Despite the fact it was probably Nanaimo's warmest, sunniest day of 2014 to date, Wednesday April 30 will forever haunt the city's residents as one of its darkest. At around 7:00am, Kevin Douglas Addison entered Western Forest Products mill with a shotgun, killing two men and wounding two others. One of the wounded was shot in the face. Addison was arrested and tonight charged with two counts of first degree murder and two of attempted murder.
Since moving to Nanaimo in December 2006 we have grown to love the place. It's certainly rough around the edges with a tough history, but it has a real sense of community, warmth and civility that we deeply appreciate. One reason we like it here is because it feels safe. Sure, like anywhere the city has sketchy areas, but overall it's pretty cool. Any and every society experiences violence, and Nanaimo is no exception, but it is rare that anything truly shocking occurs. Yet when it does, everyone feels it, just as we did today.
I learned the news from a born-and-bred Nanaimo musician, who came into the store greatly agitated about the incident. I couldn't believe what he told me. Four people shot?! Two dead? Really? It's surreal to hear such news in Nanaimo, at least in my limited experience of seven-and-a-half years' living here. But I saw just how real it was when visiting the Nanaimo Daily News website on the store's computer. The news was breaking; details were scant yet emerging, but two dead were confirmed.
Such an act of extreme violence - at least by this sleepy Vancouver Island city's 'standards' - is bound to provoke immediate widespread discussion, especially amongst those that grew up here. I was myself horrified and distressed, genuinely feeling a shockwave of disbelief as it moved through the store, from the outside world via several upset and bewildered customers. It was, of course, mentioned frequently, but it was particularly heartbreaking to witness the reaction of my young colleague, himself born and raised in Nanaimo. He was clearly shocked and raging within at the senselessness of the act, struggling to understand the barbarity us humans can - and so often do - unleash upon each other in the name of what the fuck.
For much of the remainder of the day we talked about this between us, and with customers who had entered the store, obviously affected, some seemingly relieved to talk to us about it. Seething with anger and sorrow, we solemnly exchanged thoughts about how the deceased men - one of whom had 34 years of service to his company behind him - might have kissed their loved ones goodbye in the morning or previous evening, gone off to work to earn money to feed their families, and will never be going home. It was almost too much to bear thinking about this, the nature and ramifications of the crime hitting home very hard for both of us.
"A lot of people in this town will be just a few steps removed from someone they know that's affected by this nightmare." These were the words of a stunningly beautiful and charming young woman, who provided a brief yet most welcome distraction from the grimness of the day. The proverbial light, she, too, was visibly shaken, and these kind of staff-customer encounters continued sporadically throughout the day. It was a tough one, for sure, and there was a lot of welling up at various points.
In the worst imaginable circumstances I felt truly connected to Nanaimo today. I felt grief as a member of this community, and shared it with people that have lived here their whole lives. In some ways the experience brought great comfort, the fact that I truly belong and need to be here really smacking me in the face. Yet I never want to feel that in this way again.
My condolences go out to the families, friends and coworkers of the four men gunned down today. Your community is behind you.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Peace, Love and All That Good Stuff
Tomorrow, April 2, 2014, marks a year since we moved into our 'new' house; that's it above, taken during February's 'snowpocalypse.' The last twelve months have positively flown by, and it's been an extremely pleasurable time gradually making improvements and beautifying the house according to our needs and tastes. We have grand plans for our home, so upgrades will continue for some years yet, and we're thoroughly enjoying the process.
It's a lovely building to live in, and as a former recording studio there's a tangible magic in the air here, with local music history oozing from every brick. In many ways, because of this, it's a real honour to be the new owners.
It's wonderful that we have friends who have recorded here down the years, and as time goes by we find out about more musicians that have created something in our basement - now our living room, music library and (currently) store room - where the studio was once housed. Just last week I met a woman in my workplace who brought us copies of her new CD to sell. In the credits she wishes a peaceful rest to the former studio owner, who was locally loved and known for his catchphrase, "Peace, love, and all that good stuff." Also in the credits it states that some of the CD was recorded in our house. As it happens, by sheer chance, having looked at my professional website this lady now wants me to create some publicity materials for her new release. So, we meet tomorrow, on that First Anniversary, to discuss that. She'll come over to the house, creating a beautiful synchronicity to proceedings. Everything is dovetailing.
Yeah, without doubt, this house was always meant to become ours one day. Its history is opening doors to opportunities and fortuitous meetings, and we cannot help wonder where it will all lead!
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
An Englishman Abroad
As an Englishman relocated to Canada just seven years ago, I cannot help but find this recently posted video rather fun and charming. It's a bullet point account of a young English guy's visit to my country, seemingly mostly, if not entirely, in Ontario. He revels in what he may feel are some 'typical' Canadian experiences and, indeed, on my first visit to Canada back in 1996 - briefly taking in destinations in Ontario, Quebec and British Columbia - I understandably sought out the very same. Like young James I also saw the Toronto Maple Leafs play, visited (several) Tim Horton's and ascended the (terrifyingly tall) CN Tower, but I am amused at the thrills he gleaned from decidedly non-Canadian, somewhat universal experiences - such as visiting a mall, riding the subway, eating pizza and, bizarrely, welding! Oh well, all that matters is that he had a good time and went home high on Canada.
But it is funny what the general perception of Canadian life appears to be from those that have never visited the country. I've had people back in England ask what it's like living in "the wilderness," when I live in a relatively modern city; they picture some kind of frontier existence in which we have to hunt our food and chop down trees to heat the cabin. Of course, many people in the more remote areas of this vast country do live this way, but the romantic vision of Canada is that we all do. Although, of course, some of it was said in jest, a friend who visited from the UK some years ago said he envisaged that it snowed year-round, that lots of people on Vancouver Island live in igloos and cabins deep in massive forests, that maple syrup is served with every meal, that every Canadian says 'aboot' and 'eh' all the time, and that all we listen to is Rush and Gordon Lightfoot.
That's pretty funny, eh? And aboot all I have time for today.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Enquiry of the Day / Week / Month / Year / All-Time
Of all the hilarious incorrect enquiries I've ever had when working in a music store, the one I had today ranks as an all-time classic:
Young woman: "Excuse me, do you have any Edgar Allan Poe CDs?"
Me, bewildered: "Um...he was a poet and author of horror stories."
Young woman: "No, he's a country singer."
Me, cracking up inside: "I think you mean David Allan Coe."
Young woman: "Yeah, that's him! Do you have his CDs?"
(Image above: Edgar Allan Poe in his little discussed, none-too-successful redneck outlaw country period.)
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Late to the Party
Despite the fact that I'm immersed in music most every day of my life, it's inevitable that some bands or artists will slip past me and remain off my radar until one day I trip over them by chance. Occasionally I'll fall hard for a band or artist that's totally new to me, even though to many others they've been around forever. Such is the case with THE LEN PRICE 3, who released the first of their four albums ten years ago, yet until last week I can never recall having heard the name.
Oh my, what a band! Taking the classic sounds of such as The Who, The Kinks, The Jam and all things Billy Childish, they create magnificent, ultra-English garage-pop songs that I'm having problems shifting from my brain. I can see The Len Price 3 acting as the catalyst to spending plenty of time with the above and their ilk this year, which certainly won't be any kind of hardship.
I know of at least one reader of this blog who will likely already know and love this band, but to any others out there also new to The Len Price 3, it is my pleasure to share a few of their cool videos and punchy little songs here. Enjoy...
Oh my, what a band! Taking the classic sounds of such as The Who, The Kinks, The Jam and all things Billy Childish, they create magnificent, ultra-English garage-pop songs that I'm having problems shifting from my brain. I can see The Len Price 3 acting as the catalyst to spending plenty of time with the above and their ilk this year, which certainly won't be any kind of hardship.
I know of at least one reader of this blog who will likely already know and love this band, but to any others out there also new to The Len Price 3, it is my pleasure to share a few of their cool videos and punchy little songs here. Enjoy...
Sunday, January 26, 2014
It's Over There, Next to the Algerian Dixieland, Sir!
An old UK music business associate of mine named Graham Jones produced a book and accompanying documentary called "Last Shop Standing." Graham's latest book is "Strange Requests and Comic Tales from Record Shops," the content of which is self-explanatory. It's extremely funny but, as someone who has worked in music stores for a good portion of my life, I regret not having the opportunity to contribute to it.
I've had some hilarious requests, like George Thoroughbred & the Disasters, and bizarre encounters like, in my current employ at Fascinating Rhythm, a guy wanting to exchange some of our stock for 20lb of ground beef and a rusty showerhead. True story. "Sorry sir," I said, "but if I agreed to this transaction I'm not sure my boss would be too delighted upon returning to work tomorrow to find a bunch of meat and a plumbing accessory in the till." Oh, how I laughed. Particularly side-splitting was how, after rummaging around in his tatty backpack in search of it for an eternity, this madman considered the rusty showerhead the irresistible deal clincher. Awesome. In truth I could write an entire chapter of a very long book on the ongoing insane antics of this loony customer, yet he represents just a tiny fraction of the comic tales I could call upon.
One story I'm fond of telling concerns a classic music snob I had the great misfortune to have an exchange with many years ago when I was working at Rounder Records in Brighton. A guy I would guess was in his early-60s came in, nose elevated with an air of superiority about him. He was wearing a long-sleeved tie-dye granddad shirt, purple flares and flip-flops, with his lank grey hair in a ponytail. He didn't so much walk as slowly waft around the store, as if floating on air. He came up to the counter and in a plummy voice asked me, "Where's your Norwegian Jazz?" Answering truthfully, I responded that we did not subdivide genres to such an extent, but that he would find the general jazz section over yonder. Seemingly aghast, he screwed up his face in disgust, looked me up and down as if I was a leper or bad smell, flashed one final "how very dare you" sneer at me, then turned on his heel to waft out of the store, never to reappear. The experience with this tool goes a long way to explain why I can't be arsed with much jazz.
Beau, a regular Fascinating Rhythm customer, loves this story so much that he likes to re-enact it whenever he pays a visit to the store. He'll wander in, look me up and down with an expression like he's sucking a lemon, and ask something like, "Hey, you, where's your Portuguese Blues?" and I'll answer, "It's over there, next to the Fijian Psychobilly, sir," or some other such nonsense. It's fun and helps pass the day, you know? Particular enjoyment can be gleaned from making up ever more ridiculous geographical variants on standard musical genres. They may even actually exist, but it still makes us laugh.
So, last Monday, this young man comes in. He's a fairly new customer and highly irritating DJ type who walks even more stupidly than Mr. Norwegian Jazz Fool. He kind of lurches around like a gibbon, with arms swinging, speaking in an infuriating, overly slow and deliberate manner. In he came and, no word of a lie, asked my boss Steve, "Where's your Italian Funk?"
It could be that Italian Funk is the music of now in the dance world. I've no fucking idea. Having toiled for many years in a store (Rounder) that sold a lot of dance vinyl, it always seemed that a) there was an offshoot or new variant of an existing dance sub-genre appearing every single week, and b) that most everyone who bought this stuff was an utter twat. So whether Italian Funk, Peruvian House, Turkish Speed-Ragga or Kazakhstani Tech-Dub is the big thing in dance music right now, I neither know nor care.
Steve, obviously amused, answered, "Er, we don't have an Italian Funk section," whereupon the gibbon recoiled as if he'd just received a cannonball to the guts. "Really? You don't? Wow!" Steve and I exchanged what-a-dick glances and I piped in, "No, sorry man, but we don't get quite that specific." He looked at me, shaking his head, muttering more wows as he ventured into the back of the store, where the majority of the vinyl is housed.
Who should walk in moments later? No, not the jazz idiot! Got you there! It was just Beau, but the timing was precious. With discretion I slid up to Beau to relate the incident of the minute before, and it was all he could do to stop himself exploding with laughter. With childish mischief we immediately launched into a frenzy of whispered "Where's your (insert preposterous national music genre here)?" for a minute or so, until it wore thin and the realization dawned on me that I was actually at the store to work.
It is interesting what we all expect stores to stock, don't you think? The two customers I mercilessly ripped the piss out of here are obviously passionate about particular, though extremely niche kinds of music, perhaps to the exclusion of any other kind. I guess it's perfectly reasonable for them to fully expect stores like Rounder or Fascinating Rhythm to cater to their tastes. To them the music they enjoy is normal, everyday entertainment, just as indie rock or alt. country might be to me, so in one respect I get it. Nonetheless, that they evidently don't stop and think about the impossibility of our merchandising the product we sell in such an individualized way truly boggles my mind. Did the one guy consider that if we did have a Norwegian Jazz section we would also devote space within the jazz area to every other single nation that produces jazz music? No, of course not, and the truth is that if Rounder had indeed created a Norwegian Jazz section, he would probably have been disappointed that we had pre-empted his visit by being one step ahead of him! He was just one of those guys that likes to go into music stores and try to act as if he knows more than the staff. We get them all the time, and I've discussed it briefly in this blog before.
Oh well, all in a day's work. Speaking of which, I'd better skedaddle as there's plenty to be done. Let's see what's on my list of tasks for today:
- Dust tops of racks
- Process new deliveries
- File CDs
- Remerchandise new release rack
- Set up new Estonian Bluegrass section
- Lark about when Beau comes in
I've had some hilarious requests, like George Thoroughbred & the Disasters, and bizarre encounters like, in my current employ at Fascinating Rhythm, a guy wanting to exchange some of our stock for 20lb of ground beef and a rusty showerhead. True story. "Sorry sir," I said, "but if I agreed to this transaction I'm not sure my boss would be too delighted upon returning to work tomorrow to find a bunch of meat and a plumbing accessory in the till." Oh, how I laughed. Particularly side-splitting was how, after rummaging around in his tatty backpack in search of it for an eternity, this madman considered the rusty showerhead the irresistible deal clincher. Awesome. In truth I could write an entire chapter of a very long book on the ongoing insane antics of this loony customer, yet he represents just a tiny fraction of the comic tales I could call upon.
One story I'm fond of telling concerns a classic music snob I had the great misfortune to have an exchange with many years ago when I was working at Rounder Records in Brighton. A guy I would guess was in his early-60s came in, nose elevated with an air of superiority about him. He was wearing a long-sleeved tie-dye granddad shirt, purple flares and flip-flops, with his lank grey hair in a ponytail. He didn't so much walk as slowly waft around the store, as if floating on air. He came up to the counter and in a plummy voice asked me, "Where's your Norwegian Jazz?" Answering truthfully, I responded that we did not subdivide genres to such an extent, but that he would find the general jazz section over yonder. Seemingly aghast, he screwed up his face in disgust, looked me up and down as if I was a leper or bad smell, flashed one final "how very dare you" sneer at me, then turned on his heel to waft out of the store, never to reappear. The experience with this tool goes a long way to explain why I can't be arsed with much jazz.
Beau, a regular Fascinating Rhythm customer, loves this story so much that he likes to re-enact it whenever he pays a visit to the store. He'll wander in, look me up and down with an expression like he's sucking a lemon, and ask something like, "Hey, you, where's your Portuguese Blues?" and I'll answer, "It's over there, next to the Fijian Psychobilly, sir," or some other such nonsense. It's fun and helps pass the day, you know? Particular enjoyment can be gleaned from making up ever more ridiculous geographical variants on standard musical genres. They may even actually exist, but it still makes us laugh.
So, last Monday, this young man comes in. He's a fairly new customer and highly irritating DJ type who walks even more stupidly than Mr. Norwegian Jazz Fool. He kind of lurches around like a gibbon, with arms swinging, speaking in an infuriating, overly slow and deliberate manner. In he came and, no word of a lie, asked my boss Steve, "Where's your Italian Funk?"
It could be that Italian Funk is the music of now in the dance world. I've no fucking idea. Having toiled for many years in a store (Rounder) that sold a lot of dance vinyl, it always seemed that a) there was an offshoot or new variant of an existing dance sub-genre appearing every single week, and b) that most everyone who bought this stuff was an utter twat. So whether Italian Funk, Peruvian House, Turkish Speed-Ragga or Kazakhstani Tech-Dub is the big thing in dance music right now, I neither know nor care.
Steve, obviously amused, answered, "Er, we don't have an Italian Funk section," whereupon the gibbon recoiled as if he'd just received a cannonball to the guts. "Really? You don't? Wow!" Steve and I exchanged what-a-dick glances and I piped in, "No, sorry man, but we don't get quite that specific." He looked at me, shaking his head, muttering more wows as he ventured into the back of the store, where the majority of the vinyl is housed.
Who should walk in moments later? No, not the jazz idiot! Got you there! It was just Beau, but the timing was precious. With discretion I slid up to Beau to relate the incident of the minute before, and it was all he could do to stop himself exploding with laughter. With childish mischief we immediately launched into a frenzy of whispered "Where's your (insert preposterous national music genre here)?" for a minute or so, until it wore thin and the realization dawned on me that I was actually at the store to work.
It is interesting what we all expect stores to stock, don't you think? The two customers I mercilessly ripped the piss out of here are obviously passionate about particular, though extremely niche kinds of music, perhaps to the exclusion of any other kind. I guess it's perfectly reasonable for them to fully expect stores like Rounder or Fascinating Rhythm to cater to their tastes. To them the music they enjoy is normal, everyday entertainment, just as indie rock or alt. country might be to me, so in one respect I get it. Nonetheless, that they evidently don't stop and think about the impossibility of our merchandising the product we sell in such an individualized way truly boggles my mind. Did the one guy consider that if we did have a Norwegian Jazz section we would also devote space within the jazz area to every other single nation that produces jazz music? No, of course not, and the truth is that if Rounder had indeed created a Norwegian Jazz section, he would probably have been disappointed that we had pre-empted his visit by being one step ahead of him! He was just one of those guys that likes to go into music stores and try to act as if he knows more than the staff. We get them all the time, and I've discussed it briefly in this blog before.
Oh well, all in a day's work. Speaking of which, I'd better skedaddle as there's plenty to be done. Let's see what's on my list of tasks for today:
- Dust tops of racks
- Process new deliveries
- File CDs
- Remerchandise new release rack
- Set up new Estonian Bluegrass section
- Lark about when Beau comes in
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Only in America
Before reading on, PLEASE watch the above video. It is only 1:16 long, so will not disrupt your day.
OK, have you watched it? Good. So, first and foremost, whether or not you are remotely interested in lacrosse (I very much am), you will recognize that play by Drew Westervelt as one hell of a goal. It's one of those beautiful sporting moments that leaves one in awe. When I first watched this, I was so dazzled by the play, even in the slow motion replay, that I somehow missed something truly bizarre. On the second viewing, however, I thought, "What the...?"
Now, watch it again. After enjoying the fantastic goal, keep your eyes on the replay, especially what is revealed at 1:05. Did you see it?
What in the name of hell are THREE BIKINI-CLAD WOMEN doing in the stands, SITTING WITH THEIR FEET IN FOOT SPAS?! There they are, as plain as day, enjoying the soothing water on their feet, refreshing beverages by their sides. But, erm, why?
Does anyone know if foot spas or hot tubs are common or standard in US lacrosse arenas? If so, considering that these particular women are, ahem, rather fit looking, might anyone know if they are present for the entertainment of the (presumably largely male) crowd, or is this a seating option, like a box in a theatre?
I need to know!
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