Just another brick in the wall...

Alex (my drummer) and I have talked about what a great book we have in the making, when that time comes for a biographer to delve into the fumblings and flukes that occurred to culminate in The Free Press. Each of us has so many stories of woe, that it's a wonder no one's snapped them up already to make a touching and heartfelt afterschool special. How about the time when all of Alex's gear was stolen on our way up to play a show at the Kee to Bala? Or how about the time Len's car was towed DURING a gig at the Horseshoe and my lovely girlfriend (because NONE of us had money in our bank accounts) posted bail to get the vehicle out of jail. Or the memorable time last summer when Len & I walked half way across Toronto (from the studio to a show) carrying 3 guitars and a bag of gear because we had spent the last of our money on recording and lunch.

Well, I've got a new one to tack on. It was a low point in my life. The only reason I'm proud of the moment is because I was able to laugh at myself - I mean what else can you do when life just continues to kick you when you're down? Anyway, I've been applying for jobs the last two weeks, because I'm out of money and I've been sitting on my duff waaaaayyy too long in hopes that something would fall into my lap. It has not. So, I applied at places where I could work overnight shifts (this will minimize the rock and roll disruption and sleep is for babies anyway) - Zellers, Walmart, Dominion, Loblaws. It was at the last - Loblaws - where I was the most thoroughly demoralized I've been in a while. I stood there filling out an application and a 15 year old kid came up beside me and starting doing the same thing. In his defense, he didn't look to my paper for answers, he dug in and answered the question, 'Have you ever been convicted of a crime in Canada?' (thank God they only ask about Canada!) all by himself. But I had to stop and wonder. I knew that if we both got the job - despite my 4 years of University, 5 years at HMV, 2 years at the Hockey Hall of Fame and 1 year at Chapters and 15 more years of life experience - we would get paid exactly the same amount. And that's when I hurriedly finished the application, thanked the woman who gave me the application and walked out as briskly as I could before I dissolved into a fit of laughter. All in all, it's just another brick in the wall. And I still believe - right or wrong - that sooner, rather than later, The Free Press is going to kick that son of a bitch down.

Now THIS guy's rock and roll!!!

Kenyan, 73, kills leopard with bare hands

NAIROBI - A 73-year-old Kenyan grandfather reached into the mouth of an attacking leopard and tore out its tongue to kill it, authorities said Wednesday.

Peasant farmer Daniel M’Mburugu was tending to his potato and bean crops in a rural area near Mount Kenya when the leopard charged out of the long grass and leapt on him.

M’Mburugu had a machete in one hand but dropped that to thrust his fist down the leopard’s mouth. He gradually managed to pull out the animal’s tongue, leaving it in its death-throes.

“It let out a blood-curdling snarl that made the birds stop chirping,” he told the daily Standard newspaper of how the leopard came at him and knocked him over.

The leopard sank its teeth into the farmer’s wrist and mauled him with its claws. “A voice, which must have come from God, whispered to me to drop the panga (machete) and thrust my hand in its wide-open mouth. I obeyed,” M’Mburugu said.

As the leopard was dying, a neighbor heard the screams and arrived to finish it off with a machete.

M’Mburugu was toasted as a hero in his village Kihato after the incident earlier this month. He was also given free hospital treatment by astonished local authorities.

“This guy is very lucky to be alive,” Kenya Wildlife Service official Connie Maina told Reuters, confirming details of the incident.

Bathing suit season...

I don't consider myself a vain person. Sure, I occasionally worry that I don't look good in blue or that my skin isn't as taut and smooth as it should be, but I don't feel the need to wear make-up or practise my smiling and grinning in front of a mirror. However, as summer approaches and we become more aware of all our flaws and physical inferiorities, I've begun to worry for myself...

So much of being successful in anything these days is looking good. I hate that. Maybe it's always been that way, but it makes me cheer all the louder for the Thom Yorke's, the Dave Matthew's, the Norah Jones', the Sarah Harmer's. I don't think any of those folks are beautiful, but they are remarkably attractive because of their talent and charisma. Yes, they're ok looking but they don't stand out in a room in Hollywood. However, they're really talented. Jennifer Anniston, Anna Kournikova, Jennifer Lopez, Richard Gere - these folks are the opposite. Important people (the ones that run magazines and Hollywood and everything we're allowed to talk about) think they're beatiful and their talent isn't too offensive (although EVERYONE who knows me, will agree that I contest the inclusion of Jennifer Lopez on any list other than one that begins with the word 'hit'.)

Anyway, all this presents me with a problem. I don't think I'm good looking and I'm not a prodigious musician/actor. Interesting looking, perhaps, but not good looking. Gifted actor and good musician, but not enough to make the papers. As such, I feel I have to try and find a middle ground. I need to corner a new market. I need to be pretty talented and pretty good looking. Musically, that means I work on my voice. It has some unique qualities and with some work it might be remarkable. As to my appearance, I need to pick an attribute and exploit it. Here's where the trouble starts. So many 'looks' have been ruined in the last twenty years. Don Johnson ruined the stubbly look for everyone (cowboys have been pissed about that since the mid-eighties). That's ok, because I can't grow facial hair. Seriously. The native half of me refuses to grow hair. This results in a strange pattern that one might find a newborn yeti's face or on a 3 year olds Etch-A-Sketch. But I digress. I think my eyes are nice, but I can't wear make-up to accentuate them. It looks better on women and even if it were an option, everyone's doing it now (Greenday, Killers, and another bunch of bands that's trying to steal the eighties). Elvis and then Billy Idol cornered the lip market with their sneering and snarling. So what's left? The hair. It's the only physical attribute I have that's remarked on time and time again. It's curly and dark and mysterious or something. But Chad Kroeger fucked that up for all us curly haired folks and now Kalan Porter has come along to remind everyone just how bad Chad Kroeger's hair was five years ago (I didn't need reminding - it was burned in my memory like an old tatoo that you can't seem to remove no matter how many times you laser the bitch!)

So what to do? I can't shave my head. That's Bruce Willis' thing. And right now, Alex (my drummer) is bald and we've agreed that no band should have more than one bald guy (The Blue Man Group is the exception to the rule). I can cut it short again, but then I look like Peter Brady. I let it go too much and it looks like the love child of a 1970's Harlem Globetrotter and Gilda Radner - during her early SNL days). If anyone out there has a suggestion, I'm all ears. I need a stylist, I need a salon expert, I need help!!!*

* J.D. reserves the right to refuse ridiculous ideas or suggestions that he cut his head off and sew a nicer one on.

Rock and roll horsey!!! YEEEEHAWWW!

So for Father's Day, my dad wanted to go to the horse races. That's fine. There's nothing new about this. My family enjoys trivial gambling and you will often find us in a casino on Christmas Eve or playing Texas Hold 'em Poker directly after Thanksgiving dinner. The only difference on this day, was this was a quantified 'race' (The Pepsi cup, no less! For those who don't know, I favour Pepsi over Coke - my sister will go so far as to refuse any cola unless it's Pepsi, so this family trait runs deep, deep, deep.) But I digress. The race; the quantified race. Meaning there was a SUBSTANTIAL purse for the winner ($750,000!!!) Anyway, as a result the horses were on display before the race and you could seem them being groomed and prepped and whispered to by owners and trainers. It was really kind of cool. And as we wandered down the stalls and looked at the horses - Load the Dice, Cams Fool, Runover Feeling, Stonebridge Regal - we came across something fantastic. Something remarkable. Something that spoke to me. I mean, we all keep our eyes open for these signs from greater powers and listen for the voices that speak to us. And right there, at the Woodbine Raceway, I saw a sign. His name was Rocknroll Hanover.

Seriously! A horse named Rocknroll Hanover. There's a famous picture of me (well, famous amongst the circle of friends that is my world) in front of a dynamic business opportunity called "Rock 'n' Roll Tropical Pets". There's also a notation below that says 'we deliver!' And why wouldn't they? Anyway, I've long had a fascination with the world animals and how they figure into the world of rock and roll. And here on this glorious Saturday in June, those worlds collided. I put my money on Rocknroll. Why wouldn't I? I'm a believer in the rock and the roll! And I'll be goddamned if he didn't beat the shit out of the competition. Seriously, he lead the whole damned race and there was no stopping that guy when he kicked it into high gear on the homestretch.

So what are we to learn from this? Just this: country, hip-hop, punk, classical - all of these are valid musical forms. They all have their time and place. But nothing - nothing - beats Rock 'n Roll.

Good times

I was away for the weekend with my good friends Dan and Fun Bobby (although he prefers 'Handsome Rob' - this may be applicable, but I'm not here to judge, it's not what I do). It was a 'boys' weekend. I know what leaps immediately to mind; high-stakes gambling, all the strippers money can buy, copious amounts of booze & drugs and perhaps some midgets. Well, that's not the case with our boys weekends. I'm a rockstar for chrissake. My day job fulfills the requirements of a stereotypical boys weekend, so sometimes I need a weekend away from the rigours and hardships of women fawning over you and being adored by millions. So, we have a boys weekend and we become the nerds that still get beat up in high schools across the nation. We play board games, video games and try and make each other laugh hard enough to spew Pepsi. I know, I know. We're fucking wildmen.

Anyway, all this is irrelevant. Well, mostly irrelevant. But one of the things Fun Bobby shared with us this weekend is this website:

http://www.thingsmygirlfriendandihavearguedabout.com/

If you have a great deal of spare time, this guy's a great writer and thoroughly entertaining in his diatribe against the female of the species (the following remark should be seen as a warning that most women probably won't find him remotely funny). Check it out when you're at work and bored and the day is dragging on just a bit too long. It's good times.

Great expectations...

Are a hard thing to live around. It's almost inevitable that you'll fall short. If you think of the movies and films and books we adore, they're the ones that sort of creep up on you. They're passed along by word of mouth and passion. When someone loves something so much that they just have to tell me about it, I will more than likely see the movie, read the book or listen to the cd. And the majority of the time, I spread the word. Passion is an infectious phenomenon. It's impossible to manufacture and it's widely known as fleeting. But everyone once in a while, you find some enduring passion.

And so, it was with great expectations and a nervous twitch that I went to the music store this week. One of the biggest and most anticipated albums of the year was set free in the heat of early June. No, no, I'm not talking about the new Backstreet Boys album (Backstreet's back?). That's next week. I'm talking about the new Coldplay album.

Forgive me if I gush. I can't remember the last time I was this excited about a record after I've listened to it. I was blown away. It's not wall to wall genius, but it's really fucking good. I audibly gasped at least three times during my first listen, uttered the phrase 'you're fucking right!' half a dozen times and finally went 'you're shitting me!' I meant it in a good way.

I was in awe.

It's everything I hope my band achieves. It's what any band should want to achieve. Learn your strengths, play to them, but continue to change and grow and re-invent what you're good at doing. These are four men who understand sonics, who understand dynamics and who understand orchestration. And they've learned to write songs that way, which is really fucking good news for anyone who likes music. The colours and textures of the album leave the realm of audibility and reach into the reality of tangible pain and joy and love and fear. It's awesome. Like I said, it's not wall to wall genius, but it's; Really. Fucking. Good. It's life, man. It has ups and downs and parts that aren't as interesting or intense as other parts. I know it's been attacked for lyrical content, but really who cares? We don't all need to be wordy sons of bitches. They've made no bones about their simplicity from the get go. "Yellow" is not a great poem. It's a great song. I do care about lyrics and in this case, I think critics are just looking for something to be nitpicky about. I don't think they're that bad. And really, once you get lost in the wash of sound they make, you shouldn't really care.

It's just so wonderful to hear a band grow in this day and age. Radiohead is the last big band I can think of that was allowed to grow. And this isn't 'OK Computer', but it's another step forward for a band that's already taken a few giant strides for rock and roll. Although 'X&Y' isn't wall to wall genius, Coldplay's finding more moments of genius with every album they release. It's so encouraging and affirming as an artist to see and hear that. Almost everyone else has played it safe and churned out record after record of the latest trend to ripple through music. What will get radio play? How many women in bikini's can we get in the video (not that there's anything wrong with that)? Is there an 80's band that hasn't been ripped off that we can morph ourselves into? Fuck that. This is an album of 4 or 5 minute songs. They're not writing to fit nicely into radio programming or into an average video attention span. They're writing for all the right reasons. To be a voice for the meek. To ask questions about all the garish mistakes in the world. And best of all, just for the sake of making music.

There's nothing as upsetting as placing expectations upon another person or thing. But - in the true nature of the human dichotomy (X&Y!) - there's also nothing more exhilarating as when they smash through the expectations and surpass all you hoped they become.

I wonder if he gives lessons...

I'm just watching 'Resuce Me' which - as far as I know - is only on Showcase/HBO. It's the newest project that Dennis Leary is involved with. And man, can that guy swear. He's one of the alltime great cussers in my opinion. Cussing is over-used. As far as I'm concerned, it's like Shakespearean text. You should have to go to school and study it for great amounts of time before anyone will allow you or pay you to do it. I just want Dennis Leary to know - if this journal somehow finds him - that I would be the first in line for a masterclass in swearing if he was teaching. Uta Hagen, David Mamet? I mean what the fuck do they know?

Other than enjoying the profane gifts of Mr. Leary, I've been keeping busy with the band. We played a few shows in the last few days and they were arguably two of our best. We've been drinking a bit and hanging out before shows and it makes all the difference in the world. We just come in more relaxed and have a lot more fun on stage and everyone seems to get infected with that joy. This is a good thing. We played at Healey's last night, for the first time in almost a year. The last time we played, we were joined by this God awful cover band from Brantford. The keys player was using a Casio keyboard (for non music geeks, it's the computer equivalent of someone using a Commodore 64 to check email today or someone going to rent a movie at the video store for their Beta VCR - uncommon and unbelievable). She used two fingers and they did a U2 song (which hurt me more than anyone will ever know) and they cleverly changed 'Boys of Summer' to 'Girls of Summer' since there were two or three girls in the band. Safe to say that our last show there was a bit rough. This was the opposite. We only played two songs, but there was a warm, receptive crowd of at least 100-150 there. It was really, really enjoyable to be on stage playing music. After we finished (and a lot of folks were kind enough to give us some really positive feedback) we had a quick discussion and agreed that we'd be frequenting the Tuesday night Jam at Healey's until they told us to stop or had one of us killed (this is easier than they know, since any one of us would kill one of the others for a can of pop and a bag of chips). So, if you like music and are in the neighbourhood, I highly recommend dropping into Healey's on a Tuesday night. It's free and you can find us ranting on stage or raving in a booth for all of June. And maybe beyond if no one gets whacked.