hpn

Home Planet News Online

Fiction Issue 8

Page 8

« Previous Writer Next Writer »

Home
Table of Contents
Links
Editorial
Featured Hispanic Poets Featured Hispanic Artist
About Us
Submissions

ROCK N’ ROLL REFLECTIONS By: Mark Brathwaite

What has become of Toronto? An endless sea of construction this summer in the west end these days. The sun is beating down on me as sweat drips from my brow on the balcony of my apartment. My name is Jack Bloom and I’m a writer for an online publication called The Toronto Pub -- yes “Pub” is short for publication. These days it should be an actual pub, so I can at least get a drink along with my meagre salary.

My birthdate is December 12, 1946, so I’ve seen a lot: The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, and Jimi Hendrix. I lived through Woodstock and read Hemmingway to unwind, that should tell you how messed up I really am. The Toronto Pub used to be a print magazine back in the day, and they paid me to cover one of The Beatles’ first concerts: Liverpool in 1961. The venue is called Cavern Club , a dingy, borderline grungy spot you can only see on black-and-white VHS documentaries from 1976. Back then, when I’d been considered somewhat “cool”, we used to drink Bass Charrington beer when covering stories in England. We would party after the shows with blondes in Leicester Square, take shots of Black Label and chat each other up. You don’t get anything like that now.

I know I'm not a customary GQ man, but I used to dress stylishly when I went out. The mag I worked for would rent me a classic silver Mini Cooper whenever I flew overseas. Now I’m lucky to afford a cab to Scarborough, a suburb about 45 minutes outside of Toronto.

I’m washed up, I’ll admit it. I can’t even buy a ticket to a Van Halen reunion concert these days. I’m forced to listen to my Metallica records at home. I live a sad life. I’m up to my neck in mortgage payments. I know I shouldn’t complain but sometimes I can’t help it.

I own a 1996 Nissan 240ZX coupe in gold. It is in rough shape like me. I guess we are made for each other. Every now and again I go down to the underground garage on P2 and start her up among the concrete just to hear the engine purr. It’s my only remaining connection to the era before Facebook, God help us.

All I see now are a bunch of kids using Instagram, Snapchat and Tik Tok all the time on smartphones! I’m lucky I even know what those things are. I’m just an old dog in a new world surrounded by toys I don’t care for. I have an old Motorola flip phone built in 2000 and it works just fine, thank you very much. All the songs sound the same now. Just money grabs, no feeling and no humanity. At least Prince sang from the heart! Cobain too.

Now we’ve got this sludge you can barely call music. Thankfully John Frusciante is back with the Red Hot Chili Peppers on guitar. That is my saving grace. I talk to my parents about this stuff sometimes. My dad is from Essex and my mother is from Westchester; I can proudly say they don’t approve of the trash you hear on the radio these days either.

There is no modern Janis Joplin. No 21st century Jim Morrison. At this rate there never will be. I tell my daughter’s friends when they are over:

“You’ve got to listen to King Crimson!”

“We only listen to King Kendrick!” they respond. They then proceed to show me his album To Pimp A Butterfly and to be honest, it’s not bad. Jazzy, funky and ambitious. But the majority of records these days are not like that.

***
Click here to Continue

ROCK N’ ROLL REFLECTIONS By: Mark Brathwaite

My daughter’s name is Hailey. She is curvaceous yet fit, like her mom. I try to talk to her about the past...she doesn’t care! She’d rather listen to Eminem. He’s a pretty good lyricist, but I am out of touch with anything in hip-hop post 2010. Everything in the rap genre I owe to my daughter. I just can’t get into it that much, I think I’m too old. I’m just happy to not be a total embarrassment when her girlfriends are around.

My parents immigrated from Britain to Canada in 1951. They are nurses, and jobs in healthcare post World War II weren’t so easy to come by, so a fresh start was needed.

I know I’m luckier than most. I have a beautiful, 28 year-old daughter and a wife named Shelly I love very much. Sometimes I just call her Shell. To most I’m just a dinosaur. An old bird. But my family means the world to me and me to them. For us, gradually paying down to own this condo is enough. We’re in the West End of Toronto in an area called

“Liberty Village”. Over here, something is always happening.

It’s a great area. It’s June now and we hit the farmer’s market quite often. At the age of 68 there’s not much I want now. I’ve seen so many changes. The strum of John Lennon’s guitar in Liverpool filled me with enough energy to see this journey through.

I’m near retirement now and I will be done with working in 2022, two years from now. My daughter works as an accountant for H&R Block and my wife is a writer like myself. She works for the The Toronto Pub also and we met in 1975 at Maple Leaf Gardens on June 18.

The Stones were playing.

We locked eyes while Mick Jagger ironically sang the tune:

“I can’t get no satisfaction!”

Keith Richards let the guitar ring out with expert flair, while Charlie Watts pounded the drums. Ronnie Wood and Mick strutted like some damn turkeys all over the stage. We loved it. Shell and I were part of the presscore at the front of house and luckily we wore high-grade earplugs. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to communicate with anybody now.

After some flirting back and forth between us I mustered the courage to shout “can we keep in touch?” over the noise. She grabbed my pen and notepad, giving me her information with an incredulous look on her face. I think she didn’t know why she agreed to give me a chance at that moment. Quite honestly, neither did I because she is to this day way more attractive than I am.

I guess I have a certain charm. When you’re crazy enough to walk up to a gorgeous brunette colleague wearing a sexy black retro dress while you are wearing a light blue button up with glasses and ripped denim jeans, that takes some balls. While my wife and daughter are at work, I chose to write this. I never did launch my dream career as a fiction author but I count my blessings: I’m a paid, published writer and my family is doing well. To me, that's all that matters. Let this writing live as a record of my life and my happiness, even after I am gone.

Rock n’ Roll will live forever, and our spirits thrive along with it. I’m reminded of that every time I play Led Zeppelin IV in our condo.

***

Lehman Weichselbaum: Hot Mike

Matthew Paris: THE Blog Bog

©2021 - All rights return to the author.