Last night's Gloryhound & the Skyhawks show was notable for a couple of reasons. One of which, as noted, was the opening set by Dave Marsh and True Love Rules. More on that in a minute.

I went down early, immediately after Survivor (about which I will only say, for the moment, that as far as this season is concerned Kipling was absolutely right, the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Or possibly just smarter) because I thought things might possibly get started a little early. And they did, because it turned out there were three acts playing last night. Busy!

First up, just after ten-thirty, was Lonnie James (don't have a MySpace link for him yet) who used to play drums for the Super Friendz. He did the solo-acoustic singer-songwriter thing, played about a dozen songs and got a good reception. I think I'd have to hear the CDs to form an opinion about him, though.

Next up was Dave Marsh with True Love Rules (Scotty on drums, Paul on bass and guitar, Tim Brennan on guitar and bass, Adam when needed on keys, and Joel Plaskett a couple of times on guitar and backing vocals.) When I arrived the bar area was so crowded I went and sat at a small table near the stage but when the second act went on the crowd sort of moved forward so I made my way back to the bar to pester Erin. The stools are more comfortable than the chair I was in originally, anyway.

I've only seen True Love Rules once before, at a show at the Seahorse, and I was favourably impressed. It's a pretty eclectic record--on different songs you might hear a reggae influence or a sort of electronic pop thing or something like that. I bought the CD at the end of the night and if I come up with some more coherent observations you'll be the first to know.

True Love Rules played about ten songs and then Gloryhound came on at probably sometime after midnight. (I generally don't wear my watch on Thursday nights, because I tend to just stay until it's over.) They ended up playing one long set and went over well--a lot of people stuck around until the end, and at one point I was treated to the sight of Joel Plaskett at the other end of the bar, air-drumming along to one of their songs.

And to bring this back to the post title, it turns out that last night was the final show in the weekly Tribeca series. The news took me by surprise (I'd have figured it out eventually...) but all things must end, and it was nice for this one to go out on a high note. Erin and I agreed we were getting a little sentimental by the end of the evening, and I think Paul thought we were crazy, but there you go.

Set List

Rockaway Beach (The Ramones, a new one to me from these guys)

"Sure don't feel the same"

Out Of Hiding

Standing Still

Bright In the Dark

On My Back

See You Round

Flee the Scene

Don't Do It (The Band)

Where I Lie

LA Woman (The Doors, with Scotty on drums)

Last Dance With Mary Jane (Tom Petty, with Harper on harmonica)

You Gotta Learn

Before You Fall

Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues (Bob Dylan, Adam: vocals and guitar, Evan: drums, Shaun: keys, Scotty: emergency running repairs on the mic stand)

Going Home (Ten Years After)

The set ended amid shoutouts from Gloryhound to the other bands on the bill, and to Tribeca and its staff for being more than great to them, and to the folks who came out regularly (a bunch of whom, led I think by Ryan, were in the process of giving the band a standing ovation at the time.)

And so it ended. Gloryhound's next scheduled show is the CD release party at the Seahorse on May 31st, after which they'll be playing several shows around the Maritimes.

I myself have no firm plans for future Thursdays, but I'm sure something will come up.

And it kind of bears repeating: it's been a lot of fun to follow this series. I've mentioned before that I generally only find out about bands after their second CD or so, and it has been really cool to watch Gloryhound closely over the past year and a bit. The Tribeca series gave them the opportunity to work out new songs and experiment, and they are definitely a tighter band now--they've gone from being a very promising band to being a very good one (not to mention kind to the elderly--thanks), and it's been a lot of fun to watch. It should be just as much fun to see where they go from here.

And on that note--see you May 31st at the Seahorse.

As noted, Dave Marsh (of the Joel Plaskett Emergency) and his solo project (including Paul and Scotty) are going to play a few songs.

There is a slight possibility Joel himself might stop by and sit in.

I would so be there, if I wasn't there already. So to speak.

Okay, one last post about Jason Castro forgetting the words to "Mr Tambourine Man":

He missed less than a line.

But it was "In the jingle-jangle morning"! Who forgets that line, and remembers all the rest of the incredibly but typically wordy lyrics? (I mean. Dylan packs a lot of words into his songs. And the kid only forgot the five best-known ones. Hee!)

Considering how much blithering cheese the contestants are allowed to get away with (or, really, rewarded for) I always find it amusing that the one unforgivable sin on Idol seems to be forgetting the words. Yes, I know--you should be able to memorize one song a week if you're a real performer. And yes, the fact that actual real performers learn their songs a little less cold-bloodedly means nothing. Gloryhound, for God's sake, seems to be able to nail a new song in an afternoon and there are five of them learning parts. Just learning the lyrics should be a snap.

I suspect the attendant bullshit that fills these kids' time can interfere with rehearsal time--I mean, those awful Ford commercials would take a while.

But I also find it awfully hard to get all up in arms about a singer fluffing a lyric every now and then. Bryan Adams once choked on the national anthem. Yes, "O Canada." At a hockey game. Something distracted him, he lost his place, and he tee-totally blew it. And you can't tell me Bryan Adams doesn't know the words to "O Canada."

Adam from Gloryhound--well, I probably shouldn't say this, but I always think he must have been the kind of small child who never got away with anything, because when he forgets a lyric he always confesses--"Shit! Sorry!"--and then regroups. Probably just as well he's not on Idol, actually, but let's just say Jason Castro is not the only Bob Dylan fan to ever muff a Bob Dylan lyric.

My favourite "I forgot the lyrics" moment involved Jim Cuddy and Greg Keelor, the lead singers of Blue Rodeo, in a television interview. The interviewer wanted to play a little game called "Name the song," so she read out isolated lines from various Blue Rodeo tunes and Greg and Jim were supposed to name the song the line came from.

And Cuddy could not do it.

Now, Cuddy could name every one of Keelor's lyrics, but he didn't get a single one of his own until the interviewer threw him one from his just-released solo record. He got that one, barely, but the ones he had been singing for years almost didn't register. And yes, once in a while he fluffs a line in a show. Who cares? (Keelor knew all his own lyrics as well as his partner's. And yet he always appears to be the more addled of the two.)

During the tour for The River, Bruce Springsteen got into the habit of letting the audience sing the first verse of "Hungry Heart." That tradition began one night early in the tour when the song started and Bruce dried up totally--just lost all the words, and the audience filled in. I don't know if that's how Greg Keelor got into the habit of letting the audience sing the first verse of "Hasn't Hit Me Yet," but I would not be surprised.

So, while Idol contestants do a lot of things that cause me to cringe, forgetting lyrics hardly registers. It might be unprofessional, but it happens to the pros, and it often has nothing to do with whether they know the song.

The physio clinic called a little while ago to cancel my appointment for this evening, due to the physiotherapist being ill. I've been doing my exercises faithfully, and though they are wimpy little exercises they seem to be working (the physio thought my spine felt better.) They are also kicking my ass, and I think that's why I'm so sore this week. (The last couple of nights have been rotten, I wake up around two and painkillers and liniment do nothing to help.)

So it's probably okay to have a few extra days to acclimatize to doing the stuff I'm already doing before anything else gets added. With any luck I'll get to the barn tonight and at least try to longe and maybe do a few little carrot stretches.

And then of course I'm going out tonight, but I might as well, considering if I stayed home I wouldn't be able to get to sleep anyway. Also, I need to look for cushions for my kitchen chairs, since all my other seating options are really uncomfortable right now.

Might be time to bite the bullet and replace my older-than-me family-heirloom (;)) couch, too...

The song list was the 500 Songs That Shaped Rock and Roll.

Hmm. Given that list, what song would you have chosen?

I am mightily tempted by "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down"...

I ran out to the barn last night for just long enough to run a brush over Mitzi and have a chat with her. (And this morning I found a message on my work phone from Lease Girl asking if she could go out and ride. I messaged her my home phone number. Damn!)

Anyway, I got home about halfway through the results show of American Idol. I don't follow that show closely anymore--I used to like the Hollywood rounds but those episodes are really truncated now, and I have an increasingly lower tolerance for the karaoke elements of the show. However, as with a lot of reality shows, I like to watch a few early episodes to get the cast figured out, so then I can drop in at any time of the season and more or less know what's going on.

(I did see part of the performance episode on Tuesday, but... it was pretty lame, and I quit. David Cook singing "Baba O'Riley" sounded hopeful and started well, but he had less time than I thought he would and he ended up completely neglecting the dynamic that is the coolest thing about the song.) (I mean, fuck singing "teenage wasteland" over and over. Come on.)

Anyway, I turned the results show on just as Maroon 5 was finishing their performance and then Bo Bice played his new single. I still watched the show regularly when he was on, and I liked him pretty well then but haven't given him much thought since. Since Bo was the first "rocker dude" to do much of anything on the show I guess I have blamed him a little for the annoying Nickelback retreads who have started appearing lately. I mean, when the judges on American Idol start proclaiming "That's rock'n'roll, baby!" it's a bit like the old Shaun Cassidy single, by which I mean, it's nothing of the sort. Rock'n'roll, according to Idol (and most other musical reality shows including Rock Star) is an extremely limited thing. Rock'n'roll as an actual living thing is... not.

So, I was a little pissed off at Bo on general principles. But at this point I was on the floor doing my physio exercises and I didn't feel like flailing around for the clicker.

And colour me astonished! I had sort of forgotten that, although Bo was the guy who made it okay for all the Chad Whatsisface (honestly, why can I never remember the last name of Nickelback's lead singer?) wannabes to try out for Idol, Bo himself wanted to be the third Allman Brother or something. In fact, it's possible the reason his career hasn't really taken off is, the damned fool plays music he likes instead of trying to sound like everyone else on the radio right now. He's far from original, but the song he played last night put him firmly in the throwback-seventies-rock camp, which places him in the company of a bunch of artists I like very much. It's downright weird to hear an Idol alumnus who doesn't seem to be trying to sound like whatever is popular right this minute. He sounded... like a real guy playing a real song. And then he was charming and gracious in his interview with Seacrest.

I have never bought an album by any Idol alumnus so far, not on principle but because I have never been sufficiently interested. I might... I might be sufficiently interested in this one.

And then we had the eliminations, and I really thought the girl was done for, because the dreadlocked little Texan dude seemed to have such a fan base. I haven't determined whether he's particularly talented but he can sing all right, he's charming, and he's kind of distractingly pretty.

However, when Seacrest was interviewing the two potential boots, I started to really hope the little guy was going home, because he seemed so ready to do so. I've seen some good-sport boots in the course of watching this show, but this kid's whole attitude was redolent of "this has been a lot of fun, but now I'm in really deep water and I don't want to do this any more. Please." He wasn't a bit snippy or passive-aggressive or anything, he was apologetic about his poor performances the night before, he just sounded like he knew he was in the wrong place and he wanted to get out before he couldn't remember the fun parts.

Actually, he sounded like he had figured out that winning this show would be, for him, a fate worse than death, and he was happy and relieved to be out of it.

I can't imagine why I would want to listen to this kid sing anywhere except at a campfire, but I did end up liking him. He would make a dandy character in a story. And you never know, maybe someday he will...

So apparently it's still too early to cut back too much on painkillers. I tried that this afternoon and ended up so achey I couldn't think straight and had to go home early. I'm just on my way to the barn now after another epic nap (chronic pain? Is very tiring!)

I suck. Sorry, Mitzi.

It took me a little longer than usual to get downtown last night: when I got within range of the Metro Centre the streets were suddenly full of people in hockey jerseys, which is when I remembered the IIHF World Hockey Championships are in town, and Team Canada was playing the Americans yesterday evening. Since nobody tried to thrown themselves under my Honda, I assumed the game had gone well.

( Adam and Rob and friends notes and setlist here. )

Also, Scotty mentioned that his other project, True Love Rules with Paul and Dave Marsh from the Joel Plaskett Emergency (okay, I guess that's technically Dave's other project, with Paul and Scotty) is playing a few songs on Thursday with Gloryhound. Which sounds like fun, so we'll see you there!

There's a short article over at Chartattack.com about the new El Torpedo record. It includes the prospective release date (July 8) and the track listing. Which, for anyone who's been to a show over the past year or two and heard some of the newer material, is here:

* "Building A Boat"
* "Digital Eyes"
* "Tall Trees"
* "Rock Ranger Record"
* "Terminal Romance"
* "Shining Eyes"
* "Northern Belle"
* "Stand And Deliver"
* "Laser Guided Love"
* "The Hunter, The Hunted"
* "Long Since Gone"

Over the weekend I spent far too much money at the book store. I got two Miss Silver mysteries, one of the Blackbird Sisters mysteries by Nancy Martin (Nancy is a member of DorothyL, the mystery discussion list I am on, and her books are at the top of my "buy now" list partly because I enjoy them, especially the character arc, and partly because Nancy herself has gone out of her way to be friendly and encouraging to the wannabe. I should probably write something about her series one of these days.)

However, the book I was really looking for was Diana Killian's new one, Corpse Pose.

Full disclosure: Diana Killian is D.L. Browne, list owner and head moderator of the Yahoo mystery writers' group Wicked Company, of which I am also a member and junior co-moderator. I am violently prejudiced in her favour... which in terms of reviews means that if I had bought this book and hated it, I would never have breathed a word about it. Ever.

Fortunately, I loved it. And if you're a fan of amateur sleuth mysteries, especially one with a specific hobby or professional setting, I recommend this one.

Our heroine is AJ Alexander, freelance marketing consultant and bona-fide Big City Girl. Think Cosmopolitan. Think Sex and the City. Think...

...of something else entirely, because AJ has never felt less like a Fun Fearless Female in her entire life. Her ten-year marriage to her university sweetheart has just collapsed--Andy has just left her for another man, which has left AJ understandably shaken up--if she could be so fundamentally mistaken about the most important relationship in her life, and know so little about the most important person in it, what else is she clueless about?

A complicating factor is, AJ is not what you would call an untroubled person in the first place: raised by a narcissistic alcoholic actress mother and what seems like an emotionally absent (now deceased) dad, AJ loves her mother best from a distance and considers her earth-mother aunt Diantha to be her rock.

So when she gets the phone call telling her of Diantha's murder, she is understandably devastated.

Especially when it becomes clear that, as heir, AJ is a prime suspect.

And then her mother arrives to deflect the attention of the police by declaring herself a prime suspect. Mother, thinks AJ, is a drama queen even by the standards of a retired actress.

If this was all there was to the story it would be fun but forgettable. What I really liked about Corpse Pose was the dawning realization that AJ's interactions with these other characters were not going to follow the rules of sitcoms. Andy the ex did not automatically become the Gay Best Friend--AJ was really hurt and angry, and Andy was hurt and felt guilty, and the two of them need to decide whether there is going to be an ongoing relationship and what form it will take. Likewise, AJ and her mother start out sniping at each other like a comedy duo, but it doesn't take long for the reader to recognize this as protective, and eventually the fact they are forced to spend time together makes AJ realize her mother wants, in a disorganized way, to make amends. And maybe AJ wants to let her.

The victim, Diantha, was the owner of a yoga empire (well, sort of) and was the sort of person who stood on principles. Actually, according to Andy, she was the sort of person who would "burn you at the stake for your own good." AJ loved her, but not everyone else did, although even some of the people who disliked her admired her.

And maybe one or more of the people who loved her also feared or even hated her.

I concentrated on the characters in this entry because they are interesting enough to support a series, which this is going to be. The mystery part, including the investigating officer who likes AJ just fine but has no sympathy for "Snoop Sisters," works well. The reader will probably get the solution half a step before AJ, which adds to the tension. AJ does not pull and Too Stupid To Live moments and her mother turns out to be better in a crisis than I--or AJ--would have expected.

It's a very promising start to a new mystery series and I recommend it. Actually, because of my prior relationship with the author I recommend that you buy it new. But I'm sure it would be okay if you bought your copy new and then encouraged everyone you know to read it.

And I must say, if a person is going to be in a mystery-writing discussion group, it's nice to know it's run by someone whose writing I admire.

I haven't said much about Eight Belles, but there has been discussion on my f'list about her, including the fact she was about 17 hands as a heavily-worked three-year-old. Which is just asking for trouble.

And I had this flash in my head of Coach Girl's gently didactic voice explaining to one of her students that she only rode her 17.2-hand four-year-old, Benson, for about fifteen minutes every couple of days because "he's so big, it'll take him a long time to really grow into himself. We just want to make sure he knows his manners and that he has a job to do, eventually."

Um, yeah. Benson acts like he knows he's a pretty lucky horse, but he has no idea just how lucky he is.

That is all.

So I finally got to the shootout at the campground--I simplified the scene a little and had Jordy simply stand up at the wrong moment and get winged. My writing group approves of the part where Mrs Goodnight and her grandson return fire from the house. Elderly ladies in pink housecoats, carrying deer rifles, amuse them.

This scene sets up Gareth getting released by the cops, and also causes Jordy to start wondering why he was so sure Ted Goodnight was Mr. Goodnight. Which eventually leads him toward the solution of the mystery.

Are we on chapter seven already?

Usual caveats apply: there may be eye-gougingly awful amateur porn behind the cut, so be careful.

I was thinking about the Montreal Canadiens facing elimination last night and did not notice anything else going on in the world of sports. So I didn't realize the Kentucky Derby was being run, so I didn't have my annual battle between wanting to watch the beautiful horses and being terrified something was going to go wrong.

One of the girls at the barn told me about Eight Belles. I'm so glad I didn't see her.

I don't have time to say anything more, and maybe I have nothing more to say, but there are certainly worse things for a horse than running around in a field until you're five and then becoming someone's pet. Damn.

Lease Girl and Mitzi had a pretty good lesson this morning--although it's about time to break out the fly spray. Afterward Mitzi was so sweaty we decided it was also time to address bathing in the wash stall.

The wash stall at our barn is completely enclosed, and in common with other Fearful horses (or so I am told) Mitzi can be claustrophobic. The actual stalls in our barn are open-plan, with wire mesh between horses instead of solid walls so she hasn't had much practice with enclosed stalls lately. She accepts being hosed off but I've always thought it would be best to do the wash stall thing when there was someone else around to wield the hose while I held her.

We've practiced walking into the stall and she followed me in without hesitation, then stood there blowing and gathering her nerve for a minute. I got her to lower her head, Lease Girl got her some peppermints, and after she'd stood there for a minute or two Lease Girl turned on the horse and directed it at Mitzi's feet.

She didn't exactly like it, but she didn't object, jump around, or try to get away. The water was lukewarm and seemed to feel pretty good. I did make sure Lease Girl was always in a position where if Mitzi freaked out, Lease Girl could bail out and leave me to deal with the horse. It didn't turn out to be necessary. Mitzi even let Lease Girl spray up under her belly and her udder.

And then, of course, when we turned her out in the sunshine she found a good dusty spot for a roll. Well, of course she did!

Even so. Good girl!

* GH+ SH CD RELEASE PARTY AT THE SEAHORSE
Halifax, NS
Saturday, May 31 at 10:00pm

* GLORYHOUND @ THE PARAMOUNT
Moncton, NB
Moncton, NB
Thursday, June 5 at 10:00pm

* GLORYHOUND @ BABA'S
PEI
Charlottetown, PE
Saturday, June 7 at 10:00pm

* GLORYOUND @ THE A KHORD
NB
Saint John, NB
Thursday, June 12 at 10:00pm

* Gloryhound @ The Capital
NB
Fredericton, NB
Friday, June 13 at 10:00pm

Also, remember the CD release date is May 31! You don't want to miss that!

Do you have a pet who reminds you of a famous human? Who?

I could say that Coney reminds me of Lester B. Pearson but that might be exaggerating.

However, back when I got Mitzi, whenever I told someone about my gorgeous new horse I would say, "She looks just like Audrey Hepburn, if Audrey Hepburn had freckles! And, um, was a horse."

And It's true! It's totally true!

Ahem. Anyone else?

Yeah, there is a story behind that subject line.

So last night Skank Williams and Realiser were playing at Gus's Pub, so I rearranged my usual Thursday plans and and went out to see them. As I explained in the Tuesday post, fully half the participants are Tribeca regulars so someone had to go and report back, right?

The show was listed as starting at ten. In my experience, this invariably means eleven, so I went ahead and watched the end of Survivor (which was kind of awesome) and then made my way downtown, arriving at about ten-thirty.

Just as well, since Skank Williams was just about to go onstage. In fact, if the sound guy hadn't gone missing they've have been onstage already when I arrived! (The sound guy was Scotty, who is too large to steal, and once again I must note that if I'd been writing this story things would have looked bad for Scotty. At least until I relented in the second draft.) Luckily Troy, Scotty's band mate and brother, stepped in to look after sound and the girls got started just after ten-thirty.

As I have mentioned before, Skank Williams is the self-proclaimed "only all-female Hank Williams cover band in the Halifax-Dartmouth area!" Which is certainly factual, but it would perhaps be more true to say they are the best all-female Hank Williams cover band in the Halifax-Dartmouth area.

( Meet Skank Williams! )

The girls came offstage to general congratulations (I wasn't even the only library type present) and Realiser went on.

( Realiser notes but no set list. )

After Realiser had literally played every song they knew, I looked at my watch and it was only about a quarter after one. Dawn and Kathy and I were at a table together and they joked that I was probably calculating how fast I could get to Tribeca.

( More on THAT good idea. )

It's possible that a giant, awesome jam session broke out after hours--if there wasn't one there should have been--but two bars in one work night seemed like enough for someone my age, so I said goodnight and called it one. Whew!

I certainly hope pain is a sign the exercises are dong something, because I dragged my carcass out of the physio office yesterday, facing the bus ride home, and I was really sort of thinking consumption by sharks would be a preferable option because at least then I knew it would eventually stop. I have two small exercises to do as homework and the one I had been doing seemed to contribute to a couple of really bad nights when added to my office desk--more on that later.

But I limped into the house, limped into my bedroom, got comfortable thank God, and slept for two hours. And when I arose, my leg felt considerably better. At the moment naps seem to be the way to go, so I went out later than night and stayed out until two-thirty, then napped again until morning. But that's another post.

Now, last week when I was demonstrating databases to our library student interns and we were set up in a conference room, my laptop was on a table considerably higher than the desk I've always used. Thing is, my work desk was meant for a workstation, so the sight line to my laptop isn't the same and it causes me to slouch. A lot. Between that and the regular office chairs, I was aggravating the injury every day. So first I swapped out the chair, and then yesterday when I asked my supervisor dug me up another desk that's a few inches higher than the old one. As I indicated in my last message, so far so good. I mean, it's not fixing the problem, but at least I don't spend the day undoing any gains I make elsewhere.

So, my supervisor FTW!