Desert Island Discs

My erstwhile colleague and proximate cubicle partner Rick initiated our work version of Desert Island Discs, based on the BBC4 Radio Programme of the same name, in which we choose our top 5 songs (or albums) we would want to bring with us if we were stranded on a desert island. Below are my selections.

1. Bobby Hebb – Sunny

Bobby Hebb wrote Sunny in the two days following November 22, 1963—the day JFK was assassinated, and the day Hebb’s older brother was stabbed to death outside a Nashville nightclub. Of the song, Hebb said, “All my intentions were to think of happier times and pay tribute to my brother – basically looking for a brighter day – because times were at a low.”

For me, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come home from the bar, fucked up and sentimental, and played this song, over and over and over again. In fact, if I could only pick one song on my desert island, this would likely be it. Continue reading “Desert Island Discs”

The Songs You Will Hear in Hell

This is pretty self-explanatory…

1. Calvin Harris – Summer

You might think I like all electronic music, but you’d be wrong. As much as hell is eternal, this song will forever remind me of the summer of 2014 and the flaccid 5:00 p.m. gym monkeys who hogged the squat rack for an hour at a time, doing anything BUT exercising. Every…single…time I walked into the gym that summer, I’d see the same guys chatting at the squat rack, and not two seconds later, by dint of back luck or something more sinister, I’d hear the whiny “When I met you in the summer” intro come through the speakers, followed by the nauseating string riff, which would tenaciously embed itself for the entire workout and beyond. If ever there were a contemporary case of classical conditioning, this song would be it, for every time I hear it, I want to punch something. It’s like that scene in Kingsman – Secret Service, when Colin Firth hears Freebird. Except Freebird is good. Continue reading “The Songs You Will Hear in Hell”

In Search of the Real Lounge Scene – And My Father

(Somewhat dated article about my Dad, originally published in cameo magazine.)

When my father passed away, I was on the road between Philadelphia and Los Angeles, travelling in the entrepreneurial wake of my mother and stepfather. Up to this time I had lived in Calgary with my father for seven years, but when it became evident that the Cancer had mined its way through his entire body, it was necessary for me to join my mother in Philadelphia. The lifestyle was different — less predictable — and soon after we moved to L.A.. They told me his fate in Santa Barbara.

Because circumstance supplanted my environment, and because I needed to re-acquaint myself with my mother, the memory of my father eventually dwindled to a few nostalgic strands of sentiment. I went for years without even seeing a photograph of the man. Psychologists? Not then.

Continue reading “In Search of the Real Lounge Scene – And My Father”