A bit OT, but I gotta testify. My apologies.
My son Bark (Lamport Barcalounger Davenport) isn’t a La-z-Boy, but I’m a little disappointed, or maybe just perplexed at his taste in music.
Bark’s the lead singer in a band he’s got going with some friends from school. They sing really well together, but I find them a bit twee, what with their sweaters, sandals, acoustic guitars and bongos and castanets. They’ve got a real thing for old stories about Yorkville hippies. I keep asking them why don’t they want to be productive and have a positive place in society? Sheesh.
In fact, I thought I smelled ‘shish at basement jam session, but it turned out to be e-cigarettes. Newfangled sheesh. I don’t get it.
One night Bark came back from rehearsal and said “
Moxy†something or other. So here I’m thinking Pierre Trudeau, “Can’t You See I’m a Star†and some vaguely Zeppelin sounding rock worthy of The Gasworks on Yonge St. Now, I’m getting interested. Bark’s always had a bite to his voice, and Uncle Fred Gardiner always had Zep or Motorhead on in the car, so I’m thinking maybe the boy is getting back to his roots.
So he plays me the band’s latest demo. There’s all this handclapping, some other guy yodelling about how he once was the King of Spain, and then it segues into their own original songs “Subways Are My Safe Word†and “Iran Iran to the Lawyers’ Officeâ€. It’s really not my cup of herbal tea.
Kids these days, nothin’ but tsuris…
