07-07-2009, 10:12 AM
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I'm not really high on suicide. I have had a hard time in the past feeling legitimately sorry for/about those who think that's the only way out. And I don't mean to sound like I'm cheapening their problems. We have our issues and some of us have it a lot worse than others. I guess I'm just lucky to never have considered it, wanted it, or even been that close to it, despite some of the shit I've gone through. And maybe that's let me put the blinders on to issues surrounding it. I can handle that though.
But reading this today and seeing the reactions of my friends, those who knew him personally, those who knew him as the voice on the other end of their speakers, it's really shaken me a bit. He'd been at CFNY almost as long as I've been alive, but he had certainly played a roll in my development as a rock fan in Toronto in the mid-1990s, along with Brother Bill, Bookie, Allan Cross, Kneale Mann, Strombo, etc.
Having met him at the club nights and sporadic shows through the years, it was hard to find someone with a similar passion for rock and roll. Guys like him and Strombo, who at times could seem larger than life to pseudo-celeb struck teens, were so into their music, their bands, they were really guys just like us. They had camped out at the stage door. They had waited all night outside Ticketmaster for ducats. They knew the best feeling in the world on a Tuesday was cracking open the cellophane wrap, putting the disc in the slot, and pressing play. And they were on the radio, being able to share that emotion with a whole new group of people, who in turn would want to follow their lead. And a lot of us did.
Speaking of Kneale Mann, apparently he's blogging on new media now. This is from his site today <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="http://onemann.blogspot.com/2009/07/thoughts-about-martin-streek.html">http://onemann.blogspot.com/2009/07/tho ... treek.html</a><!-- m -->
I'll be listening to a lot of Clash records today, and more than likely opening that bottle of Jager for a toast when I get back up north tonight. Because no matter how it ended, someone who was there for me when it started is no more.
Cheers,
Pat
I'm not really high on suicide. I have had a hard time in the past feeling legitimately sorry for/about those who think that's the only way out. And I don't mean to sound like I'm cheapening their problems. We have our issues and some of us have it a lot worse than others. I guess I'm just lucky to never have considered it, wanted it, or even been that close to it, despite some of the shit I've gone through. And maybe that's let me put the blinders on to issues surrounding it. I can handle that though.
But reading this today and seeing the reactions of my friends, those who knew him personally, those who knew him as the voice on the other end of their speakers, it's really shaken me a bit. He'd been at CFNY almost as long as I've been alive, but he had certainly played a roll in my development as a rock fan in Toronto in the mid-1990s, along with Brother Bill, Bookie, Allan Cross, Kneale Mann, Strombo, etc.
Having met him at the club nights and sporadic shows through the years, it was hard to find someone with a similar passion for rock and roll. Guys like him and Strombo, who at times could seem larger than life to pseudo-celeb struck teens, were so into their music, their bands, they were really guys just like us. They had camped out at the stage door. They had waited all night outside Ticketmaster for ducats. They knew the best feeling in the world on a Tuesday was cracking open the cellophane wrap, putting the disc in the slot, and pressing play. And they were on the radio, being able to share that emotion with a whole new group of people, who in turn would want to follow their lead. And a lot of us did.
Speaking of Kneale Mann, apparently he's blogging on new media now. This is from his site today <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="http://onemann.blogspot.com/2009/07/thoughts-about-martin-streek.html">http://onemann.blogspot.com/2009/07/tho ... treek.html</a><!-- m -->
I'll be listening to a lot of Clash records today, and more than likely opening that bottle of Jager for a toast when I get back up north tonight. Because no matter how it ended, someone who was there for me when it started is no more.
Cheers,
Pat
I'm really sad to hear this.