The Oppenheimer Report 10/26/15

 

It’s that time of year again, when mountains of candy line the entrances to supermarkets, and everything is decorated in orange, black, and that spray on crap which looks like spider webs (because we can never have enough of those). My musician friend Troy Sinister, former member of the legendary Toronto punk rock band The Sinisters, who has recently charted on Hunter’s Bay Radio’s Top 20, is a big fan of Halloween. He and his wife Kandis go all out to decorate their Huntsville property in ghoulish splendor. I can relate; I used to be a huge fan of Halloween, although I was not so much about the decorations as I was about the costumes. During my Buffalo years, I typically threw or attended at least one wild Halloween party every year. Many Halloweens ago, a friend rented a school bus, and about thirty of us travelled around to various bars in Buffalo, dressed in our costumes, ambushing unsuspecting patrons with our loud and obnoxious party. As anyone who dresses up for Halloween can attest, all bets are off when the costume goes on. Oneself is, after all, invisible. For this bus party, I was dressed as a Buffalo Sabres cheerleader, complete with shiny blue spandex tights and a ridiculously over-endowed chest. My “in drag” alter ego Halloween costumes were never pretty, but this one was particularly abominable, and it got progressively worse as the night wore on. Oh, for the good old days, when I had no shame. If Shauna is well enough, we might go down to Bracebridge for a music jam/ Halloween bash to which we’ve been invited. If we do go,  I’ll be at a loss to come up with a good costume.  
 

Last Saturday I attended the first annual Festival of Song in Huntsville, and therein was a gathering of songwriters from all over Ontario. We assembled to discuss our craft and to present some of our songs. I’ve never actually participated in a songwriting circle before, and this meeting of songwriters was both instructive and enjoyable. I knew many of the local writers, but there were quite a few new faces, and several guys who were well known. I met John McGale of the Montreal rock band Offenbach, and he was a wealth of knowledge as well as an entertaining slide guitarist. Headliners Jon Brooks and Rob Lutes were in attendance all day, and simply getting a chance to hang out with these two gifted songwriters whom I admire was a treat. They both did hour sets later on, and these are my favorite concerts, wherein the room is small and the audience can interact with the artists. All in all, it was a very successful outing, and Shauna’s second in 2 months.

 

As most Canadians (and likely very few people in the U.S.) now know, Liberal candidate Justin Trudeau, son of the legendary and charismatic Pierre Trudeau, is the now the Prime Minister of Canada. As I suspected, Canadians had had enough of the Conservative Harper government, and Trudeau and his Liberal Party won a majority government. Now that the bathwater and the baby have been thrown out, we’ll see what the new guy can do. I predict that, after a brief honeymoon, the electorate will turn on Trudeau like a pack of angry wolves. Someday, perhaps, when pigs can fly, we the voters will own up to our part in this process. In other words, leadership will only take us so far; change requires sacrifice.

Torontonians are in a state of mourning after their beloved Toronto Blue Jays were defeated by the Kansas City Royals 4-3 in a nail-biter World Series game six. While not a baseball fan myself, I was vicariously exhilarated by the Toronto fandamonium. Be it the Leafs, or the Jays, or the Raptors, Toronto fans are wildly enthusiastic about their teams, and it is infectious. I was courting Shauna when the Jays won their second back-to-back World Series, in 1993, and I remember that we were at the Granite Brewery when Joe Carter hit the game winning home run that won that series. Needless to say, downtown Toronto was chaos. Located near Yonge and Bloor, Shauna’s apartment was right in the middle of the celebration, and I had never before experienced anything close to that kind of collective elation. I remember the frightening experience of being squeezed by a wall of people on Yonge Street. If only the Leafs could somehow find a way to be a winning team (heavy sigh).       

Maybe I'll pick up some fake blood at Dollarama. I mean, I've got to do something for Halloween!                                                                                                                                         

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/19/15

 

Last Saturday night, Shauna and I attended the concert of our friend Jamie Clarke and his band Myrle, at the Algonquin Theatre in Huntsville. That was a great show and marked the release of Myrle’s new CD A Dozen Hearts. Also on the bill was his producer, the legendary Canadian Indie rocker Ron Hawkins. Yank that I am, and under-apprised of so much good Canadian talent, a year ago, I did not know who Ron Hawkins was. When I heard the name, I assumed he was Ronnie “The Hawk” Hawkins, Arkansas rockabilly artist and inventor of the moonwalk. Thanks to Hunters Bay Radio, I have been exposed to Ron Hawkins’ work, and am now a big fan. He’s a great songwriter and a riveting performer.
 

In fact, this was the first social event Shauna has attended in over 2 months. After extensive tests and frequent visits to doctors, we have fairly well determined that her Crohn’s Disease is acting up again, and this latest assault has made Shauna extremely ill. Most of our trips out have been medically related and this CD release concert was really her first public appearance since the Hunters Bay Radiothon in August. We have made many friends up here in this community and it is frustrating for both of us. Shauna wants to accept invitations to dinner, parties, and musical performances, but often does not feel well enough to go. Indeed we are often running behind schedule, even for doctors' appointments, and for those of you who regularly deal with chronic illness, you are aware that it can be difficult to make plans. One of the many reasons Shauna is so active in the online promotion of local artists is that it gives her a sense that she is contributing to the local music scene. Both of us share the desire to promote talented artists; I’m the legs and she is the brains. Her marketing skills are exceptional.

 

Today is Federal Election day and, while I cannot vote in Canada, I will bundle Shauna up before the end of the day and drive her over to the Katrine Community Center to cast her vote. If one pays attention to the polls, incumbent Conservative PM Stephen Harper is running well behind Liberal pretty boy Justin Trudeau. Canadians seem to be disgusted with the divisiveness of the Harper government and with his lack of transparency. I am no fan of Stephen Harper, although I am concerned that the inexperienced Trudeau will prove to be a disappointing alternative, especially wherein the Canadian economy is concerned. Much of the slow growth in the Canadian economy would likely have occurred regardless of the leader in charge, and much of it was an inevitable result of the slowdown in the global economy. Raising the taxes on the rich sounds great but just ask an economist if this is a realistic strategy. I’m wary Trudeau will give away the candy store. The fact is, I am always wary of a vote against one candidate as opposed to a vote for another. That is how NDP Premier Bob Rae was elected Premier of Ontario in the 80s and that protest vote proved to be disastrous for the Ontario economy. If Harper is not re-elected, he can probably attribute it in large part to his affiliation with Mike “Mr. Pork” Duffy and the senate scandal. Voters want transparency in their leaders, and Harper did everything but own up to his mistakes. I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me who is the right guy for the job. Especially in the American elections, there are no clear choices. By the way, did anyone else see the SNL spoof on the American Democratic debate held last week? Seinfeld creator and comic Larry David did a hilarious impression of Democratic curmudgeon Bernie Sanders. Bang on.

Next weekend, I am scheduled to perform at an all-day songwriters festival in Huntsville, and I understand I am to be involved in a seminar which includes one of my song writing idols, Jon Brooks. I’m honored. I’d rehearsed for two performances I was forced to cancel last summer, so I am looking forward to playing next Saturday. I sign off on this blustery cold October afternoon. I took my last dip of the season a week ago Saturday. The boat is still in the water, but it’s time to service the snow blower.  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/12/15

Most anyone who reads this report semi regularly knows that, for the past several weeks, I have been a whiney bitch about turning sixty. Because Shauna has been quite ill lately, I did not want her knocking herself out to throw a big party. She threw me a fantastic surprise party when I turned 50, which included all our parents (only one is now alive), and a lot of dear friends. It was a great dinner, held at the Oban Inn in Niagara-on-the-Lake, where we first met, and it was a wonderful celebration. When last Thursday rolled around, I figured I was off the hook, and we could let this little milestone slip by without much fanfare. Shauna and I agreed that my gift would be a vintage electric guitar of my choice, selected from Currie Brothers Music store in Gravenhurst, sometime in the near future. I was perfectly happy to spend my birthday broadcasting Lyrical Workers, alone, at the Hunter’s Bay Radio studio. I’d spent a long time, gathering birthday songs from some of my listeners and musician friends, previewing weird songs on the internet, and dredging up a few of my original birthday songs. My plan was to do the show, perhaps to get home earlier than usual, and have a late dinner while watching really bad reality television with my wife.

 

Shauna and I have a little birthday custom - we annually recycle dollar store birthday decorations purchased a decade or more ago. The morning of my birthday I woke up to the obligatory tattered “Happy Birthday” signs and crepe, decorating the house, along with love notes strategically posted on mirrors here and there. The love notes are my favorite part, and I save some of them every year. I had a lot of messages from friends and family acknowledging the day and I was delighted by all the attention.

 

I became a little suspicious when Shauna seemed to be unusually concerned about the timing of my show. Did I know how long it would take me to do it, what time did I think I’d be done?  I figured she just wanted me to get home earlier. Then, my suspicions were heightened. I got a message from one of the hosts at the station, informing me that I could load in my show early, because there was no live show. That was a little unusual. I went to the station, mildly apprehensive that there might be some kind of impromptu surprise when I got there. I arrived, but no one was there save for the host I was relieving. I chatted with Barry for a while, then did my three hour show. This birthday show was important to me, and I wanted to make it as interesting as I could. That meant doing a little last minute online research, and I took my time. As I locked up the station and walked out the door, there in the rain appeared a group of my musician friends, who jumped out of the darkness to surprise me. That they did; I nearly soiled myself. In a comedy of errors, they thought I’d be done much earlier, and because the station door was locked, they couldn’t sneak in to surprise me earlier. I understand they were out there for over an hour waiting. I later read posts about all the crazy planning that went into this surprise party, and found out just how complicated and crazy things got. More people planned to attend, but it was after all a school night and it was, after all, quite late. I feel terrible for all the people who waited outside in the cold for me to emerge, but I had no idea any of this was going on. My friend Juan Barbosa and Shauna were the ringleaders, but there were many others peripherally involved. To all those who showed up and kidnapped me to Boston Pizza, thank you for your incredible patience and for staying up so late on a weeknight. To everyone else who participated in the plot, even those who were not able to attend (including my sneaky wife), thank you for the love. The messages, both text and on Facebook, were hilariously memorable.

 

At least two attendees told me they were concerned about surprising a guy who was turning 60, outside in the dark. I am here to tell you, my heart is strong, and apparently so are yours. Thank you everyone for making this birthday memorable, and for all the good people I am able to call friends.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/5/15

Mom and Dad shortly after they were married

In three days, I will celebrate my 60^th birthday, and I plan to spend the evening broadcasting my radio show Lyrical Workers on Hunters Bay Radio. That may not seem very exciting, but as my Oregonian cousin might say, “it’s fine and dandy with me.” It is fitting that I will be playing music and learning about songwriters on my birthday, because that is something I enjoy.
 

I’m not exactly sure why, because I am long past the notorious mid-life crisis stage of life, but sixty sucker punched me. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, and in my mind, I am a twenty-something. The balding, grey-haired man staring back at me in the mirror is shaking his head. Time to face the music Jamie, you are officially old. My dad was ninety-eight when he passed on, and until the day he died, he had a young man’s spirit. He was a remarkably approachable, funny, selfless, and in many ways, an open-minded man. It is mostly in retrospect that I have realized that. I want to be like my dad.

 

This has been a strange couple of weeks for me, and I’m sure I have not been much fun to be around. Ever my champion, Shauna advertises my radio show and promotes this report, but more and more these days, I wonder why I do this. I certainly can’t attribute my efforts to my legion of fans – I don’t have one - so what motivates me?  The seemingly exponential acceleration of time has me wondering how long I’ve got. Why are months flying by so quickly? Am I squandering my time? How do I reconcile myself to the changes, and how do I make the best of my remaining time, however much that may be? I never used to think like this. I was, after all, young. All around me are constant reminders of the fragility of life. People become crippled in freak accidents, or fall terminally ill, or catastrophe upends their previously charmed lives, and in one split second, everything changes. Maybe it’s the catastrophes that define us, for better or worse. It’s a question that haunts me more as I grow older. What a revelation: I’m growing old and beginning to worry about my future. I must be the only person who feels this way! What will the world do without me? I am slowly beginning to figure out that the notion of my significance is ludicrous. “It doesn’t amount to a pinch of coon shit” as Shauna’s Uncle Sam used to say. Insignificance is not something to mourn or regret, it is simply something to acknowledge. The simple fact is that when I’m gone, my memory has the shelf life of raw eggs in the sun, to all but the very few who have loved me. So, in answer to the question “Why do I write and why do I promote music?” It feels right to me. It’s my miniscule contribution to the universe. I can now rest assured that my life has had meaning. Selling industrial real estate certainly didn’t do that for me.

 

Every so often, I hear or read the story of a great man or woman, a hero or heroine in history who overcame great adversity to save lives or do good. I wonder how many more remained anonymous. I wish more people focused on the heroes, and less on crooks and pompous celebrities. There are so many heroes in our everyday lives: firemen, teachers, doctors, good citizens, even children, who perform selfless acts of heroism and bravery every day. I’m no hero, but slow and steady wins the race. I’ll just plod along, spreading my twisted opinions throughout the universe, all the while shrugging my shoulders, bewildered by the tectonic shifts in my culture.

 

To sum up - I was depressed about turning 60, but I’m getting over it. I’m a late baby bloomer. Who knows what I might do before I croak?

 

Did you hear, Mars has water? Woohoo, another planet to rape!

 

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED