Alan's psychedelic breakfast...

Rise And Shine
("Oh..uh..me flakes... scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, toast, coffee, marmalade. I like marmalade... porridge..any cereal, I like all cereals...oh god...")
Sunny Side Up
("Breakfast in Los Angeles, macrobiotic stuff...")
Morning Glory

Driving to the gig. All that electrical stuff I cant be bothered with that its so fiddly. Oh god.....

I've been lax. Sorry, but I just haven't had either the energy, motivation or inspiration to write anything recently. Then quite casually and I'm certain unintentionally Liv inspired me on the drive home from radiation today. Once again, we are going to talk about food. Not specific food, but the location it comes from. Do you know when you have that meal, or food item from one specific place that is just perfect? That no matter where else you have the same thing from it just isn't the same? Whether its the seasoning of the grill, the chef that doesn't wash his hands, or the lingering flavour of bleach on the cutting board - there is that intangible quality, that just can't be found anywhere else.

This is a story about breakfast.

Breakfast, how often did I hear it was the most important meal of the day? I love breakfast, but I am so very particular about it.  When you are a kid, or at least when I was a kid. It was all about sugary goodness, Count Chocula, Frankenberry, Boo-berry, Sugar Smacks, Captain Crunch etc. These were all rare treats, I think I would get the small box whenever I finished off a big box of Corn Flakes, Rice Krispies or Shreddies. Breakfast Monday to Friday was cereal. The weekends would be a family gathering of bacon and eggs - mom's were scrambled, dad's over easy - cooked in bacon drippings.

Breakfast was the first thing I learnt how to cook - as a boy scout merit badge. That was thirty years ago - do you think I'd learnt to wear a shirt to protect from bacon splatter in that time?

Sadly, no.

Breakfast waned during the teenage years, skipped during the week, and only consumed on the weekends when the smell of bacon wafted upstairs to waken me from my lazy teenage slumber.

That all changed at university though. I became a regular on Friday nights at a place called Father and Sons, a lot of beer lead to pounding hangovers - which meant I needed the best hangover cure the following morning - grease.

Bacon, eggs, sausage, home fries, tomato, mushrooms, eggs - runny, toast, coffee, o.j. - all of that was $9.95 and of course the all important Tabasco sauce. It was good, but not quite right. It did set a standard by which all others were judged, that is until one morning when I went to the Royal Oak for my grease special.

They had quite the menu - omelette's, kippers and toast, welsh rarebit, eggs florentine, and a host of other items. But, what I wanted, what I needed, was the big breakfast - the grill. And, oh did they have it. Eggs, toast - thick cut Texas style, a banger - not some piddly little sausage link, home fries, tomato, mushrooms, bacon and steak - a real steak an 8oz sirloin and of course coffee. The o.j. was extra, but who cares, they'd serve me Guinness before 10am.

I'd found my meal.

It probably contained my caloric content for the week let alone day, but I was a busy, hard drinking student. The Tabasco, that most significant condiment was right there on the table as well.

Sadly, I moved off of campus and was left looking for a new place for breakfast. Many a day went by where I wandered in a dreary haze, unable to face up to the grey dawn, without my magical weekend breakfast.

As soon as I found a place it seemed to close, or was inconsistent in the quality of what I got.

Then one day,when all hope was lost, my problems were answered.

A Royal Oak opened in my neighbourhood!

Even better I got a job working there, on weekends.

I got to eat for free!

More importantly, it was just as tasty as it had always been.

This went on for a few years, until I started working elsewhere. As much as I wanted to storm out and quit in a dramatic fashion, I just couldn't. I knew my addiction to that big breakfast would be too powerful.  I couldn't burn the bridges at the Oak -where would I go for breakfast?

I had my dalliances. Flirtations with other places for breakfast. Zak's diner for example - there breakfast came with baked beans as well, but no alcohol. Well, that just wasn't going to do.

The Glebe Cafe - well, that was lousy service and inconsistent, too small and too expensive.

The Manx - Ok. The Manx breakfast was awesome, that summer savoury sausage was one of the best things I've ever had. The atmosphere was fantastic, the staff was great and friendly, they served beer - and good beer as well. And the price was spot on as well.

Only trouble was, it was just that little bit too far too go. I mean, she was a great girlfriend to have and enjoy when the weather was fine. But, when those cold winds blew or that rain was pulsing down, she just wasn't good enough to pull me away from my true breakfast love.

So, it was back to the Oak Glebe 

What more could I ask for?

Times changed, and a true love called me away. I was beckoned overseas - and I've been searching high and low for a good breakfast ever since.

Everything fails.

The bacon just doesn't taste right.

The steaks are crap coming in at 100gm sliced off a piece of frozen rib fillet

The sausages are these horrid mass produced beef instead of pork sausage links

Even the eggs don't taste the same.

Most importantly, almost no Aussie restaurant has Tabasco. It's either black sauce - its called Worcestershire sauce people! Or the ubiquitous tomato sauce, its not even ketchup.

Even working in the industry I wasn't able to replicate that special meal from the Oak. No matter what I tried, it just didn't cut it.

So, no matter where I go, I try the big breakfast grill - always hoping to find the replacement for that long lost love. Whenever the smell of bacon wafts through the air, my nose quivers, my heart goes pitter patter -  but that might just be the cholesterol blockage, and I run inside hoping, hoping to satisfy that long ago memory.

A Beautiful Mind

I found out that I lost a friend this week.

I don't know all of the circumstances and frankly, I don't want to know.
I want to believe that he was doing what he loved most in this world.

This post certainly is not meant to be a eulogy, I have not the heart to express how I feel, for the grief is still too near. If I were a worthy man of letters, I would be able to come up with something that would put Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw to shame. Sadly, everything that comes to mind, seems banal and unworthy. Bill always, chided is literally a little to harsh, but had a snicker at me being a lapsed Catholic. Perhaps then, it is fitting for me to quote from Cardinal Ratzenberger's eulogy to Pope John Paul II.

 "Follow me." The Risen Lord says these words to Peter. They are his last words to this disciple, chosen to shepherd his flock. "Follow me" - this lapidary saying of Christ can be taken as the key to understanding the message which comes to us from the life of our late beloved Pope John Paul II. Today we bury his remains in the earth as a seed of immortality - our hearts are full of sadness, yet at the same time of joyful hope and profound gratitude. These are the sentiments that inspire us, Brothers and Sisters in Christ, present here in Saint Peter's Square, in neighbouring streets and in various other locations within the city of Rome...

This passage resonates with me for two reasons. The first, I would like to believe that the streets of Toronto will be just as full for Bill's funeral. If I could be there I would.
The second is much more personal and in a way selfish. For those that read this for the first time and don't know me, I'm dying. The cancer is winning. I've been thinking a great deal about what death entails. Having been raised as a Catholic, I can't help but think of what comes next. Who will greet me into the afterlife, after all I am going to die before all of my contemporaries and family. It would be a very comforting thought if it was my friend Bill.

Follow me is right.

If? When? We are to meet again, we would finally be able to settle many a theological argument started over good food and single malt. I loved playing the Devils Advocate and challenging Bill's intellect, happily I stumped, frustrated and vexed him on more than one occasion. If I greeted Bill with a drink and a mischievous grin, he knew I had thought up something challenging and usually greeted me with "What blasphemy have you thought of this time?"
I will always cherish those conversations.
I will always cherish the laughter and good natured mocking. I used to tease Bill that it was unfortunate he wasn't Catholic as I would have actually gone to confession and told the truth. Bill's typical response was that I would have been a credit to the Inquisition, I'm still not certain how to take that one.
One thing I won't miss is playing Trivial Pursuit with him. Playing, implies everyone gets a turn, woe to you if you followed Bill, on more than one occasion he finished on one go. But, it was that very versatility that appealed to me. You could turn to him as friend, teacher, and confidant. He never objected to a topic that I was aware of, he would listen and then with sage wisdom, not just reply but open a dialogue. I've yet to find that vast knowledge and eloquence since we parted ways for Trinity and Australia.

Today, it is true all my heart is full of sadness, sadness at the loss of someone that I had the joy to know for even the most fleeting of moments. I am also filled with a profound gratitude to know that such a remarkable person will be there to greet me on my next adventure and what better teacher could I ask for?

Follow me, really does say it all.

The history of Rock'n'roll part one.

Just let me hear some of that rock'n'roll music
Any old way you choose it
It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it
Any old time you use it
It's gotta be rock - roll music
If you wanna dance with me
If you wanna dance with me

I have no kick against modern jazz
Unless they try to play it too darn fast
And change the beauty of the melody
Until it sounds just like a symphony
That's why I go for that rock'n'roll music
Any old way you choose it
It's got a backbeat, you can't lose it
I love music.
Jazz, rock, punk, classical, country, dance, reggae, alternative, folk, dub, trance - get the idea? Chuck hit the nail right on the head, any old way you choose it, it's got a backbeat, you can't lose it. I think the only qualification or criteria I have is medley. I can't abide the barking noise that is so commonly found in thrash and death metal, but I've never been able to get it. It doesn't strike me as a great loss, maybe someone can find a piece with redeeming value that will introduce me to the nuances of that particular genre. I am open to it, but I'm not going to go looking and researching myself.

My musical birth began like so many others with children's music. I come from a time before the mania of the Wiggles and High 5, and whatever other money generating phenomenon that came before them. In fact, I would be so bold as to say I come from the first generation of children's music. I can clearly remember the LP's of Raffi, Sharon, Lois and Bram, Marlo Thomas and her Honey on Toast recordings. I'm sure I've forgotten some, but the melodies and songs still resonate deep in my memory.
Someone will say something, and like any properly brainwashed sleeper agent I will recite the lyrics to some long forgotten song: Nothing can go wrongo, I'm in the Congo - Sorry Raffi, I'm sure Jeremiah the Giraffe had no worries, but I think the people of Rwanda and The Democratic Republic of the Congo might beg to differ.
Another Raffi gem - It's mine and you can have some, with you I want to share it. If I share it with you, you'll have some too . I've caught myself on multiple occassions saying that to Arwyn.
That was the birth of music, the infancy.
When I learned to crawl, musically speaking. I found my mother's old 45's lots of Elvis, some Beatles, Patsy Cline, The Chiffons, Lesley Gore, the Shangri-Las and so on. That kept me occupied for a few years, but it wasn't enough. It didn't feel right, it just wasn't music that spoke to me on any sort of level. By this time, my parents had invested a large sum of money in a stereo system, turntable, reciever, tape deck, decent speakers. I don't remember the brand of any of them, but I do remember the lights, the hum everytime you turned it on, the oversized volume control, the two VU meters.
I was entranced.
Sadly, my parents record collection just didn't cut the mustard. I don't think any ten year old will appreciate Roger Whittaker, the Soundtracks to Porgy and Bess, the Rose, or Oliver. There would have been 40 or so more albums in there, but those are ones that I can clearly remember.
I needed something good to listen to.
This is where my uncles come in.
Thank you to Bill and Chuck.
I'm grouping the two of you together because I don't know who owned which album.
I can clearly remember trips to my Grandparents house and being allowed to sit in the front room with the black and white headphones on flipping through the stack of records.
Listening to music, alone and uninterrupted with quality headphones is still one of my greatest pleasures. Everytime I slip them on and slide back into the chair I feel like the guy in the Maxell tape cassette ad's from the early 80's everyone who is old enough will know which one. But for those who aren't:

Back to the music.

I went from crawling to running.
It was the same as in the movie Almost Famous when Anita gives her collection to William, it was mind expanding.
It was in this collection that I found:
The Cars - Panorama
The Police - Zenyatta Mondatta, Ghost in the Machine, Regatta de Blanc
Kansas - Point of Know Return
Styx - The Grand Illusion
Rolling Stones - Exile on Main Street and Some Girls
The Who - Tommy
and most importantly I found Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon, Wish you were here and the Wall (which I always listened to sercretly, pretending I had something else on, knowing that it would have been subversive and disapproved of)
There was more there, but those are the ones that stand out.
And what stand out they are.
Soon, I was buying my own stereo, a simple little system which didn't match my parents, but it was mine and it was bought with a job that my uncle Bill helped me get delivering papers for the London Free Press.
I want to give Bill a quiet golf clap at this point - you the man!
Music has influenced my persona so deeply over the years I wouldn't be who I am without the artists I listened to and I never would have found these bands at such a young and impressionable age without Bill.
Once more - you the man!
I was soon buying my own music. Trips to the record stores of Sam the Record Man, Music World and Record Runner. I must admit, I fell from the lofty heights that Bill set, but that was inevitable given what was available.
My first musical purchases, in order.
The Boomtown Rats - The Fine Art of Surfacing. I still own it, I still love it. Bob Geldof's second greatest achievement after Live Aid.
Kiss - Rock and Roll Over.
J. Geils Band - Freeze Frame. This one almost got confiscated for the content of Piss on the Wall.
Abba - The Album - I was eleven OK? Shut up! What were you listening to at the same age?
I redeemed myself with the next purchase.
Genesis - Genesis - I still like this one.
Yes - 90125 I know its terribly dated, but I still like Owner of a lonely heart.
The Police - Syncronicity

After that the records become a bit of a blur. The trips to the mall became weekly, something new all the time. Some were influenced by the video hits programs - see Gowan and Platinum Blonde. Others by friends re: Judas Priest - that one still makes me laugh, teenagers with black leather with studs trying to be tough and macho like Rob Halford - hahhahahhaha I wonder what they think now?

So yes, I did listen to some musical crimes. However, the greatest musical crime ever commited came to me by way of my Aunt Mary, although it wasn't her fault. I was thirteen at the time, and was nosing through her collection - which included 8-tracks! And I found the coolest album cover ever! A red picture with a cemetery, demonic looking headstones and a barbarian blasting out of the grave on the coolest looking motorcycle ever! This albums artwork was the Rosetta stone for all heavy metal albums. I put it on, thinking Mary is fucking cool! I was greeted with: Bat outta Hell. Hmmm somethings not right here. Why aren't my eardrums bleeding? Why don't I want to bang my head? Let's skip to the next track.
You Took the Words....
On a hot summer night.
Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
Will he offer me his mouth?
Yes
Will he offer me his teeth?
Yes
Wlll he offer me his jaws?
Yes
Will he offer me his hunger?
Yes
Again. Will he offer me his hunger?
Yes
And will he starve without me?
Yes
And does he love me?
Yes
Yes
On a hot summer night.
Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?
Yes
I bet you say that to all the boys.

It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning
There was a fog crawling over the sand....
Oh God! Please make it stop! What? What? What is this? Seriously, this was false advertising! I wanted the devil to be singing to me, I wanted my head to be spinning like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, I wanted my eyeballs to bleed based on the artwork. It took me years to get over it. It wasn't until my late twenties when I was able to sit down and listen to it from beginning to end that I was able to appreciate Meatloafs vocals and Jim Steinman's composition. So I do owe you a thankyou Mary, if not for introducing me to Meatloaf, then for showing me that you can't judge a book by its cover.

Cousin Richard introduced me to Paul Hyde and the Payolas, Kim Mitchell, the Spoons and a host of other Canadian music I would have overlooked. To this day I still think Sandy Horne is hot in the video for Romantic Traffic.

Paul and Barb - Had an impressive and expansive collection. I could sit for hours and never be able to decide on what to listen to. I hope they forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I think I discovered Frank Zappa and Captain Beefheart through them. How do you say thank you for that?

Lionel - He was a bit older and it showed in his music, but he added to who I am as well. It was at the house in Stoufville, Harry Chapin Greatest Stories Live and Cat Stevens Tea for the Tillerman.
Fuck me!
This is what song writing and story telling is all about. Chapin is a true troubador and I challenge anyone, to listen to Tillerman in its entirety and not say wow to its flow and all round brilliance.

I wasn't even fourteen and I already had all of this burning in my brain.
The bar had been set incredibly high, for what my friends could introduce me to.
I hope I remembered everything correctly, I didn't leave anyone out intentionally. These are just the ones that have become legend and ingrained into my persona. So much more awaits, high school, my baptism into punk and ska, university radio, Tom Waits and Johnny Cash!

To be continued in History of Rock'n'Roll part two....