Don’t Believe A Word I Say with Bob Segarini

These Kids Today! A&R Online Volume 35! And more!

So what did your dad want you to do…?

My generation is always whining about “These kids today”, which is exactly what every other generation whined about when their kids didn’t follow the path laid out for them. The path they wanted their kids to follow like they did. A path that was usually much better than the one you eventually took. Let’s face it, kids don’t always make the best decisions when left to their own devices…

I remember my father insisting that I go hunting with him.

I was 12.

He gave me a .20 gauge shotgun and a pair of hip-waders for Christmas one year, and one morning, hauled my ass out of bed before the roosters were awake, shoved a scalding hot cup of coffee at me, and told me to be in his pickup truck in 15 minutes.

Not unlike I am today, I had about as much desire to hunt and kill an animal, (in this case, a duck), as I have for sticking my tongue in an electric fan. My father, on the other hand, loved to traipse around in the mud at 5:00 o’clock in the morning in freezing weather, the rain pouring down on his Elmer Fudd hunting cap, armed with a shotgun or rifle, and Spotty, the family dog, excitedly circling his legs with his tail frantically wagging so fast it became a blur as my dad and his friends stalked their unarmed furry, or feathered, prey. I had spent many Sunday afternoons plucking ducks or pheasants after my dad would come home with a burlap sack full of dead birds, and instruct me to take ‘em into the garage and remove their plumage…and, sitting on an overturned bucket, I would pluck away, feeling sorry for the birds, and myself.

The payoff, of course, was always an amazing dinner of duck or pheasant, all the while being careful not to chip a tooth on a piece of bird-shot that had eluded my mother when she cleaned and cooked them. Still, thanks to Walt Disney and Warner Brothers, I was uncomfortable stripping Donald and Daffy of their dignity.

My dad loved to hunt. He took a yearly trip with his friends to the wilderness of Northern Idaho, flying part of the way, then traveling the rest of the way on horseback, with pack mules carrying their supplies. They would hunt elk, deer, and once, in his long johns in the middle of the night, my dad bagged a bear that surprised him on the way to the latrine. Even with much of the resulting meat distributed to family and friends, we never ran out of venison, elk, or bear meat for a long time. Twelve years after my dad had passed away, I was converting the family home’s garage into a screening room and found dozens of elk pelts in the rafters, trophies from my dad’s beloved two week trips with his buddies to rough it in the wilds of Idaho and shoot stuff.

I was lucky that he was just taking me out into the marshland around the San Joaquin Delta. We could drive all the way, and then walk about a mile through mud, tall grass, deep puddles, pussy willows and reeds, to reach our goal.

So there we are, four excited adult males, a happy water spaniel, and one soaked, shivering, miserable kid, who would rather be under the headboard of his bed in his secret hideaway where he keeps a stash of EC comics, a box of Ritz crackers, and a Ne-Hi Grape Soda, or playing the gift his uncle bought him for his 12^th birthday…a Student Prince f-hole acoustic guitar.

Instead, here I am dragging around a 20 gauge shotgun in the mud and rain with my father yelling “keep the barrel up!”, every couple of minutes. And although a 20 gauge is one of the smaller shotguns, good for ducks, rabbits, pheasant, quail, and doves, the sucker still weighed a hell of a lot more than the latest issue of Weird Science Comics.

Finally, we stop walking, and my dad and his cronies start tamping down the tall wet grass to make a blind. Spotty is just going apeshit, waiting impatiently for my dad to issue the ‘go fetch’ order as soon as someone knocks a bird out of the sky.

I’ve seen meth heads with less energy than that dog on a hunt.

The good news is, the sun is finally up over the horizon, at least I think it is, because the gray, drizzly sky is now a lighter shade of gray, and I can actually see the mud instead of just feel it squishing beneath my waders. My dad, a rare cigar clenched in his teeth, is grinning like a man that has just won the lottery, and standing thigh high in the cold delta river that wound its way through the property we were hunting on. My dad looked almost regal. I looked like I had been baptized in a water trough and rolled in the mud.

Now we’re hunkered down in the tall grass. Someone pulls out a duck call and lets loose with a series of quacks and squawks that are supposed to mean something to the ducks that hear it along the lines of, “Hey! It’s safe to fly and wander around here, we’re just more, happy ducks just like you!”

A big lie, that.

I resist the idiotic urge to stand up and yell, “Attention all ducks! Run! Hide! We have guns and we mean to use them on YOU!!!”, knowing that my father would probably shoot me or worse, think of me the way Hank Hill thinks of Bobby most of the time.

We wait. It rains. The dog is going to explode if we don’t shoot something pretty soon. My dad half-whistles ‘Turra Lurra Lurra’, then switches to Toot-toot-Tootsie Goodbye’. A flask appears. It is passed to me. The harsh taste of Christian Brothers brandy warms my throat, then stomach, the fumes burn my nose. Another duck call. We wait some more.

Then, suddenly, a badelynge of ducks becomes a brace when a couple of them take to the air. Shotguns are raised onto shoulders, and my dad says, ‘Bobby takes the first shot”. I raise my shotgun, I aim, I close my eyes…and pull the trigger…

Shotguns are loud.

I am startled by the sound. I am so startled that I relax my grip on the 20 gauge and it jumps out of my hands and off of my shoulder and comes down hard.

On my face.

The men are laughing, my dad has that, “You poor, stupid, jackass”, look on his face, and the dog is screaming through the grass, underbrush, mud and water towards where the duck, if I hit one, would be on the ground. Barking as he runs, frightened ducks are taking to the air in large numbers, and my dad and his friends open fire. This is not my idea of a good time. My face hurts, my ears are ringing, and I have embarrassed myself in front of my father. Ai least I thought I had embarrassed myself…until Spotty runs up with a duck in his mouth and drops it at my feet, gives me a wag and a woof, and turns heel to run back out to see if anyone else has nailed a bird.

My dad gives me a look of pride, his friends tousle my hair and give me a smattering of applause.

Today I am a man.

A man with a black eye, a dead duck, and a cold that lasted for 2 weeks.

Volume 35

You can hear all of these tracks by going to www.radiothatdoesntsuck.com/myWimpy.html and click on ‘A & R Online Volume 35’ Just Google the artists names for more information about them.

Colin James – Wavelength

The latest from Colin James, and as good as the rest of his fine catalogue. Colin brings his fine guitar playing and voice to every recording he’s made, and this offering is no different. One of the most consistent performers Canada has produced, he is able to infuse his songs with a confidence and energy that seems endless. It is always rewarding to hear original music that is true to it’s roots, as well as adding the personality and unique vision of its creator. Colin does that again and again, and if you have ever seen him live, you know what I’m talking about. I don’t know what it is with Canadian artists, but they seem to have so much fun on stage you can’t help but get caught up in it. Great track.

Donny Osmond – I Have You To Thank

That’s right…Donny Osmond. That Donny Osmond. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself really liking this track. I don’t know who the writer is, but he or she has crafted a fine song for the Osmond Brother, and Donny steps up and does a great job putting it across. Will this be a hit? I don’t know, maybe it is already, and if it isn’t, it should be.

The Free Press – Dirty Little Secrets-I’ve played The Free Press here before, and there’s a good reason for that. They are really good. Saw them again on Wednesday night at a great little venue called the Central, just down the block from Pie and my favoutrite watering hole, Southern Accent in Mirvish Village. I predicted great things for these guys, and I still think they are going to break through. See them live as soon as you get a chance, and listen for their killer cover of Poppa Was A Rolling Stone…

A Fourth World – Will You Ever Learn Is there a little early Pink Floyd in this track? Could be. I also hear that subtle psychedelic vibe that came out of L.A and Londoon England around the same time back in the ‘60’s. That is not to say this band sounds retro or dated, but rather, they hit a nerve that every music lover possesses, the one that makes you want to hear a song that has a message you can relate to, and a musical background that is both familiar and edgy at the same time. They appeared at the same venue as the Free Press, and you should seek them out as well.

The Shout – Alright, Tonight Okay, this is this week’s guilty pleasure. If this track wasn’t recorded live off the floor it sure sounds like it was, and that is a big plus. I am reminded of The Standells, The Seeds, and various other garage bands that fueled many a drunken party when I was in my 20’s. Haven’t caught ‘em live yet, but you can bet I’ll be at the first show I can get to. This is the kind of music that inspires young musicians to say, “I can do that”, the same way we all had bands that made us feel like we could make music and records. This sounds so real on every level. No fancy moves or technology is evident…just a band having a great time, and that is exactly what the doctor ordered.

Bob Dylan – Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

Oh my. I put this in here because I thought you might want to hear it. When first told Dylan was doing a Christmas album several months ago, I didn’t have a clue as to what it would sound like. I never would have guessed it would sound like this. This sounds more like an early ‘50’s Mitch Miller produced record than the work of a man who changed the course of contemporary music. Judge for yourselves, and a personal aside to Mr. Dylan…clear your throat once in a while, Dude…

Win of the Week

True, I was born without the sports gene, but this video makes me feel good. I do not know why, but it puts a smile on my face every time I watch it.

It might be because I love the fact that there must have been hundreds of missed shots to get these, that this guy has a ridiculous amount of time on his hands, and that he used that time to do something to entertain himself, and in turn, entertain us, and it might be because I love ‘oh wow!’ stuff that is real and not manufactured. No matter what you do, if you work at it, practice, and stay determined and focused, you can accomplish the seemingly impossible. That’s a much better message than competing with others for a prize, or beating someone to prove your worth, or elevating yourself at the diminishment of others. The work and dedication this young man put into what you see here is as important as the result, if not more so.

Enjoy…

Fail of the Week

NBC

First, they give Jimmy Fallon the hosting duties on Late Night, because Conan O’Brien has somehow managed to take over the Tonight Show’

Then, they give Jay Leno a prime time comedy show that reeks of desperation and is full of low brow shtick that might work after midnight

or at a Midwest State fair, but not up against quality, well written and entertaining shows like the CSI’s and cable fare. Now, they have cancelled one of my favourite new television shows called Trauma.

The reviews weren’t all that great for this hour long actioner, but when do critics ever get it right? The show was shot like a movie with stunning action set pieces, characters that were being slowly, and interestingly rolled out, their back stories and personalities being filled in as we went, and blended into the action far better than, say, the last Superman movie, which managed to put me, and millions of other people to sleep. The helicopter crash at the beginning of the first episode was well done and spectacular, and the location, San Francisco, has never looked better, or has been filmed so lovingly as it is here. All in all, a fine piece of work that has been cancelled, while the badly written ‘reality’ shows, and amateur singing, dancing, and dish twirling contests flourish. Once again, the public demands mediocrity, and the network delivers. Meh…

Parting Shot

This clip proves several things:
1. The British Invasion wasn’t all greatness.
2. White people should not be allowed to invent dance crazes.
3. Looking like Buddy Holly doen’t mean you have his talent.
4. A man can be light on his feet and in his loafers.
5. There have always been lousy, yet successful records.

Have a great weekend, see you on Monday…

That’s enough for now. Email me at segarini@fyimusic.ca with your comments, complaints, and thoughts…and remember…don’t believe a word I say.

Bob “The Iceman” Segarini was in the bands The Family Tree, Roxy, The Wackers, The Dudes, The Segarini Band, and Cats and Dogs, and nominated for a Juno for production in 1978. He also hosted “Late Great Movies” on CITY TV, was a producer of Much Music, and an on-air personality on CHUM FM, Q107, SIRIUS Sat/Rad’s Iceberg 95, (now 85), and now provides content for radiothatdoesntsuck.com with RadioZombie, The Iceage, and PsychShack. Along with the love of his life, Jade (Pie) Dunlop, (who hosts and writes “I’ve Heard That Song Before” on RTDS), continues to write, make music, and record.