Musical Reflection




I just stumbled upon a minor ditty by David Bowie – the stupid grin and solo warbling as I dance along have lead to this musical reflection.

Music tastes are snapshots placed carefully in photo albums. Sometimes the yellowing pages are turned – we groan, smile, cry, and travel through time so completely that often, even if for a split second, we find ourselves transported to another place. Catching us unaware, triggering unstoppable musical reflection. It mirrors our lives – speaks of who we are, where we came from, and what we did along the way.

Electric Warrior by T Rex was the first album I purchased – it “disappeared” when I took it to the grade seven “sock hop”.

Not counting Dr. Hook at the race track when I was fourteen or Trooper and Loverboy at the roller rink – Queen, Night At The Opera tour was my first real concert. Freddie Mercury practically begged me to vacate sleepy town – the city had radio stations playing music all day; instead of farm reports or country and western oldies – there was a place where music ruled.

Elvis Costello, The Clash, Joe Jackson, Patti Smith, Cocteau Twins, Jello Biafra, Devo, Nash the Slash, Skinny Puppy, DOA, Ramones, Sex Pistols, Madness, The Specials, Talking Heads, Orchestral Manoeuvers, David Bowie, Brian Ferry, Jonathan Richman -a plethora of musical delights. I’ll pry myself away from memory lane with a clip from one of my number one, all time best, hands down favorite concert – John Cale at the Commodore Ballroom…





Little Bit of Love

Music is the one tool able to pull down barriers between apposing points of view. I’m not talking musical genres; Rap vs. country or top 40 hits. my ponder rests on something much harder to define.

Music is an integral part of our lives. Aside from Dr. Hook playing at the race track when I was 14, the first real concert I saw was Queen, Night at the Opera tour in 1976. I can still picture Freddy Mercury in all his glory. My early 20s are bookmarked by shows at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver. The Commodore hailed from the 1930s, held 1000 people or so, and had a springy dance floor reportedly lined with horse hair. I danced to The Clash, Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, John Cale, , the Ramones, Billy Idol.  Jonathan Richmon at The Fillmore in San Fransisco on my way getting married in Las Vegas. All stamped on my brain as if it were yesterday.

As memorable as my musical diary might be, it still isn’t the point of my musical ponder.

Music is primal.It can shred our hearts, move us to tears, or elevate us to the stars. It strikes when you least expect it. Finding the unexpected as a crowd gathers around a busker, or getting goosebumps when hearing Allison Krause for the first time. Music is that moment when an old man taps his foot, or you realize a silly grin is plastered on your face.

Music isn’t about the best musician or singer, it’s about how it makes you feel. That magical moment when out of the blue you laugh, cry, or dance your ass off.

At the moment I’m listening to this silly little song, and it makes me smile.