Don’t Believe A Word I Say with Bob Segarini

The Rock Files for December 23^rd 2009

We will return to our exciting adventure after this brief word from…me.

Some of you may have noticed that there was no “Weekend Roundup” last Friday, nor a “Monday Morning Mailbag” this week. There are several reasons for this, all of which are pretty boring, and not really interesting enough to go into. Suffice it to say that this week and next, only Wednesday’s “The Rock Files” will be gracing the pages of FYIMusic’s ‘Don’t Believe A Word I Say’ column, but everything will be back to normal starting the first week of January. We had considered keeping up the pace through the holidays, but hey, even I have to catch up on sleep and my personal life occasionally. To make up for our little ‘vacation’, both today’s and next week’s Rock Files will be packed with extra goodies you would have normally gotten on Monday’s and Fridays, but not as much as normal, otherwise this would be no ‘vacation’ at all. I was reluctant, at first, to take any time off, but David Farrell, my Boss and the man who does the lion’s share of work around here, looks a little peak-ed himself, so I think a little slow-down will do both of us some well deserved good. In the meantime, Merry Christmas (or celebration of your choice) to all of you, drive safely, and don’t forget to unplug the tree when you go to bed.

Ice…

I have always liked a lot of ice in my drinks. Crushed ice for Bloody Marys, (it’s the secret to making a good one), letting the tomato juice filter down through it to blend with the vodka, Worcestershire, lemon, Tabasco, salt, pepper, horseradish, and a wee smidgen of dill pickle juice, and then a swizzle or two to perfection. With Jack and Coke, or Gin and Tonic, or Myers Rhum and Cola, it was cubes to the top of the glass before making the drink. A Martini shaker, (metal), with the right amount of gin or vodka and vermouth, with cubes added, shaken until the shaker is too cold to hold, frost forming on the outside and lightly burning your fingers, then pouring the contents into a chilled martini glass that had been swirled with a thimble full of good Kentucky Sweet bourbon or single malt scotch.  Fresh water clear, not cloudy or cracked, ice so cold it would stick to your fingers if they were wet. I also like shaved ice. Shaved ice is the basis of Sno-Cones, Gremlins (those great little cardboard containers of frozen orange juice you ate with a wooden spoon at Triple A ballgames in California), and the ingredient that keeps vichyssoise ice cold when served properly in a glass and sterling silver cooling dish, the shaved ice packed in around the bowl. I even had a fondness for dry ice. Friends had used it to pack Pink’s chili hot dogs in to bring to me in Northern California, and later, to Montreal and Toronto, until 9/11, after which Pinks Hot Dogs with chili, mustard and onions, and Nehi Grape soda were apparently deemed ‘dangerous’, and confiscated by security people at LAX who, I assume, would wait for the LAPD Hot Dog Disarmament Robot to diffuse them, or the thieving bastards ate them when no one was looking, thereby saving the people on the plane that was to carry Pink’s heavenly creations to me from sure, hot dog doom. We had also used dry ice to make something called ‘Icepac’, All you needed was a cardboard box, saran wrap, a pound of good pot, and the sun. You put the dry ice in the open cardboard box that had been lined with plastic wrap, dumped the pot on the ice, and sat it out in the sun until the dry ice evaporated. It infused the weed with the chemicals contained in the dry ice (ether being the most potent), and produced ridiculously powerful marijuana that provided a wicked, chemically enhanced, high. Now, of course, you can file that piece of information under, ‘What were we thinking?’ and stick to your Red Bull and vodka and your sister’s homegrown.

So I was a big fan of ice until the morning of January 18^th, 1972, when I was introduced to a variety I had never heard of…black ice.

The Rock Files: The Wack and Roll Circus Hits the Road – Part 9

Why they call it ‘black ice’, I do not know. It is invisible ice, or I’m sure Rand would have seen it when he pulled out to pass the slow pokes in front of us. At first, the tail end of the rented Buick just fish tailed a little causing a small, “Whoa”, to be chorused by the six of us inside the car. On its return trip, the fish tail went a little further in the opposite direction, not yet causing concern, but eliciting a slightly louder “Whoa”, from us except for Mel, who managed a little “Squeak” as she started to dig the nails of her left hand into Rand’s right leg. We were now accelerating past the slow pokes (an old couple, he in a toque, her in earmuffs) who didn’t even notice us as we wiggled past them, a look of complete obliviousness on both of their little apple-doll faces. While Norm is wrestling with the steering wheel, I look out the front window and notice 2 things. One, there is no one ahead of the slow pokes, so there is ample room to pull in front of them as soon as we clear their front bumper, and two, there is a gigantic 2-trailer Mack Truck heading directly for us going at least 65 miles an hour. The Buick, picking up speed, now fishtails completely perpendicular on the road. We are hurtling down the two lane highway sideways in the wrong lane, looking into the slow pokes car as we drift past them. They continue to look straight ahead, not at all aware of the 3 tons of Detroit steel passing them on the left or its passengers, who are now in the middle of the latest, and loudest, “WHOA!”. Rand lets out a yelp as Mel’s nails dig through the thickness of his pants and pierce the top layer of skin on his right leg. He throws the steering wheel into the slide, and the Buick tries desperately to straighten out…and for a split second…it does. We are past the slow pokes. Rand, in complete control of his facilities, signals right and starts to steer the car back into the proper lane, when he, and the rest of us, realize it is still fish tailing to the right. Our rear bumper just misses the front bumper of Ma and Pa Kettle, and our speed assures us of not having to worry about them anymore, but the truck…the truck is looming large. Even at the distance the truck continues to bear down on us from, we all hear the air horn when it lets out a long, loud, ominous bellow.

The Buick has decided it no longer has any interest in fish tailing and decides to go into a Full Goose Bozo spin. Why settle for a 180 degree nail biter when you can go the whole pants-wetting 360 degrees? Why indeed. I look up at one point to see that the elderly couple who are still traveling at about 50 miles an hour have finally noticed us, and that directly behind them the crew of B1RD are gaping out of the front window looking like open mouthed goldfish. This must look pretty fucking cool to them I thought, my stomach starting to churn from the rapid spin. We head into the second spin going at least 80 miles an hour and the strangest thing happens. There is no sound. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. People’s mouths are open, but I do not hear anything. There is no road noise. The truck’s air horn, louder than a church fart a moment ago, is suddenly cut off. And we are still spinning, but now, it is in slow motion, like a fucking action movie when they slow down a bullet emerging from the barrel of a gun. Everything is crystal clear, like the minute following eye drops, the whole world swims into perfect, pristine, view with a clarity bordering on mystical. I see two things. We are spinning down the highway in the wrong lane, and the truck is almost upon us. It is close enough to see the big “Mack” written across the nose above the radiator. Then, insanely, my brain says go limp. “What?”, I say out loud. Go limp, you jack ass! Maybe you’ll live through this, my brain says, slightly annoyed. Well, why not? I close my eyes, lean against the side window, and relax my body. The truck should be here right…now.

There is no sound. Nothing. It is even quieter than it was before. Before what? Where am I? Oh yeah…in the back seat of a Buick about to be smooshed by a big mother fucking truck. The silence is creepy and thick, like being under water. I open one eye, then the other. I sit up and look out the window next to my head. It is pure, blinding, white. Unearthly white. Cloud? Am I in fucking Heaven??? It is that same glowing white through every window of the Buick. There is no motion, there was no motion. No lurch, no impact, not even a little bump. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing! How could we have stopped without feeling anything? Are we dead? Is that all there is to dying? You go limp, close your eyes, you open them, and you’re in the backseat of a rented Buick surrounded by cloud cover? WTF?

From Ernie’s Journal…January 18^th 1972 8:55 am Ernie…The rent-a-command module spun out twice while trying to pass a car – went off the road. They’re buried in snow at the side of the road. No one hurt, thank Bruce. We’re gonna try and get them towed out.

We’re in some kind of highway maintenance yard trying to get a tow. We’re 40 mi from Ottawa. The man say’s he’ll try. Wacker Luck seems to be holding. We’ve snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. This seems to be a continuation of that ol’ Wack-Magic!

Paula…Tow man has to go get sand first. I sure am glad I wasn’t in that car. Unbe-fucking-leavable!  Ern went to check it out. General Bishop ordered him back to the B1RD. 09:15 Tow truck is here. Norm said they were glad Ern wasn’t in there ‘cause he’s so hyper-tense they would have had to club him over the head. 09:17 OPP arrives on the scene. If it wasn’t for snow at the side of the road, there could have been fatalities. No one had belts fastened. The buick (Wacky III) is up to her axles in blessed, blessed snow.

Mike: “Boy did we take flak in a glorious manner – 6 side to side and 2 full orders.”

Snow…

Snow saved our lives. Well, snow, Norm’s driving skills, and a wise and skilled truck driver who must have slowed down just enough to let the Buick pinwheel across the highway within a foot of his front bumper.

I looked around the inside of the Buick. Mike was just sitting up, Mel’s head was buried in Norm’s side, and Norm was just staring out the front windshield, probably wondering the same thing I was. Next to me, Cheryl was resting against me and just beyond her, Kootch, leaning forward looking at me, with the biggest shit eating grin I have ever seen. I smile back. We exchange thumbs up and say the same thing at exactly the same time.

“TRUNK!”

By now, Mike and Norm were worrying the doors open on either side of the car. First pushing, then drawing back and pushing out again, each time a little further into the massive snow bank that had cushioned our stop. Had there been a fence protecting this large field from the highway, we probably would not be here trying to dig ourselves out of the car. Had we, or the truck been going just a mile or two faster, or if there had been any more traffic, we would definitely be on the wrong side of the lawn, instead of starting to laugh as we exited the Buick. The girls didn’t start crying until they were standing outside under the beautiful, cloudless blue sky, hugging each other in disbelieving relief. Ernie was clumping through the deep snow from the B1RD, which was parked on the side of the road, across the highway. Norm turned him around and sent him back. Kootch and I were busy digging the snow away from the trunk of the car. “Keys!” shouted Kootch. Norm tossed them to him, sunlight flaring off the keys as they arced through the clear, crisp, morning air. The wonderful homemade whiskey from Kootch’s Uncle Henry was long gone, but there in the trunk, sitting next to Kootch’s day-bag, was the unopened bottle of Courvoisier, the object of our frantic quest. Nothing like a little Cognac to take the edge off after a near fatal E Ticket ride…

In what seemed like just minutes a tow truck appeared and hauled the Buick out of the field and onto the side of the highway. A quick inspection revealed not so much as a scratch on the Buick, and she started up immediately. The snow had been packed so lightly, and been churned up so much by the Buick’s rather abrupt intrusion, that it had not done any damage whatsoever, even slowing our maniacal 80 mph spin so gently, we didn’t even feel the Buick come to a stop. Steve or Tim held up the last couple of slices of pizza in last night’s box and one of them said, “This was all they found of you guys…”, to uproarious laughter. An O.P.P Officer who had pulled up just after the tow truck was standing next to Kootch and I. When he noticed the open bottle of cognac from which we were all celebrating our good fortune, he motioned for it, only to surprise us all by taking a swig himself. He stayed just long enough to make sure we were okay, and that the Buick was road worthy, got back in his cruiser, and headed back down the highway. No lecture, no ticket, no warning, and no questions other than, “Is everybody all right?” God bless that man.

From Ernie Earnshaw’s Journal…January 18^th 1972 09:27 We’re on the road again. 10:10 Still going. 11:00 Ottawa, Ont. 12:13:30 Entered Quebec Province. 12:20 Just woke up. About 40 miles to go. Feets git movin! Pee stop for Mike in Rigaud, Que. I took one too. Did a crazy asshole stunt over the top of Wacky III, but no one seemed to care. This trip has been a bitch, I’ll admit. I’ve been asleep almost constantly since the border crossing. With the goal in reach, nothing can stop us now. We should reach Montreal before the bottom of the page. 12:52 Passed I.P. We’re on the final run into Montreal on Canada 40. Crack in B1RD windscreen has lengthened about 18” since Hurley. 13:03:30 Target sighted. Within Montreal city limits. On Canada interstate 15 Sud.

From Tim Stull’s Journal…January 18^th 1972 09:30:20 – Car is out and we are on the road once again. I’m beginning to wonder if, in some way, the fates aren’t against us. Lord I hope not. At any rate a code 50 martial law status has been enacted and is being enforced. (That is any pilot going over 500 mph is up for immediate and through court martial.)

11:00 – We have made it to Ottawa and are now headed for the city of Northern Light, Montreal. Kootch has viewed that when we reach the moustache he’s going to kneel and kiss the ground. I’m having serious thoughts of joining him. This has been the longest, hardest, most frustrating mission I’ve ever flown. Our clothes are dirty and torn, and everyone is exhausted. 11:02:10 – We have 115 miles left to go. I pray we make it safely without further mishap. 11:29:05 – About 85 miles out, Lord, I can’t wait to see that Montreal skyline in the distance. Steve is doing 55 mph and just passed some crazy lady in a duster. The command module is staying behind her. Apparently refusing to pass…could this mean a court martial? We’ll see in Montreal. I myself considered the driver of the duster an unsafe driver as she was riding her breaks and had a stream of other cars behind her. I also believe that Steve was justified in passing her. We are also maintaining an air speed of 50 to 55 mph, even though the road is worthy of 60. End of supplement.

11:46:10 – We just passed through Alfred and are about 60 miles out. Soon we will pass into Quebec province and French Canada. 12:02:40 – Getting closer and closer… 12:13:30: Entered Quebec province. We now have 41 miles to go. The highway turned to 4 lanes, and the command module seems to have sped up to 60 mph. From here on in its 4 lanes for us. 12:32:15 -  Made a pee stop and found out why Norm has been taking it so easy. Mel is sitting next to him and any time he even comes close to the limit, she digs her nails into his leg. So blows the court martial theory.

From Ernie Earnshaw’s Journal…13:07 Commencing run on target. The objective at large has been attained. We’re in downtown Montreal. 13:10 Driving on Rue Sherbrooke…that’s Sherbrooke St. 13:17 Made final turn, bombs away!

WE MADE IT!!!

January 18^th, 1972 13:17:30

The Epilogue next Wednesday in The Rock Files…

Some Christmas Treats…

Even though there is no A&R Online this week, there is new music for you over at www.radiothatdoesntsuck.com Just open the player in the upper left hand corner and scroll down to ‘A&R Online Christmas 2009’ and enjoy. There are several other great Christmas shows there as well, all with much deeper playlists than you are used to and including a ton of great Canadian artists as well as old favourites and brand new releases.

Here’s the playlist for A&R Online Christmas 2009 which runs uninterrupted, and speaks to my mellower side. These are great tracks and a lot of them are brand new and Canadian, which makes me wonder why more of this stuff hasn’t found itself on terrestrial radio around here…

01. Ali Milner – I Love Christmas: Ali Milner is one of my favourite new artists, and this self penned tune is just more proof of how great she is. That’s Ali to the right…

02. Dan Farrel – Winter Winds: Another track with a big band feel, proving once again that people are still writing and making great, Trend Proof music.

03. Andrew Allen – I Want to be Your Christmas: A bit twee, but very bouncy. I need eggnog…

04. Meaghan Smith – It Snowed: More funderful yuletide sentiment. Is this being used in a commercial? It should have been.

05. The Free Press – Skyline Christmas: Good Buds and a terrific local band. This is a beautiful track and sounds like it has the makings of a perennial, as does…

06. Valerie Shearman – Wishing Makes It So: I’ve known Val forever. She is the wife of the late great Buzz Shearman of Moxy fame. Valerie has been recording for years and she hits this track out of the park. A great reading of a fine piece of music. Thanks for the Christmas present, Val.

07. 98 Degrees – I’ll Be Home For Christmas

08. N’Sync – Oh Holy Night: Don’t think for a minute that most of the boy bands didn’t have a lot of talent. These ‘boys’ could, and can, sing their asses off. I saw 98 Degrees sing accapella on TV live once and they were awesome. Ditto N’Sync. Fine renditions of two classics, by two groups who deserve more respect than they get.

09. Owl City – Christmas Song: I like these two kids, and I like this song. That’s why they’re here.

10. Celine Dion – So This is Christmas: It always bothered me that John Lennon was so angry, even when he sang the ballads he wrote. Celine does a fine interpretation of this modern classic. She also does a wicked version of Mel Torme’s Christmas Song elsewhere in this player’s Christmas shows.

11. Frank D’Angelo – Silent Night: He looks like a Wise Guy from The Sopranos, and sings like a raspy voiced R&B performer from the ‘60’s. With a band right out of the ‘Toronto Sound’, he makes you want to dance to Silent Night. No small feat, that.

12. Luthor Vandross – Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas: A shame we lost Luthor at such a young age. One of the great singers. One of the great songs.

13. The Whispers – This Christmas: I’m not 100% sure this is the original version of this tune, but it certainly is my favourite version. Soulful to the extreme, without the histrionics of Chris Brown’s recent rendition.

14. New Edition – It’s Christmas: I loved this group, whose members included Bobby Brown before he went solo  and later, nuts. A fine finish to my Christmas playlist.

Pie’s Birthday…is actually today (the 23^rd of December) but we had a party for her last Friday night at one of our favourite spots, Southern Accent in Mirvish Village. Here are a couple of pictures from the festivities, and yes, that is a Star Trek cake…

Several party goers didn’t make it into the picture, including Jean Trivett, Simone Morgan, Cleave Anderson and Louise, Frances, Del, and other staff member/friends of Pie’s who were too busy to pose, and Paul and Kent, two of the nicest lawyers anyone could ever hope to meet. Thanks to all of you for making her birthday a very special one indeed.

Parting Shots…

First, from a Facebook buddy of mine, who has a wonderful site called Open Mynd Collectibles. You old radio buffs are going to love this. I think the rest of you will too. Check out the chart that pops up

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1224073250449&ref=nf

…and finally, from Kids in the Hall’s David Foley, this wonderful clip. Merry Christmas, everybody!

http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=1228417222881&ref=nf

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.