Category Archives: Music

So I’ve done it again: a second attempt to solicit from CIBC an explanation as to why their ATMs insist my “transaction is complete” before, not after, handing over my money. I mean, we all hate banks, right? Do they really have to rub our noses in their supreme power by informing us that, as far as bankers are concerned, a withdrawal “transaction” consists solely of debiting our accounts an appropriate amount? Whether or not we receive any of our money is, it seems, immaterial.

I wrote to the bank some time ago to complain about this dismissive view of their customers. I received no response. And in such circumstances, the best option is to wait a year or two before acting. It’s something I’ve learned from OC Transpo, which somehow received favourable press this week by responding to customers’ complaints about reduced service… 14 months after effecting said reductions. We’ve listened to concerns, our public-transit service proudly stated, and after waiting just over a year, we’ve acted in the best interests of our riders.

Well done, OC Transpo. And as for the bank, I’m now playing the waiting game. I will, of course, keep you up to date as things develop. Continue reading →

Even for New York City, it had the feel of a special night. The Killer, Jerry Lee Lewis, in concert at the legendary country and blues bar Tramps, an intimate venue close to my heart — it’s where I first saw Neil Hamburger and last saw Dave Davies. It’s also where I once joined a full house to catch Buddy Guy play a lacklustre set, secure in the knowledge that most in attendance were present not to see the great bluesman but because Eric Clapton was known to be in town. And, naturally, Slowhand wouldn’t miss a chance to join his buddy Buddy, right?

Wrong. And I can hardly blame Buddy Guy for treating his audience with as little respect as they were treating him. That he at one point broke into a few bars of Sunshine of Your Love, while gazing somewhere stage right at a phantom surprise guest, was an especially nice touch on the master’s part. Continue reading →

On the other hand, though I’ve seen Hilotrons dozens of times, I am not about to miss tonight’s show. It’s being billed as the final Hilotrons concert, and it’s sure to equal or surpass any of those final Who, Bowie or Stones concerts from years past. There are a number of good shows happening locally this evening, but unlike The Who, Bowie and the Stones, Hilotrons may well play only one last concert.

It likely does mean, however, that I will not be among the gate-crashers at tomorrow’s record convention at St. Anthony’s Hall. Fortunately, I preemptively lessened any anticipated disappointment by this morning bravely fending off thousands of bargain-hungry seniors at Woodroffe United Church’s annual bazaar, thumbing through the handful of dusty LPs on offer while attempting to converse with a humourless fellow collector. “Mind if I start from this end?” I asked. No response. “Anything worthwhile?” I asked. Again, nothing. One further attempt to break the ice, in the form of recommending an Ahmad Jamal record, went nowhere. Continue reading →

Tonight, the man Bob Dylan once called Bruce Springfield — back when Bob could still pull rank — returns to the edge of town for a show that has local media salivating. Rave reviews are a foregone conclusion. Thousands will call it the concert of the year. I will not be attending. I’ve seen the man twice: once with band; once without. I’m covered.

Not that I didn’t enjoy the shows. Moreover, on both occasions I lobbied to be the chosen reviewer for the Sun, putting forth the argument that I could provide the public with something it had not seen since October 1975, when Time and Newsweek magazines anointed Springsteen boss, by simultaneously planting his working-class mug on the cover of both magazines. Since that week, opinions on the legendary rocker have been firmly cast. Consequently, no review of a Springsteen show, or album, has conveyed an effort to be objective. Continue reading →

The mere act of attempting something for a third time has provided us with two enduring, and contradictory figures of speech: three-time loser; third time’s the charm.

Today, for the third time this week, I journeyed into Ottawa’s west end to meet with a veteran local rocker. The idea was/is to chat about his 1980s band, in order to shed some light on a bygone era in Ottawa’s music scene. And this third time was no charm.

In his defense, while late, the man did leave me a message indicating that he had turned up a few minutes late at the restaurant but did not see me there. It’s likely I was still there when he arrived; it’s a busy restaurant. Regardless, we missed each other. Again. Continue reading →