My Pete Townshend impression didn't go over well during my audition
for Toronto-based Who tribute band Who Did You Expect. When I
called later to ask why I didn't get the gig, I was told "You weren't
bad, but we were kind of hoping for the post-rehab look."
the early 1980s I embarked upon an abortive career as a musician.
As a player, I make a great fan. But by the mid-1980s, I had exploited the
availability of cheap desktop recording hardware to become, without a word
of boast, one of the best pop/rock songwriters in the country. I really
was that good...I just wasn't a good enough musician (in fact, I
was horrible) to be credible as a performer, and never managed to acquire
the money and personal connections necessary to be anything more than a
really...because several of the songs here - particularly Take These
Chains, Only Time Will Tell and Wrap Me - were just a
few minor changes from being honest-to-god hits...if I'd only hooked up
with a capable producer. Several other songs need no more than a bit of
updating and an extra hook or two to still be hit-worthy today. And in 2009,
as the last faint pulses of adolescent libido were delivering their two-week
resignation notices, I was stupid enough to add heartbreak to heartache
when I wrote what might be my very last rock song - I
Got Nothing to Say That You Want to Hear (link plays a 1-minute excerpt)
- and discovered to my abject horror that I still had the touch...and
no one who wanted to touch me.
But then stories
of great music that never gets heard are a dime a dozen in this business.
Persistence matters more than talent, and in the absence of support, which
I didn't have, persistence requires money, which I couldn't raise.