TNT

It was a blindingly sunny day in mid-winter and I was headed over to some girl's house. For those of you who didn't grow up or have never even been north of the 49th parallel let me try to explain a sunny day in the middle of winter. There are actually quite a few of them. The sky is bluer than in summer when often a white haze covers like a thin wash but it is a deeper blue like you can almost see outer space through it. The sun reflects off the snow covered road, off the snowbanks, off the roof tops like a room full of mirrors. It gives your eyes nowhere to rest. The sunny days are often the coldest as clouds act as an insulating blanket trapping what little heat there is and giving us all a little relief. It's dry and crisp and the spectacular sunshine almost makes you forget the cold

So anyway, I'm 13, turning 14 and two or three of my friends and I were invited over to some girl's house that was about a ten minute walk from my house. I don't remember being particularly interested in any of the girls but I've always had a bad mix of wanting every girl to like me the most and being interested in any girl who actually does. So despite having no specific intentions, I was dressing to impress. I had had girlfriends since elementary school but around this time it seemed to be changing, girls learned the word "immature" and fell in love with the sound, and guys I hung out with started to shape their style of dress and the music they listened to with an eye to what the ladies liked. This still hadn't occurred to me, or if it had I somehow thought my unique coolness would impress them more than if I just parroted the other boys' style.

I put on my tight black jeans, probably a three quarter sleeve concert shirt, maybe a jean vest (though I hope not), parted my longish hair down the middle, all the while blasting TNT by AC/DC out of my one speaker Sears cassette player. I was so pumped. I knew all the words. I had known this song for a few years already but for some reason it had made a big resurgence and was on heavy rotation in my bedroom around this time. I headed out most likely hatless and possibly gloveless as well. The only thing stronger than the forces of nature is a teenager's desire to be cool. I walked along singing the song over and over just under my breath. " See me ride out of the sunset on your colour TV screen. Out for all that I can get, if you know what I mean. Women to the left of me, and women to the right. Ain't got no gun. Ain't got no knife but don't you start no fight."

With the sunshine and the song in my head I was about to explode by the time I got to the house. I went in and my friends were there. They were wearing pastel polo shirts and (perhaps) light blue faded jeans. Their hair was gelled and spiked in what was at the time a Corey Hart inspired hair style ( the important part was to have your bangs combed down onto your forehead while the rest stood straight up). We sat around listening to Honeymoon Suite, Platinum Blonde and what was everyone's favorite song that day, Komerade Kiev or maybe Eurasian Eyes by the above mentioned Corey Hart. I didn't know what to think. I felt betrayed by my friends. They couldn't actually like what was going on here. Why are they putting on this act. I had no chance of the girls liking me most so I quickly found a hundred reasons to hate them. I guess I could have thought "Well, I'm just different, I guess. To each his own." But that was not me. No sir!

" What the fuck is going on here? What's wrong with these idiots? How can I demonstrate to them what a wrong turn they've taken and that the path they are on leads to Dicktown? Your clothes make you look like a child trying to win his mother's approval by making his bed and this music is joyless. I'm 13! I'm alive! I want music that makes me feel bigger and better than I am, makes me feel like I want to hug/ punch someone or anyone! How can I right this ship? I know! You have to hear TNT!"

Battle Hymn of the Apartment (3)

As I move into my 21st home, I take a brief moment to look back at the places I've lived. (Sorry, took a bit of a break to get married)

Clark and Bernard - I shared this place with a girl I met at Open Da Night (local hipster cafe). Actually it was her place. I have few distinct memories of this place as I spent a good deal of the time at my girlfriend Catherine's place. I was burgled for the third time. It had a big bathtub, the kind with feet. It was dark and the couch smelled like cat pee.

I headed out to my studio. It was after dark, but it was winter so it could've been 5 just as easily as it could've been 9. I wanted to bring a stack of cardboard or a pile of wood or something to work with. I decided the best way to carry it would be to just hug it to my chest and walk quickly. It wasn't too heavy but it was too big for a bag and had too many loose pieces to be carried on my shoulder or under an arm. I went down the first three steps outside my door that stopped at a landing that allowed the neighbours steps to merge with ours, forming a narrower staircase that went down to the sidewalk. Those unfamiliar with Montreal should take note that most apartments have exterior staircases that generally go from the side walk up to the second floor. Sometimes they spiral or curve but just as often they are straight. These were straight. It saves room inside, providing more living space but are not ideal in the winter months where the constant yo-yoing temperatures, melting and freezing, make for a one way icy death ramp. I guess that could be avoided if you shoveled the snow and slush off of them regularly, but that was never the case anywhere I lived.

I stepped off the landing and onto the first step toward the sidewalk. I was immediately flat on my back. I remember thinking back to another ride down the stairs I had taken a few years back (Park and Bernard) that resulted in a pulled abdominal muscle that drug out into numerous months of mild pain to severe discomfort. My mistake in that case had been that I reached out, grabbed hold of, and held on to the hand rail. My feat flew towards the street while my hand remained anchored on the railing. My abs tried to follow my feet, stretching to the point of snapping. This time grabbing onto something wasn't an option so I hugged my arm load tightly and luged down the stairs. In a blink I was sitting on the sidewalk coming to grips with my little trip. I slowly got back to my feet expecting shooting pain in my back, tailbone or some deeply buried muscle that until now had never registered the slightest electrical impulse. To my surprise and relief, I felt nothing. I may have had snow up a pant leg but no bumps, bruises or contusions. It reminded me of that feeling you get when you wake up from a night out of championship level drinking to make your first trip to the toilet, bracing yourself for the throbbing headache, for the dizzy spins, for the stomach churning, and realise you have none of those symptoms. You feel reborn, having been given a second chance at a healthy and happy life. Live each day to the fullest. Ring the last drop drop from life. Spread your wings and embrace life's gifts. Go back to bed.

St.Urbain and Bernard - I moved one block west and from the south side of Bernard to the north side. Catherine and I had decided to live together. It wasn't the nicest place and this was the first time I felt the changes blowing threw Mile End. Apartments were taken the second a" for rent" sign went up. Rent had jumped considerably from the year before, despite laws to prevent exactly that. I went to see a place on Esplanade that was near the corner of Van Horne (a location barely considered Mile End a year before) and there were about 25 other people visiting it at the same time. We filed up the stairs and once inside I took a quick look around. The kitchen couldn't hold a table, the bathroom door hit against the tub, allowing to open only halfway, and the one bedroom was slightly larger than a bed. By the time my tour ended and I headed towards the door, a girl was handing a her references to the landlord, the first time I had ever seen that, and the landlord had agreed to let her have the place. The end of an era.

A few days after moving in I was severely injured foolishly carrying a hammond organ up the stairs. My lower abdominal, groin, hip, and inner thigh muscles were badly strained. I continued to work which involved a great deal of lifting. I thought I could exercise my way through so I continued roller blading, cycling and running. But things kept getting worse and by the time winter rolled around walking along the icy sidewalks was slow and excruciatingly painful. I would get home from work and sit in front of the TV and drink beer. Sitting wasn't much relief but the alcohol did relax the muscles which had seemingly balled up into a fist sized knot between my legs.

On one particularly icy evening I headed home from work around six thirty. I was already tired out from making my way to the bus stop and having to stand and be tossed around as the awful Montreal city bus jerked and swayed it's way up St.Laurent in rush hour traffic. On the last leg of my trip, the two block walk from the stop to my place, I could barely move my legs enough to take a step. I had no strength left in my thighs and stomach and could barely propel myself forward. Add to this the strength needed to stay upright and keep my footing on the sheer, icy surface and it was grueling. About a block left and I had to piss. Even at the best of times I'm not a good Holder-Inner. There's always the choice to be made between walking fast, or even running, but risking a quicker release of fluids, or keeping a slower steadier pace and focusing on keeping the flood gates closed. In this case speeding up was not an option. Not to get too graphic, but the muscles normally used to hold it in had been severely compromised by my injury.

I somehow managed to get myself safely to the bottom of my, once again, ice covered stairs. I could hardly lift my foot high enough to put it onto the first step and as I attempted to do so I felt all bladder control cease. I put my foot back down and just stared up at my door. Catherine wasn't home. I couldn't get any help. I could either try to keep from pissing, which wouldn't be a permanent solution, or walk up the steps. But I couldn't do both. It was dark. It was cold. I was exhausted from being in pain for months, going to one useless, clueless, seemingly unconcerned doctor after another, living the life of a man in his seventies and getting very little sympathy for it. I couldn't stand it anymore. My muscles were twitching and stabbing me and I started to cry. I just didn't care anymore and I let go. My pants were soaked down both legs and turned freezing cold from the winter night as it took about five minutes to climb the stairs and let myself in. I took a hot shower, changed and took my place in front of the TV with a cold beer. When Catherine came home I wanted to tell her. I thought it might seem too pathetic but a bigger part of me wanted, not only sympathy, but a realization and acknowledgement that, granted I wasn't dying of terminal cancer, but that I was going through a rough patch. I told her what had happened and that it had upset me so much that I had cried for the first time in years. She laughed.Only for a couple of seconds, until she realized that it was not meant as an amusing anecdote. She then changed her tone and consoled me briefly, albeit superficially, and that was that.

I should have realized then it was over. We broke up four months later.

******************************************************************************

Catherine and I broke up maybe a month before the lease was up and I decided not to get tied down with another lease. I wanted to get out of Montreal but I hadn't decided where to go yet. But I had to stay somewhere.

DeLorimier and Sherbrook- First, I spent a couple of months in my brother Mike's laundry room. I got a single futon from the store I was working at and it fit snugly between the washing machine and the wall. I had room to put my dresser at the foot of the bed and that was it. I somehow managed to keep my spirits up despite being 29 and living in a laundry room.

Marianne and Papineau- Next, I moved in with a coworker, his sister, and his friend (or two friends?). It was a nice place near a rejuvenated Mount Royal and a decent tavern for watching hockey. A typical Plateau apartment with the high ceilings, moulding, hardwood and all that. Everyone was five years or more younger than me and that was a bit irritating. I didn't spend too much time at home though. I had decided to move to Japan and had quit my job. Free time galore.

During this period I spent most of my time at my studio. It was on Laurier near St.Urbain. It was small but I never really felt like it was cramped. The windows faced the street so I could waste time watching people walking by if I was so inclined. It was a bit hot in summer but in winter, because of a "heat included" rent policy, it was toasty warm. I remember cranking the heat, listening to the Habs losing on the radio and painting on many a cold February night. It's hard to believe how good I had it. I think it was 150$ a month, it was bright, and within walking distance of my home. As I begin to look for a studio in cramped little, oppressive rental lawed Nagasaki, I tear up thinking about that little room I spent a couple of years working in.

I moved my single Futon in and slept there a couple of times a week. Big windows with no curtain was the only drawback. After a night of drinking I ended up back at my studio. I had a recording session the next day. We were finishing up the vocals on the Motorboats cd. We were supposed to record a song that had yet to be named and had no lyrics. I woke up to a grey morning. One of those cold, wet, heavy days. The snow is sticky and clumps up under your boots as you walk. The heat was cranked up but you could feel it fighting to keep the cold at bay and you could tell that it was just barely winning. I had good idea for a melody. I remembered about how my old roommate used to talk about building a house on sand versus building a house on rock. By which he meant basing your life on God or on some other false belief. I thought about how I've tried to find that person I could rest on, that I could relax with, not worrying which habit or mistake, or personality deficit was going to come back to be used against me. But overtime I realized that I was building on sand. Now, I didn't find God but I did write some o.k. lyrics. And I realized that I had to be the rock. I had to be solid. I had to build my own foundation.

Battle Hymn of the Apartment (2)

As I move into my 21st home, I take a brief moment to look back at the places I've lived.

Parthenais- This was one of the worst years of my life so not a lot of funny stories here. I was living alone again and barely keeping it together until I was no longer keeping it together at all. I can remember one incident (actually it's really foggy so bear with me) that was odd, a little sad but I'd say ultimately amusing.

Around late morning or early afternoon on what seems like it was a Sunday, there was a knock on my door. Unexpected knocks are rarely a good thing. I opened the door to a girl who may have been crying but at the very least looked quite distressed. And I say a girl but she was older than me (I was 21). I'd say she was near thirty but not over and looked very Plateau, French, semi-artsy with dark brown hair, a slim build. She was good looking without being exceptional in any way.

She asked to use my phone. It was an emergency. I can't remember what was wrong with her phone. She may have moved in recently and hadn't had her phone connected yet. Not wanting to get involved in the emergency any more than I needed to, I asked no questions and let her in to use the phone. My phone was only a few feet from the door so she stepped in and dialed 911.

She said there's an emergency. Please send an ambulance. Yes. Yes. No. My dog has been electrocuted and is having a seizure. What ?! What do you mean? You won't help a dog?! Just because he's not human you're going to let him die?!?!?! She hung up. She unnecessarily explained the situation to me and said her boyfriend was with the dog now but he didn't know what to do either. She walked out the door and sat on the stairs just outside my apartment and wept. I stood in the doorway looking at her.

I couldn't imagine what skills I had that would make it useful for me to go up to her place and try to resuscitate the dog. There wasn't much I could add. I thought about consoling her but I really doubted that I could do so convincingly. I've never been good at overcoming half-heartedness. I've always felt that people can smell when I'm being insincere and will be insulted while I will just feel shame. Bad all around. So I don't bother. She was fully engrossed in her weeping and didn't even look up. I started to be a little annoyed that ,at a time in my life where the slightest emotional breeze would lay me out flat on my back, I had been dragged into this drama. I closed the door.

A week or so after she came to apologize. Her dog had survived. Apparently it was epileptic. She invited me to eat brunch at her place with her and her boyfriend. I was unable to refuse free food so I went. It was uncomfortable. We ate waffles. I never spoke to them again.

* Brief Interlude*-  I spent two or three months back at my parents' house in Jonquiere. Nothing at all that I care to remember about that time. What would be the point of all the suppression,then? Oh, Habs won the cup!! Lots of beer at Chez Max with Anna and some strange girl. WoooooHoooooo!

Park and Bernard- Back in the city. I decided to live with Andrew and I guess at that time we had known each other through Pat for  three years or more. I wouldn't say we were close friends at the time but we shared friends, sense of humour, and taste in music.

Andrew said that he found an apartment on Park (so far west!!) and Bernard (so far north!!). Near the Rialto he said. I was very skeptical but I knew his girlfriend lived around there so I went along to take a look. The place wasn't bad and it was cheap. It was a strange layout. I swear a third of the area was closets. The place would have been a fair size if you knocked out two or three of the huge, useless closets.

After seeing the apartment we headed out for a bite to eat.We stopped into Zorba's. The walls were covered with dark, thick, porous wood that looked like it had been soaked in oil. It was hard to tell whether The wood walls were the the source or receptacle of the overwhelming scent. It was a pungent mix of slowly roasted, marinated lamb, garlic, onion, warm pita, and cement thick yogurt. The hefty twin waitresses sat at a back table with various friends and/or family members and while they didn't outright welcome you, they made you feel like you could share their space for a while. The curly haired, moustache sporting cook behind the counter always had a smile that seemed to be there because he knew what you were about to experience. I had eaten a fast food souvlaki before. One filled with over cooked chunks of chicken swimming in watery sauce that fell somewhere between thousand island dressing and garlicky mayonnaise. But this was not that.

It had everything your mouth could want: savoury meat, creaminess, tomato, crispy but soft warm roasted pita, thick biting onions... I was speechless. We headed back on our way and I still couldn't quite believe what had just happened in my mouth. We called the landlord and told him we'd be taking the place. Welcome to Mile End.

Park and St.Viateur- This was my first experiment in living with a girlfriend. Melainie and I had been together maybe two years (?) and seeing as we just lived down the street from each other and saw each other everyday, we thought(I thought) we might as well move in together. I took my friend Matt's place in Melanie's apartment at the corner of St.Viateur and Park. Matt and Andrew moved in together in a slightly weird apartment on the first floor, below us.

I mostly remember music when I think of the year spent here. I became aware of a lot of my favorite bands at that time: GBV, Wedding Present, Archers of Loaf, Magnetic Fields and more. But also, it was one of the most productive song writing and recording years of my life. My band, Trevor, had reformed with a new bass player , Flo, (are you happy now?) and a whole new batch of songs that I'm still quite fond of. I started a new band before Trevor were fully back in business, called the Motorboats and we played a successful debut concert.

I had gotten an old Fostex four track from Matt and it was the simplest four track machine I had ever used. Switch it on and go. I recorded hours of electronic instrumentals, experimenting with synths and beats through various broken speakers and cheap pedals. One amp in particular had a punctured speaker and moved around inside the cabinet. If I turned the base up to ten and played a beat on my Radio Shack synth the bass drum was so percussive you could feel the room shake with each thud. The hours spent with headphones on, absorbed in a recording, not being able to stop until it was done, not eating, sometimes staying up so late that I would skip classes, were some of the happiest times in my life. 

I had a cheap tape recorder and a dollar store tape that I would switch on and record myself just playing and singing anything that came to mind. I must have filled a few ninety minute tapes like this. I would often pick up the guitar, press record and without thinking and play the first thing that my hands felt like playing. I wrote most of my favorite songs this way. Some of these songs, in particular The Motorboats songs, got the full live recording treatment downstairs in Andrew and Matt's magic kitchen studio. Something about that kitchen made everything ring and echo. Everything sounded bright and deep with a strange melancholy tinge to it. That might just be me though. Whatever... anyone who has experienced recording in the magic kitchen can attest to it's powers.

Before the year was up Melanie moved out.

St. Urbain and St.Viateur - I came back from working a summer at a camp in New York state and moved in with my university classmate, Jonathan, and his brother. I think I spent two years here and the last few months, as Jonathan had gotten married, I had a replacement roommate. She was a cute eighteen year old whose name I honestly can't remember. Strange bit of trivia for you.

A million things happened while I was living here and narrowing it down has been hard. I did my last year of Painting and Drawing at Concordia while living here and it was a very productive time artistically. But that's boring. My cat died here. But that's too sad. I was robbed. But that's nothing special. I started to date a girl called Catherine. But more on that later.

The woman who lived downstairs was a kind Portuguese lady. She had an impressive garden in the back yard and it was definitely the best view I had ever had from the back of an apartment. She had zucchinis growing on those structures that they build so the vines can stretch out and stay off the ground. Zucchinis were everywhere! One vine even crept it's way onto my balcony up on the second floor. She told me I could eat any zucchinis that grew on my balcony and I think I ended up with two or three. I believe I cooked them intoå a tomato basil sauce. The best zucchinis I have ever eaten. Like candy! Usually they are pretty bland and just soak up the flavours they are surrounded by, but these were the center of attention. Delicious!

Oh, and the living room had ceramic tiles on the floor. The design on the tiles looked a lot like a vagina.

Hang On Sloopy

Yet another series gets underway on The Mighty Dawn Dart. Although until I post a second article lets not get too attached to this "series". My mind has turned to jelly in the stifling Nagasaki summer humidity and then congealed under the, at first refreshing but eventually liver failure inducing, air conditioning so the fast pace posting I was hoping for has not materialized. Welcome to the jungle baby! Welcome to the jungle, indeed!

I'd like to share with you some songs. These are not the greatest of all time. They actually are not part of any "Ten Best" nor do they represent any genre or era in Pop music. These are songs that I was exposed to as a child, perhaps I even loved them as a child, and they just stuck with me. Others grew into the level of appreciation I have for them now. These are songs that I have listened to on a pretty regular basis, at times more, at times less, for my entire life. Well, to be honest, I've drawn the line, for now, at ten years old. So, some of these songs I've had on semi-heavy rotation for the last 27 years, some for more. It would be interesting if you could somehow figure out how many times , in all forms form vinyl, cassette, cd, etc., you've heard certain songs over your lifetime. I wonder if the results would surprise some of us. Anyway, get to work on that itunes. Earn that "Genius" moniker.

I don't know when I first became aware of "Hang On Sloopy". I'm guessing I was under five and it was part of a bunch of songs that I loved as a kid such as Flying Purple People Eater, Shimmy Shimmy Koko Bop, and Pepperment Twist. Songs either squarely in the novelty category or flirting with it. Our summer family trips out to Moncton, NB, in the rolling fortress that was the 1976(?) Chrysler New Yorker were soundtracked by a single 8 track cartridge of great fifties/sixties songs like Devil in a Blue Dress, Runaway and Let's Dance. Sloopy may have been on that one too. It also, very likely, was on at least one cassette mix that my parents' friend, Fred, made and that I got hours of of pleasure from. I know Louie Louie was on there but it was the sax-heavy version by Paul Revere and the Raiders. It wasn't until years later that I heard the definitive Kingsmen version. Of the Louie Louie/Wild Thing songs (one of three major song groups from the time, the two others being the Little Latin Lupe Lu and Gloria groups) I for some reason identified most with Hang On Sloopy.

Uncharacteristically, I did a bit of research on the song and the performers of the version I think of when I think of the song, The McCoys. First off, I knew somehow, that the song was produced by a group of songwriter/producers who also played as The Strangeloves. The Strangeloves' big hit  was I Want Candy and they laid down the music for Hang On Sloopy hoping to release it as their next single. However, in a rush to beat The Dave Clark Five to the presses (they planned to release a version as well) they recruited a young band from Dayton, Ohio. The band was lead by a teenager by the name of Rick Derringer (!) The youngsters came in and laid down the vocal track as well as the guitar solo (still to this day I can't decide on which side of awful it falls). It's a cool story. The music definitely has The Strangeloves drum heavy arrangement style, also evident on another single by them Night Time. Rick Derringer obviously was blessed with some natural talent as he pulls off a fabulous vocal performance and he would go on to have a lengthy, if not C level, career.

What do I love about this song? The title is odd and it remains a mystery, at least to me, why the heroine of the story is named Sloopy. The role reversal on the lover from the wrong side of the tracks is quite unique as well. I've always loved the lyric " Sloopy let your hair down girl. Let it hang down on me." Again a little odd but so sweet and a bit sexy at the same time. The song kicks of at full blast with the rush of the chorus and quiets down for the whisper soft verse. The song reaches it's peak with some "shake it shake it"s and one of my all time favorite screams. The punches at the end tie it up in a nice little bow and if you're not smiling your not human.

A lot of people have talked about the mid sixties as a golden era and what I like about that time was a focus on hits. It seemed like it didn't matter how it got done. If you had to patch it together with studio musicians or some local garage band, you just wanted to get the next thing out there and outdo last week's sensation.If you created something to make the kids get up and move, great. If you created something beautiful and lasting, bonus. It's an urgency and energy that has long since left Rock/Pop music. In the age of earnest bands turning out 80 minute long albums every couple of years the rush of newness is more like an inescapable 10 000 mile wide lava flow. I think we can maybe still look to hip hop for that one up manship, and the search for the next beat, the next sound that knocks people back.

Oh well enjoy the song and don't be shy to let me know what you think of it.