Monday, February 27, 2017

The Oppenheimer Report 2/27/17

Years ago, my friend Buck Marshall came over to the house with a bunch of cds. His aim was to convert me into a country music fan. I laughed and told him I was not a lover of country music, but he was resolved to change my mind. I realize now how myopic I must have sounded, because I’d grown up listening to all sorts of country rock – bands like The Outlaws, The Marshall Tucker Band, and The New Riders of The Purple Sage. Buck exposed me to some really great country music, including artists like Chris Stapleton, The Infamous Stringdusters, Doc Watson, Bella Fleck, J.D. Crowe and the New South, Willie P. Bennett, and a few dozen other great artists. I listened to all the albums he gave me, and learned a lot. The collection included bluegrass, traditional country, country rock, Texas swing, rockabilly, and yes, even some country rock. One of the CDs he lent me was  by Blackie And The Rodeo Kings, a band who took their name from the seminal Willie P.Bennett album of the same name. I fell in love with their music.

Last Saturday night, Shauna and I headed down to Toronto to attend the kickoff show for the Blackie And The Rodeo Kings “This Band Kills Hatred” tour. We do not attend many non-local concerts, but both of us agreed this one was well worth the drive down to Toronto. Since I began broadcasting my little show, I have grown to respect the song writing skills of Colin Linden, Stephen Fearing, and Tom Wilson, the three founding members of the band. To see them perform together was a special treat for me. The show opened with Thompson Wilson, Tom Wilson’s son, performing some of his own original songs. Throughout the night Thompson joined his father onstage, and it was inspiring to see father and son united in song. As well, various other guest artists came up and sang original songs, including Charles Esten and Sam Palladio, two of the stars of the hit TV series Nashville. Because of his exceptional skills as a guitarist, Colin Linden has been involved with that show from its inception. Samantha Martin, an amazing vocalist based in Toronto, was also on the bill, and all three of these guests were fantastic. In fact, one for the things I like and respect about Blackie And The Rodeo Kings is their connection to and support of other talented artists. That’s how it should be. By the end of the show there had been at least three standing ovations. One got the sense that these musicians were one big family, and the joy and energy with which they presented their music was palpable.

I know I sound like a broken record when I talk about the power of music; I consider it to be the great unifier. In what many consider to be a dark moment in the history of mankind, music is one universal link. Good music touches everyone, and it reminds me of the things I have in common with my fellow man. It also reminds me of my place in the grand scheme of things. I used to think I was a pretty good song writer, but I have been rightly humbled as the field opens up to me. From the time we first settled up here in 2008 I have met and learned from some great musicians. I have grown to respect people with whom I had little else in common. Buck Marshall was at one time a skilled bluegrass musician, and the one who directed me to my first Burk’s Falls Third Friday Coffee House. He taught me to appreciate the writing in country music and he continues to be a valuable mentor, pointing me in the direction of good music. In the two years or more that I have been involved with the radio station, individuals and bands have come to my attention that are exceptional, albeit in many cases unknown. Life is full of lessons, if only I open my ears and listen.


         -  Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, February 20, 2017

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/20/17

The summer before last, we had a serious squirrel problem and it took a long time to rectify. Flying squirrels took up residence in the 12” air space between our ceiling and our roof deck, and made an awful commotion in the middle of the night. At one point, Shauna was looking out our turret window and saw two of them fornicating on the porch roof, ten feet away. They were actually staring at her while they were doing it. Just our luck to get a couple of perverted exhibitionist rodents for unwanted house guests. After reading about the relatively short gestation period of these creepy little rodents, I realized they intended to drop anchor chez Taylor-Oppenheimer, and this was unacceptable. We called in an “expert” and, for a not so modest consulting fee, he gave us quite an education into the habits of all different kinds of squirrels. He then walked around the house with a ladder and investigated possible points of entry. The long and the short of his expert advice was that there is no easy solution to this problem. He gave us an outrageously high quote to make them go away, without any guarantee that he could do it. The education was edifying, if disheartening. Because I didn’t want dead squirrels rotting in our roof, poison was not an option. I was also worried about accidentally poisoning our dog. Relocation is problematic. I don’t enjoy killing animals, but re-locating squirrels is a colossal pain in the ass. I live-trapped and relocated one red squirrel, and was advised to release it at least 12 miles away to ensure it would not return. Flying squirrels are hard to live trap. Eventually, I did figure out what worked, and after removing the little bastards, we managed to seal up some of the tiny holes through which they made entry. For two years we were trouble free and I have not seen another flying squirrel since. Recently, there is a new problem.

Now, it’s the red squirrels that seem to have taken up residence in our ceiling. With their distinctive, squeaky chatter, they are decidedly the most annoying and neurotic of all the squirrels. Once again, we are sleep deprived because these little bastards are scampering around above us. I’m not sure where they’re getting in but it doesn’t matter. There is no way anyone is getting on our roof right now, there’s too much snow and ice. Just about the time I decided to break out the heavy artillery I noticed a bard owl, perched on one of our maple trees out front. Patiently, it waited for the right moment, then swooped down and grabbed some little mouse or vole out of the snow. It remained on our property for a few days, and before it left, there were two patches of blood where it had likely killed something larger than a mouse. Shauna’s nickname at Hunters Bay Radio is “Hawkeye” for her ability to spot typos and grammatical errors. She’s also an excellent shot, and today, much to my surprise, she picked off two of the roof invaders. I’m hoping the bard owl will get the rest of them (or at least drive them away). Back when I was a city boy, I was oblivious to the workings of Mother Nature, but since we moved north, I have become more mindful of nature's balance. When possible, we try to prepare for her occasional wrath, and while we realize that our carbon footprint is large, we also try not to interfere too much. All bets are off when the critters invade our homestead.

Today is Family Day in Canada, and I wish all my Canadian friends a Happy Family Day. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the huge piles of snow on our driveway have begun to melt down a bit. Even if it’s only for one day, hopefully we can focus on loving our families and put all the nonsense in the world on hold.
  

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, February 13, 2017

The Oppenheimer Report 2/13/17

A snowblown heart
Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and like all red-blooded male lovers with a heartbeat, I choose to profess my undying love to my lifelong mate on Facebook. A few days ago, Facebook re-posted a photo my wife Shauna had taken years ago, of the two of us posing in front of Mt. Assiniboine in British Columbia. To celebrate our 10th Anniversary, we stayed at the very exclusive and remote Mt. Assiniboine Lodge for a few days. It was a wonderful memory that we will revisit for the rest of our lives. The mountain hiking was spectacular, and we had a little log cabin, all to ourselves, facing the “Matterhorn of the Rockies”. Looking at that photo, I am reminded of all the road trips and travel adventures Shauna and I have shared together, and so I posted my Valentine’s message to her under that photo. Not only am I romantic, I am thrifty to boot.

I heard someone discussing the origins of Valentine’s Day on the radio the other day, and it apparently dates back to the days of the Roman Empire. The holiday has morphed into a do or die proclamation of love, complete with the obligatory dozen, long-stemmed red roses, and dinner at a swanky restaurant. I feel the same way about Valentine’s Day that I do about Christmas, or Thanksgiving, or Yom Kippur. It is fine to celebrate the occasion, but why do we put ourselves under pressure to declare these feelings for just one day? Are we charitable of heart for one day, do we atone for our sins for one day; do we profess our love for one day? Valentine’s Day is a racket. It’s good for florists, restaurants, and candy vendors, but I think it is amateur hour for those truly in love. Many years ago, I wrote a Valentine’s Day song for Shauna, and I perform it for her every year on February 14th. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that song, and the best part about it is that it is an honest declaration of my love. If anyone is interested in hearing it (no pressure, but there will be a quiz in the next report), the song can be heard by clicking on the following link and scrolling to “Valentine’s Song For Shauna”: https://soundcloud.com/shauna-leigh-taylor/sets/songs-by-jamie-oppenheimer. Another annual Valentine’s Day tradition used to be my purchase of some unique Valentine gift from the dollar store. Nothing says “I Love You” quite like a pair of Happy Valentine’s Day, plastic pink, heart-shaped handcuffs, made in China. Fifty shades of pink, on a budget of two dollars or less.  I’ve never bought a heart-shaped box of chocolates in my life. To me, that’s just phoning it in. As Valentine’s Day candy goes, I prefer cinnamon hearts, and I’m not too keen on those weird, chalky, pastel-colored, candy hearts with silly love messages printed on them. I put those in the same category as candy corn at Halloween. Blecch.

A few weeks ago, my songwriter friend Doug McLean, who hosts a blues show on Hunters Bay Radio, Monday nights after Bingo, mentioned that the third Monday of January is widely considered the most depressing day of the winter. I’ll admit, I’ve been a victim of the winter blues of late, although I experienced a slight delay in the emotion. It descended upon me last week. It could be all the negative press from which I cannot seem to extricate myself, or it might be that I have not slept in a week, due to a recent invasion of squirrels in our roof. I am hoping this scourge will soon be eradicated. Mother Nature has her checks and balances, and I’m hoping that I don’t need to break out the heavy artillery. I hate using that flamethrower. A big owl has recently taken up residence in a nearby tree and will, we hope, solve this problem as nature intended. If only mankind would follow the same rules.

“I’m told there are a thousand ways to say ‘Would you be my Valentine Today?’
For you this year I have no fancy pearls, just this song to say that you’re my world…” 

Tell someone you love how you feel about them, and remember, Valentine candy goes on sale February 15th.
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  -  Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Monday, February 06, 2017

The Oppenheimer Report 2/6/17

The rant du jour is on the subject of journalistic integrity. I think this term is fast becoming an oxymoron. I kill time in the checkout line at the supermarket, reading whatever tabloid smut is there to greet me. I do this because it is right there in my face, and because there is something entertaining about the complete lack of decency and/or truth in scandal rags. I realize that this makes me as bad as every rubbernecker slowing down to watch the car wreck on the highway, but remember, I’m an American. Apparently we Americans are stupid and obsessed with sensationalistic lies. Well, at least 51% of us are (I suspect more). I can hear you saying to yourself, “but those are tabloids, and that is not responsible journalism!” Frankly, I prefer a news source that makes no bones about their nonsense. Pick a tabloid: The National Enquirer, News Of The World, The Sun, Daily Mirror; they are all equally entertaining. The classic tease cover photos reel me in with close ups of celebrity cellulite, and implore me to guess whose doughy, bikini-clad torso it is with the pudgy, matzo ball thighs. Check out this dirty little secret, or learn about that Hollywood train wreck. Did Bubbles the chimp have Cheetah’s love child? Inquiring minds need to know. One Christmas, I purchased nothing but Weekly World News headline tee shirts to give away as gifts, emblazoned with headlines like “Batboy Lives!” or “Woman Killed by $30,000 Mink Coat” or “Man Loses Testicle Down Hot Tub Drain”.

I, like at least 51% of Americans, love tabloid horseshit, but here’s the thing … I know it’s horseshit. So what does this have to do with journalism? These days, every news source has an agenda, and it doesn’t appear to include telling the truth. Remember the old saying: “lies, damn, lies, and statistics”. We, the lemmings, have elected a Twitterer-in-Chief, who aptly personifies tabloid sensationalism. Many, maybe the majority of us, feel he is ill-suited to lead. So how did he win? He did an end run around conventional media and “the system” and related to enough voters to win the election. Perhaps this happened because some of us were too busy watching the sideshow, or not watching at all. CNN in particular seems hell bent on bringing down the emperor (with no clothes), but is the media blameless? Are we the voters? We are indignant about Rump’s twittered prevarications, but I’ll bet at least half of America does not trust the press. Every five minutes CNN flashes “Breaking News” on the TV screen and it’s always the same tired and indignant attack. “Broken news” might be more fitting, or alternative news. Whatever you call it, it is not unbiased reporting, and Edward R. Murrow and Walter Cronkite are probably turning over in their graves. I have not seen this kind of journalistic feeding frenzy since Nicole Brown Simpson's dog was interviewed (in advance of his tell all book “Blood On My Paws”) during the OJ trial. Speaking of that abomination in American justice, which concurrent story got more coverage from CNN in 1994: the OJ trial, or the horrific genocide in Rwanda? We’ve heard a seemingly un-ending repetition of the phrases “alternative facts” and “fake news” and everyone is up in arms because Rump says things that defy reality. No fan of his assholiness I, and anyone else who has even peripherally followed this guy for the last thirty or forty years know that hyperbole and bullshit are his modus operandi. Somehow or another, all those well-meaning Democrats as well as the press missed the heartland. I humbly suggest that we shoot the messengers, and while we’re at it we might want to take a long hard look at ourselves. That is, guys like me, who love sensationalism. Maybe all that glitters is gold. We should be seeing a lot more of that color over the next four years.

How bout them Patriots?! I’m not a football fan, but as Superbowls go, that was one barn-burner, come-from-behind, first ever overtime win by the indomitable Pats (Patriots 34 - Falcons 28). 

Man Loses Testicle Down Hot Tub Drain. That has got to hurt.  


     -  Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED