Something’s been bugging me the last 24 hours—well, a number of things have been bugging me, but one in particular that’s worth sharing here in the Halls of Rock. Before I share, let me note that the ire I’m about to express toward an old friend and key musical mentor is not to be expressed without tremendous respect and acute self-awareness of my own tendency to do exactly what my friend did to get under my skin.
Yesterday, this friend—a should-be Townsman who has resisted all efforts at recruitment into our daily bull sessions since Day 1 of our original listserv origins—tipped me off on my Facebook page, in case I wasn’t aware of them, of videos of Big Dipper at JC Dobbs, an old-time Philadelphia club where my music friends and I (most of whom, this particular friend excluded, patrol these halls on a regular basis) saw the band every time they came through town. I was long aware of these videos, which I didn’t bother to throw back in his face, rock-snob style, as your slightly younger, less-gentle Moderator was wont to do. Kinder, wiser Moderator that I am I merely thanked him; confirmed that our extended crew was in the crowd the night this video was shot, as was always the case among the 40 people in Philadelphia who could be counted on to come out and see Big Dipper; and asked him if he’d heard the band’s latest album, which I mentioned was “very good” and very much in the vein of Heavens-era Dipper.
My friend’s response, in the sort of rock-snob tone that’s too well known to my own voice?
