brainsplotch

This has been a Tragically Hip-centric blog for the last few weeks, and will remain so for at least one more post--because on June 17 the Hip released their 13th album, Man Machine Poem . Naturally, I feel compelled to write about it. I don't know if I've ever adequately explained how much I love this band, or how baffled I am that they never made a dent outside of Canada. It's a subject for another blog post to theorize as to why the Hip have never penetrated the States or the rest of the world--but frankly it's a subject that most fans of the band, and the band themselves, are tired of discussing. Though I'd heard of the Hip going as far back as the late '80s/early '90s, and was completely enraptured by Sarah Polley's gorgeous cover of "Courage" on the Sweet Hereafter  soundtrack in 1997. (I liked it so much, in fact, that I bought the CD). It wasn't until early 2006, when I borrowed their hits collection Yer Favourites from the li...

It looks like Hillary Clinton has clinched the Democratic Party's candidacy for president. I've been a Bernie Sanders supporter essentially since he entered the race, and I will keep my Bernie car magnet on the back of my minivan until he officially concedes. However, I am not one of those "Bernie bros" who we continually hear about in the media. (I have yet to actually encounter one of these alleged "Bernie bros," but that's another story). I've been mulling over my options for some time now, and my feeling is that it is in my and everyone's best interests to vote for Clinton in November. Now, I know that Clinton is not a perfect candidate. She is, at best, a moderate Democrat and has plenty of baggage. I hope that if Sanders remains in the race until the Democratic convention, he can at least influence the party platform and get more progressive policies instituted. And then there's Trump. The Donald is quite possibly the worst (...

(The second in my series of Tragically Hip album overviews, in which I investigate the discography of this criminally undervalued Canadian band). The Tragically Hip's debut long player, Up to Here , is a considerable improvement over their tentative eponymous EP. The band was paired with experienced and respected studio vet Don Smith, fresh off of engineering U2's blockbuster Rattle and Hum , the Traveling Wilbury's successful first album, and Keith Richards' debut solo album, Talk is Cheap . With Smith in the producer's chair, and the recording sessions at Memphis' legendary Ardent Studios, the Hip's sound is punchier and more assertive than on their 1987 EP. But it wasn't just Don Smith or the recording studio that made a difference in the Tragically Hip's sound, Gord Downie and company's songwriting had improved exponentially in the intervening two years. Anthemic tunes like "Blow at High Dough" and "New Orleans is...

I am currently slavishly laboring on a review of the Tragically Hip's debut full-length Up To Here , because I know my dear readers are dying to immerse themselves in my high-minded opinion of this obscure album by this "only known in Canada" band. So anyway, keep your eyes peeled for that. I hope to have it up sometime this week. In other news, our kids are wrapping up their school years, which means spring orchestra concerts. I've always been a fairly emotional sort, but these concerts really turn on my tear faucet. I do my best to cover it up, but it's hard. These kids (not just my kids but all of the kids) are so damned good and they work so hard at perfecting their musical skills. I'm doubly stirred by the fact my older son is playing my grandfather's old violin. After my grandpa died in 1963, the violin was silenced. I inherited it in the mid-1990s. Though I had it reconditioned to make it playable again, I never did pick it up myself. At...

Last night, I finally finished Bob Mehr's Trouble Boys , his excellent and incredibly detailed biography of the Replacements. First of all, I always knew the Replacements were NOT saints, but I had no idea the extent of their bad boy mayhem. Bob Stinson, Tommy Stinson, Paul Westerberg, and Chris Mars all drank like fish. In fact, it seems that for about a decade, they subsisted almost exclusively on alcohol. It's a goddamned miracle that they--with the exception of Bob Stinson--are still alive, based on the abuse their bodies--specifically their livers--have taken over the years. In addition to their prolific booze consumption, they routinely trashed tour buses, hotel rooms, and had little respect for any kind of authority figure. The book is littered with examples of self-destructive behavior. I'm not complaining, though. The book is highly entertaining, and the band's hijinks left me either laughing or simply thinking, "What the fuck?! They actually DID that?!...