There is no Rock without the Roll...
by Christopher D
Wow! Twenty years of existence on this Island Earth spinning around the planets. That is the “China” anniversary. I humbly offer you one of my great-grandmother's plates that have been sitting in my garage for 30 years. As the Tuff Darts sang: “All For The Love of Rock and Roll”. It is a true labour of love. Sure, the pay scale is crap, but we all do this for other ulterior motives: free swag, cool connections, flapping your blubbering lips at your Rock and Roll Heroes, a free concert once in a blue moon and a one-way pass down the highway to hell where all the best parties are!
My journey began as a wee gaffer beating out a Gene Krupa/Buddy Rich rhythm in my mother's womb. It wasn’t long after that I would hear my parents spinning these round objects full of sound, imagination and magic. One of my earliest memories was hearing Leonard Cohen droning his haunting vocals as I lay quivering under my Peanuts-themed bed sheets. For one of my birthdays, I was given a Mickey Mouse Record Player and camera. I soon raided my parent's record collection and was immediately gobsmacked by the power of rock and roll as I carved deep lacerations into the vinyl grooves with Mickey Mouse’s arm/hand.
I think the first discovery of a repeated listen was Creedence Clearwater Revival's - Travellin’ Band – instantly making me hyper (pre-Ritalin years) and causing my goofy kid sister to bounce up and down on my captain's bed in the hope it wouldn't collapse in our collegial hyperactiveness.
My mother, seeing my love for music, would occasionally bring home a vinyl platter for herself – however, the first record she bought my sister and me was Bay City Rollers' 1974 classic Rollin’ which contained the sugar, cyanide-spun Scottish sing-a-long S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night! The path soon led to classic rock with the Beatles and The Rolling Stones, Queen and then—overturning a moss-filled rock to find a strange urchin living underneath—Punk Rock.
This eventually led to playing in a few forgotten-to-the-hand-of-time bands: Distorted Truth, Mike Hunt and the Multiple Orgasms, Ritalin Kids and Anti-Bodies. When that became redundant and snooze-laden, I decided to knock on some big wooden doors. This led me to The Big Takeover and my introduction to Jack Rabid. Jack gave me the chance to carve my teeth and rattle off a few articles, which led to Jon Mills Shindig! Magazine out of the U.K. and eventually Hollywood's best (now sadly defunct) Bobby Lucky Guinn’s Sugarbuzzmagazine.
Then, like Rip Van Winkle, I had kids and slept for a million years until Matt Hutchinson appeared with magical wings and sprinkled magic fairy dust into my sleep-encrusted eyes and woke me from my slumber. That is how I entered the Scene Point Blank family... Me, Mom (Loren) and Daddy (Matt). I tend to duck and weave and watch for my old Punk Rock Heroes to pop their heads up from the gopher holes and await an opportunity to blabber at people I have long admired.
I thank Scene Point Blank for giving me the opportunities time and time again. I have to personally thank Loren for his memory like an elephant and for keeping the flowing river moving like The Nile. He knows my niche and pitches me curve balls, knuckleballs and the occasional spitball (although not very COVID-friendly these days).
So here is a big birthday cake in the face of Scene Point Blank, or anniversary... any which way you cut it, it's something you can get your deep fangs into.
Onwards and Upwards as I tip my hat to you while spilling my drink.
