Some semi-legal music sharing

Looks like I’ve been even more of a slacker than I realized—Gmail hasn’t been forwarding my emails for, oh, about six weeks. Scattered among the several hundred (as in, all told, 350+) listserv digests, shoe sale ads, and comments offering me things that I’m pretty sure are physically impossible were the comments and posts for this blog. There was also a coupon for philosophy mint tea shampoo (sadly, expired), several forwarded copies of baby pictures, and the little forms that keep books I don’t want from being mailed automatically.

So I guess I can expect to receive a copy of the latest Book That Everyone’s Talking About later this week. And I need to apologize to any of our Loyal Readers who feel neglected and ignored. By me, I mean. Priya’s on her own if she’s been ignoring you.

So that’s probably enough about my little vacation from blogging, right? We can all agree to forgive and forget? Good.

Because I have a present for you all, right over here. Show of hands, how many of you have heard of The Headstones?

Well, now you all have. They aren’t touring anymore, and Hugh Dillon’s got a new project that, frankly, isn't my cup of tea, but for over a decade they put out funky, blues-flavored, punk-inspired, loud and obnoxious albums while touring through Canada.

Yes, like many bands, they were better in concert. Jumping up and down, crowd surfing, and sometimes a mosh pit. If you know where to look, there are concert videos floating around the internet--not quite the same as being there, but still good fun. Hugh Dillon spits on the audience. A lot. It’s a thing he does.

But it’s okay, he drinks and screams and throws things because he loves his fans. Honest. And if you like “Pretty Little Death Song,” some of their albums are still in print. Not the best ones, but lucky for you, none of their albums are bad. Think pizza and sex—even the not-so-great ones are good.

Okay, couldn’t help myself. I’ve put up “Reframed” as well. Consider it a bonus.


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