, day in-day out.  Of course, I see a great many that are already familiar, but also a whole ton that I have not seen before.  There are occasions where a sleeve design or packaging element is so impossibly bad that it stops me in my tracks.  It could be a dreadful painting, poor layout, crappy font or whatever, but all I can think when I see them is that someone, or more than one person, and more often than not also the act in question, will have approved that design as the way to sell that product.  In so many instances I simply cannot believe how terrible the sleeve is, and that it has been approved, making me wonder 'what were they thinking?!'

Speaking of, just take a look at the utterly fucking useless example above.  After watching a wonderful documentary about her, Susan and I have been buying and enjoying what we can find by the late jazz-blues singer, Alberta Hunter.  There isn't too much out there, especially of her really early work, so we were delighted to learn that a brand new 4 CD set of her recordings between 1921 and 1940 was to be released this month.  As soon as it arrived at the store I snapped it up, eager to hear it at home.  However, upon unwrapping it I was astonished, angry and amused all at once to see what you see above.

This is what is revealed upon taking CD 1 from its tray.  There, right in the middle, is an archive photograph of Alberta, her face perfectly obscured by the retaining hub.  God alive, how can this have ever been approved?!

Picture the scene:  the four disc set has been meticulously compiled after the recordings have been restored; a lovely booklet of biographical information has been researched and written, and the CD set's packaging layout has been drawn up.  It is all sent to whomever at the record label and someone - OBVIOUSLY A MORON - looks it over and says, "Yes, that looks awesome."

Seriously, I am lost for any more words on the subject.  Everything about this piece of design packaging is totally shit.  It is a fact that cannot be disputed or argued against.  It is a pitiful oversight blighting a historically significant collection of vintage material, and poor Alberta would be turning in her grave if she could see it.

Really, WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?!      

Gimme dat Oscar!

 

Not that it would qualify anyway, apart from saying the word 'No!' in a preposterous, mercifully brief, live breakfast TV skit 'starring' famous British cheese-ball radio DJ, Tony Blackburn, I have never in my life acted until this year.  Even then, as the video above illustrates, I hardly turned in an epic performance upon my proper debut, but bearing in mind the point of the video that doesn't really matter.

 

As a volunteer for the Canadian Cancer Society, I was saddened to be part of the organizing committee responsible for reluctantly deciding that 2017's Relay for Life be the last one to be held in Nanaimo.  Rapidly declining participant registration and plummeting year-on-year fundraising totals forced our collective hands, so from 2018 we will look at new initiatives and fresh ideas for campaigns.  So, this year we are hurling everything we've got at making the very last Relay for Life in our community as good and successful as it can be, especially in terms of promotion.  For my part, this has included calling on my insanely talented filmmaking friend, Raymond Knight, to see if he would be up for making a short film for us to help promote the event.  With cancer affecting his family at this time, he jumped right onboard.

 

The resultant clip is pretty upbeat and fun, and we had a blast making it.  The real star is 11-year-old Dexter Komen - at just five-and-a-half weeks old the youngest person ever to be diagnosed with the rare and aggressive rhabdomyosarcoma.  He's a wonderful lad, and if the Nanaimo Relay for Life has such a thing as a poster boy, Dexter is he.

 

Over the course of a morning, directed by Raymond - who was ably assisted by his volunteer crew of extras - Dexter and I hammed it up at the Hub City Cinema Society in Downtown Nanaimo, fumbling our lines and corpsing repeatedly.  Then, with filming done, after much skilful editing and a separate voiceover session for me, the resultant film was launched in April.  I have to say I absolutely love it, as do Dexter and his lovely mom, Sonia, so we're all delighted with the end product.

 

To date, although it's only received just over 70 views on YouTube, it's been watched over 7,000 times via the Nanaimo Relay for Life Facebook page.  That's just great, and the more people that watch it, the more likely it is that some of them will want to participate in the final Nanaimo Relay for Life.  If so, job done.

 

 

Reginald Iolanthe Morrison

 

That gorgeous creature - all neatly tucked in, fast asleep and impossibly cute - is our cat, Reggie...or, as my dear wife decided to fully name him when we adopted him, Reginald Iolanthe Morrison.  (I had nothing - I repeat, nothing - to do with that.)  Yesterday, this utter bundle of joy celebrated the fifth anniversary of his birth.  Or rather we did, as he was obviously utterly oblivious to the fact, presumably unaware of the concept of time.

 

Anyway, I digress.  Reggie is a fantastic critter, unlike any beastie of his species I've ever owned or encountered.  His personality continues to surprise and delight, four years and forty-two weeks since we brought him home as a tiny kitten, all shaking with fear as we took over his full-time care from his foster mother.  Since then it's been wonderful companionship all the way, with a great deal of hilarity as, a small piece at a time, his personality has unfolded.

 

As I type, Reggie is sprawled across the heat register in my office, totally blocking any heat from coming my way, as he warms his belly and bum.  It's just one of hundreds of his lovely ways, some of which I will, in no particular order, recount here...

 

He loves to be brushed, so his coat is silky and immaculate at all times.  When we brush him, he'll allow his flanks, bib, legs and back to be done, before throwing himself over so his belly can be brushed.  He behaves in a similar way when we return home from work, greeting us at the front door before literally falling over, stretching and exposing his belly for rubs.  "Drop, thud and roll," Susan calls that.

 

Our 'Mini House Lion' plays fetch.  Yes, just like a dog.  His favourite fetch games involve his two favourite ball toys, the Bonker Ball and the 'Wee Ball,' which started life as a pompom on one of Susan's woollen gloves.  We stand in the kitchen and hurl one of these things into the bedroom, above the bed, uttering a loud, shrill "Boooooo" as we do so, whereupon he tears after it, leaping onto the bed, skidding right across it with his back legs splayed, before disappearing over the other side.  Seconds later, he'll appear proudly in the kitchen with said Bonker or Wee Ball, and drop it at my or Susan's feet so we can do it again.

 

He loves to scrap feistily with me in what I trust is a spirited attempt to usurp me as the Alpha Male of the pride.  This occurs mainly when on the rug in the lounge, or the runner in the dining room - areas we have consequently designated as Reggie's 'Combat Zones.'  With regular occurrence and utter predictability, he'll roll about all cute in these zones, luring me in to rub his belly, then he'll grab hold of my arm and clasp on with his front legs, sink his teeth into my hand (which rarely hurts) and kick away at my arm with his back feet.  'Kangaroo Boy' is what we've called this ultimately futile and unfailingly amusing act of aggression.  When he thinks he's got the upper hand, I'll scoop him up and cuddle him, whereupon he looks so guilty and apologetic.  I just love that he does all this, as he retains a degree of wildness.

 

It's easy to directly communicate with Reggie.  I'll look at him intently, blinking slowly in an exaggerated manner, and he blinks right back.  It should come as no great surprise that we have called this lovely feature of his behaviour 'Blinkies.'  (Classic middle-aged, childless cat nuts - that's us!)

 

He gets 'Full Moon Fever' and can detect storms on the way long before we do.  When there's a full moon or inclement weather coming in, he'll run around the house at top speed, a grey blur, howling something like a wolf in cat form, which is just another example of his frequent dog-like personality traits. 

 

He does so many beautiful, side-splitting things, with new tricks on a regular basis, that I could write about our nutty, gorgeous feline companion all day long.  At this five-year mark we look back at how he has grown and developed, just as a parent would and does with their children, and we feel so lucky that the little blighter entered our world.  He brings us so much happiness, fuzz therapy whenever we need it (which is often), and whatever the feline interpretation of unconditional love is (especially, as a Mama's Boy, for Susan).  He's such a little star.

 

Happy Birthday, Reginald Iolanthe Morrison!      

The Wisdom of Robyn

 

Susan and I are big fans of the veteran English psychedelic pop singer-songwriter, Robyn Hitchcock, currently resident in Nashville.  Since 1972 Hitchcock has kept us hugely entertained with his wonderful, frequently whimsical and surreal songs, and he never really drops the ball with album after album of  consistently good material.  Live, between songs he tells the strangest, tripped out stories that seem to be improvised on the spot, and they are usually hilarious.  The odd sense of humour he employs in his songwriting and stage banter is clearly displayed in his Twitter feed, with random 'nonsense' pronouncements such as:

 

"Music is really good fun, and some musicians even play golf.  Our cat is going to sneeze.  It's not long 'til Easter.  I like mint chocolate."

 

Or...

 

"If we were more evolved we would sorvkng dfhi cgui wotdb until we zoefmu forever."

 

Delightful and silly, but of late Hitchcock has felt compelled to join the billions of right-thinking individuals around the world with a stream of powerful statements about and against Donald Trump and his insane 'executive orders.'  He has just about nailed it with the following quotes, with which I will conclude this brief post.

 

"Either we will eventually become extinct and be replaced by cats with articulated thumbs, who have evolved the way apes slowly evolved into us, or we will become empathic and mildly telepathic.  People like Donald Trump won't happen because biologically no human will be born with that lack of empathy."

 

This next one is an open letter to Trump, published on certain music blogs the day after the inauguration.  It is, in my opinion, very powerful, beautifully measured, and absolutely right on:

 

"Yesterday the whole thinking, feeling world gave the thumbs down to Donald Trump and everything he stands for. 

 

What does he stand for - or stand against, more importantly?

 

He's against every single gain we've made as a species in the last sixty years: in racial equality, in gender parity, in sexual tolerance, in environmental awareness, and in welfare, just to start the list.  Less than a day into his presidency, he has begun to nullify and marginalize all that so many have fought for in these areas since the Civil Rights movement.

 

But you can't marginalize the melting ice caps, Donald, and you can't nullify people's feelings when they get sick and starve.  You can't steal a woman's body from her, or steamroller someone's sexuality.  No matter hard you legislate.

 

Your supporters are mostly either so wealthy that they feel immune to life and death, or so misinformed that they think losing their health care will somehow help them.  Or they just can't face a female president, for reasons of their own.  We don't understand them, and they don't understand us, frankly.  You're presiding over the United States now - a nation with a greater divide than the Rockies ever were. 

 

You're not alone.  Your greedy, vainglorious, vindictive nature finds its echo in Britain, Russia and other lands.  But you will never find the admiration you lack, or the respect you crave, by alienating every empathic soul on earth.  And right now you're doing just that; you may relish it, but it's not making you happy, is it?

 

Yesterday my old friends marched in London, my partner marched in Washington DC, and my Nashville friends and I marched here in Tennessee.  I'm proud of them all, and proud to be among them.  There was no violence - just a bunch of us across the social dial celebrating what we believe in, and celebrating each other.

 

You must believe in something - other than the lustre of your own gold, and hurting those who disagree with you - or am I missing the point, Donald?"   

Inauguration Day

 

                                                    (Thanks are due to Sherri Israels.)

Starting Again

In some respects it is impossible to comprehend, but today - December 20th, 2016 - marks ten years since Susan and I landed in Nanaimo to start a new life in our forties.  Ten years!

 

Looking back over this decade we have crammed in a lot of living, doing the thing we do, and considering the state we arrived in, we have come an incredibly long way.  Six weeks prior to our arrival we lost our Brighton home to fire, an understandably traumatic event that considerably expedited our original plans to move here.  The fire started in the apartment above ours when the moronic son of the woman that lived there fell asleep drunk, dropped a lit cigarette, then woke up and went out.  How can that even happen?  How can someone wake up to presumably find the place on fire, then go out?  We have never been given answers to how everything unfolded, and will never receive any, but it is what happened.

 

Consequently, we had no choice but to up sticks and head over here, a moved sanctioned by Canada House when Susan was approved as my sponsor...the day after the fire!  Remaining in ultra-expensive Brighton and starting over there simply was not an option.  Susan desperately wanted to come home; we had somewhere to temporarily stay - with Susan's ever-supportive parents - and it felt like my time in Brighton, just short of twenty years, had run its course.  Besides, my mother - never a fan of Britain - urged me to get of the 'shithole' if any opportunity to do so ever arose, so hey, mum, I did it, and with an incredible woman I wish you could have met, but alas...

 

Our exit from the UK was a six-week blur of goodbyes, packing, planning, fretting, paying off debts and other outstanding expenses, and a ton of other things on our to-do list.  I could go into the chaotic events that transpired in the wake of the fire, but I would rather not recall them, especially such as witnessing Susan burst into tears upon the sight of any passing fire truck.  Let's just say it was a highly emotional, crazy, frazzled and hectic time that, even if paid handsomely to re-enact it, I would politely decline for the sake of my mental health.

 

The day of departure was one of the most stressful days of our lives.  As we were leaving just before Christmas, Gatwick Airport was absolutely crammed to the rafters with travellers, all about as nerve-fried as each other, eager to get the fuck on planes and get out of there.  For us, leaving our beloved cat Eddie in the hands of the live cargo department was awful.  He was thirteen years-old, not in great health, and we genuinely wondered if he would survive the flight.

 

After having bid an emotional farewell to our dear friend Shaun, who had kindly driven us to the airport, and his two lovely daughters, we joined the masses moving like molasses through the terminal, firstly to ask where we needed to take Eddie (which proved to be somewhere so far away we had to get a taxi to and from it), then to check in and join the endless queue to get to the departure lounges.  It was absolute hell, and so slow-movingly busy we thought we would miss our flight.  Then when we finally did get on the plane we couldn't even sit together.

 

What seemed like an eternity later we landed in Vancouver, where after a right rigmarole and rip-off scenario we collected our freaking-out cat, then were scooped up by Susan's friends Carol and Ariane, whisked off to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal at high speed, only to be the very last passengers (and cat) aboard.  It was madness, and not at all how I had ever envisaged arriving in my new country.  It was freezing cold, but because we had an animal with us we had to huddle in a particular area on an outside deck.  The journey to the Duke Point terminal was only two hours, but it felt like two days.

 

Collected by Susan's parents at this end, we were taken 'home' to begin our new life.  I could relate the events and emotions of the first few weeks and months, but will resist.  I will say that it was a period of unexpectedly enormous adjustment that brought with it high emotion, a great deal of uncertainty, and not a little fear...

 

...but it all worked out in the end.

 

As I type I am in my office in our dream home, a beautiful and large house, the basement of which was once a noted recording studio.  It feels very, very right living inside these walls.  We continue to make it our own in terms of adornments and upgrades, and in truth I have never felt happier living anywhere than I do in this wonderful dwelling.  Our condo - bought in 2007, and lived in for five happy years - was great, but way too small for our needs and desires.

 

We both have work, as well as a wonderful cat, Reggie; a community of fantastic friends that took time to find, and are generally very happy with our situation.  Like anyone we have our problems and situations to deal with, but we live each day as if it's our last, making the very best of our time together and deal with the crap as it comes along.

 

We have absolutely no regrets.  Moving here, albeit with forced hands at the time, was one of the best decisions we have ever made.  Susan needs to be here, near her family, while perversely conveniently I have no one left, so we have that support network as well, without whom we would have truly struggled.  We are so very lucky in that respect.

 

A suitcase each, $1,000 between us, and a cat in a basket: that's what we arrived here with ten years ago today.  Now, an extraordinary decade later, in all but wealth we are millionaires.

 

      

She Gave the People What They Wanted

 

Of the deaths from the music world that have shocked us all this year, the one that has affected Susan and I the most, genuinely reducing us to tears, was the passing of 'soul revival' powerhouse Sharon Jones.  I may have grown up with and possess twenty-odd CDs by David Bowie, or have been such a huge Prince fan that I once flew from my workplace in Belfast to London to see him perform, then caught the next redeye flight back to Belfast, so was naturally shaken when both died this year, but it is the death of Sharon Jones at just 60 years-old that has upset me the most.

 

On April 4th, 2014, we travelled down to Victoria to see Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings perform at Alix Goolden Hall.  It was the first of two back-to-back shows for us that weekend - with the mighty, reconvened Neutral Milk Hotel in Vancouver the following evening - and what proved to be the most powerful live music double whammy either of us had ever experienced.  Sharon and her kickass funk-soul outfit were simply world class, and considering I have been fortunate to see the ilk of James Brown, George Clinton, Etta James and Marvin Gaye, it was hands down pretty much the best soul show I've ever seen.  The band were absolutely smokin' on all cylinders and Sharon danced like a thing demented, singing her ass off all night.  It was fantastic, and everyone in the venue that night would agree.

 

One significant factor making Sharon's hi-octane performance so extraordinary was that she was just four months removed from debilitating chemotherapy treatment, as she had been battling the usually fatal pancreatic cancer.  I've had chemotherapy and can tell anyone that has not that it utterly kicks your ass.  For months after my treatment I had zero energy, some days barely able to put one foot in front of another, so full recovery from what is effectively being poisoned is slow and difficult.

 

Not for Sharon, it seems!  She danced so hard all night that all I could do, understanding what she had been through, was marvel at her superhuman stamina and shake my head in disbelief at her commitment to putting on the best show she possibly could.  Most admirable of all that she was not in the slightest a vain woman, so even though having lost all her hair during chemo she refused to wear a wig or disguise it in any way, so her head was covered in a light fuzz as her hair began to reappear.  To my mind, this made her all the more beautiful and impressive a human being, but it is important to note what a tough, tough lady this was.  It is not just anyone that can conquer pancreatic cancer, but then not everyone has the grit to work as a corrections officer at the notorious Riker's Island facility in New York, or as a guard on armoured Wells Fargo cash trucks.  Sharon did. 

 

After the show, compelled to soak in some of her inspirational energy, we decided to go hang out in the merchandise area of the Alix Goolden Hall where it is common in our experience for visiting musicians to meet fans to sign stuff and pose for photos.  It was, as you would expect, busy with excited fans wanting to meet this remarkable woman, and we were as anticipatory as anyone present.  Out came Sharon from a side door, only to be mobbed, respectfully I might add, by a gaggle of adoring fans.  We just stood back and watched in awe as she worked and controlled the room, aware that a lot of folks wanted a piece of her after an exhausting night's work.  She visibly made note of everyone, including us, that were patiently waiting to say hello, gesturing that she'd be with them 'in a minute.'  As she made her way towards us, she signed something for a couple, then span round to greet us.

 

Sharon was (I will find it difficult for a time to refer to her in the past tense) a tiny woman, but muscularly built like a pitbull terrier.  She also had the most beautiful imaginable smile, and exuded warmth and compassion.  She also commanded the room with such authority that when she was talking to someone, everyone waiting stood back to await their turn, giving space to show her and the recipients of her attention the respect they and the situation demanded.  I don't think I've ever seen that before.

 

So, it was our turn.  We both reached out to hug her, and overcome with emotion I clumsily called her 'sister' when telling her I was a three-time cancer survivor, and that I found her an inspiration considering the hell she had recently been through.  Sharon answered by saying that she hoped to God she wouldn't have to go through such a nightmare as I had endured, hugging me again and tenderly touching my face with her left hand.  It was truly one of the most profound moments of my life, a huge deal for me that is scorched into my memory and will remain there vividly until my own time is up.

 

Susan's turn then came, with more hugs and beaming smiles from both, then with trembling hands I took a couple of photos of these two women I love, but then we had to withdraw to let others bask in Sharon's humanity.  Dazed, we made our way back to the car, barely able to articulate to each other our feelings about the show and meeting its incredible star.

 

When the November 13th death of Leon Russell was announced, I said out loud to my boss Steve that I hoped against hope that I was wrong, but bet that Sharon Jones would be next.  I just felt it.  Five days later, she was dead, and like so many millions of fans of one of the greatest soul singers of all time - who broke through so late in life to give hope to those who might feel their chance has gone - I was heartbroken.

 

When it was reported back in September last year that Sharon's cancer had returned, I thought it would only be a matter of time.  And so it was, but she fought to the bitter end with all she had, and exited this world with grace, singing gospel songs with her band around her hospital bed, before a second stroke in the space of days silenced her amazing voice forever.

 

There's not much else I can say, but there will always be Sharon's great albums, legendary live performances, and personally speaking the precious few minutes we spent in her beautiful company.  If anyone reading is unfamiliar with her brilliance, just watch this mindblowing, fan-shot video (hence the shakiness), filmed at Stade de France in Paris on June 30th, 2011.  Sharon and the Dap-Kings were opening for Prince at his request, and holy moly what a show that must have been.  There they are, sharing the stage, two musical giants that have both left us in this strange, stressful year.  It is one of the most exciting live music videos I have ever seen, and you will know I've seen quite a few.

 

Thank you Sharon, thank you Prince, for everything you gave me during your lifetimes, and will continue to give me during mine.

 

        

 

  

 

Are You Lost in the World Like Moby and Me?

 

I just watched this gorgeous video for the first time less than half an hour ago, and in doing so felt both smug and an odd kind of relief.  I talk on a tediously regular basis about the insane technological obsession our species is gripped by, but feel ever more isolated from the world in doing so.

 

Not that it bothers either of us in the least, it sometimes feels like Susan and I are the last people on earth to succumb to the highly addictive spell cast upon humans by these calculatedly slinky, sexy smartphones, and we gaze in despair at more and more people glued to their devices, unplugged from their surroundings, everywhere - as in everywhere - we go. 

 

In Victoria yesterday we (including our visitor Lisa, who owns a smartphone, but has barely touched it since she arrived) watched in fascination and sadness as a zombified public wandered about, cradling their phones before them, or just gawping at what was on the screen.  We all talked about it, at the time and later on, aghast at what has happened and is happening since these things were invented. 

 

So, a video such as the one above, for the Moby & the Void Pacific Choir song Are You Lost in the World Like Me?, seems to deliver some vindication of my thoughts and feelings on the matter, but also a degree of comfort that I am not alone.  Moby has always been a political animal, never shy of airing his feelings via his music, and it is clear from this beautifully animated (I am guessing deliberately) retro video (in reflection of more 'innocent' times) that he feels exactly like I do.

 

Anyway, watch the video and make up your own mind.  I think it says a lot about the modern world, not just from the perspective of technological addiction, but also the pressures and intensity of modern urban life.    

 

Kwinkydinks 2

So, our wonderful friend Lisa is here and we are having a grand old time.  But, in the wake of my "Kwinkydinks" post about the amazing coincidences that regularly come our way, with Lisa another has arrived.  Noticing the tattoos on my arms, she said, "I love tattoos and have eleven.  Do you have any others?"  "Yes," I said, rolling up my pant legs to show her the hummingbird on my left leg, and the maple leaf on my right.  Lisa looked at me, shocked, and said, "Look at this!"  She took off her left sock to reveal a pretty hummingbird tattoo, and lifted her right jeans leg to reveal a scattering of leaves around her ankle.  We both have hummingbirds on our left legs and leaves on our right legs...

Really, what are the odds?

And yesterday in Victoria, in Lisa's company, everywhere we went in the city we kept running into representations - paintings, plush toys, t-shirts  etc. - of one of Lisa's favourite creatures, the narwhal.  Unless at this time narwhals are a 'thing,' some kind of trendy creature in popular culture for some inexplicable reason, there were just too many encounters with them yesterday for it to be extraordinary coincidence.

Hmmm...

Reunions

There are many wonderful benefits to living in such a beautiful part of the world as Vancouver Island, but one we really appreciate is that people line up to visit us here!  Since we landed on this rock almost a decade ago we have been fortunate to receive visitors from all over the place on a fairly regular basis, but it is particularly rewarding when folks from our old lives, especially from our/my time in England, make the effort to come see us.  We know it is not a cheap passage, so we are always very grateful indeed when it happens.

 

This year has been really good for visits from friends old and new, but soon and into 2017 it is about to get even better.  Next weekend a lovely woman I have known for twenty years is about to drop by as part of a longer visit to Canada and the US.

 

I met Lisa in 1996 in unforgettable and bizarre circumstances, and although in the interim - because we have always lived in different cities (and now, countries) - we have probably only hung out a dozen or less times - she remains a quietly huge presence in my life.  Because I met Lisa, the dominoes started to tumble, and my life changed enormously as a consequence.

 

In 1996 I was travelling around the world for a full year, and when on the island of Java in Indonesia I was privileged to visit the astonishing city of Yogyakarta.  One evening I was standing on the balcony of the hostel that was home for a time, watching smoke rising from, and a glowing orange 'dribble' of lava moving down the side of, Mt. Merapi, way off in the distance.  Merapi is an extremely active, sometimes dangerous volcano in one of the most volcanic regions on earth, so although utterly mindblowing to me this was a fairly common sight to the locals.  As I watched in awe, a young woman came up the stairs, said hello, and asked what I was looking at.  "That!" I replied, pointing at Merapi.

 

My girlfriend and I continued travelling around Java, bumping into Lisa and her then boyfriend, Tom, elsewhere, then we arranged to meet in Jakarta and see the sights of that insane city together.  After Jakarta we parted ways after exchanging contact details, and vowed to reconvene when back in England.  Lisa lived, and still lives, in London, but continued to travel for quite some time after we returned home in February 1997.  Long story short, she eventually visited me in Brighton, bringing with her her best friend, Julie...and all these years later  Julie is one of our favourite people on earth.

 

Julie ended up moving to Brighton, and into a house with my ex-girlfriend, who I had been travelling with.  Soon after that Julie's boyfriend followed her to Brighton, but - even longer story short - they eventually split up...and he and I started sharing an apartment!  This was Tam, son of Elton John's guitarist, Davey Johnstone.  (I know, I couldn't make this up!)  And on the dominoes fell...

 

Anyway, I haven't seen Lisa for around 13 years, and Susan has only ever met her once, so we are thrilled for this visit, even though it will be brief.  I love reunions and this one will be special. 

 

Even better is to come in August next year when my dear old friend Shemmi, from my years in Birmingham, will be headed our way for a three day stay, with his beautiful wife Charn and their two adult children, Suresh and Zeeta, whom I have never met.  I was at Shemmi and Charn's wedding 33 years ago, but have not seen Shemmi since 1989, two years after moving to Brighton.  I am so excited about seeing my dear pal, who has been suffering with his health, that I feel like I could puke or weep when I think about greeting him and his family off the ferry.

 

Time marches on and these long-overdue reunions are the perfect illustration of that fact.  It is almost unfathomable that it is so long since I was in the company of these wonderful people, just as it is that almost ten years have passed since Susan and I arrived in Nanaimo to start anew.  But, all in all, these are anniversaries and events to celebrate.  Life is so short and, as has happened so devastatingly to several friends of ours in recent times, it can change for the worse in an instant, so we must grasp and embrace these happy times with long-lost friends when they come along, as there is no knowing if we will ever see them, or they will see us, ever again.