He looked at me as if to say "Fuck off!" which he then followed by saying, "Fuck off!" "So Frankie," I still can't believe I even asked this, "what happened to Teenage Head? What went wrong?" The questions you're never supposed to ask, the questions that gets snobby little brats (like myself) stabbed, or worse. I decided to go for the jugular and ask the big question. Starting to feel more comfortable with this interview and having just bought Frankie another pint. This man is truly a rock god in every city throughout Canada, except his own, and he knows it. Nothing has been good since Teenage Head," he smirked. "Has any other band from Hamilton impressed you?" I continued. I was sort of confused, but then he clarified. "But I can tell you one thing a out our shows: people would always talk them but never during." "well, most of the stuff I did was before you were even born." He was probably wondering if I was even old enough to be in this bar. I was sure that Frankie knew I was just some drunken fan and, in fact, not a journalist. "Tell me about what it was like when you performed with Teenage Head." God, what a terrible question. Then it hit m: I haven't prepared anything, and in my drunken state, I can't think of anything intelligent off the top of my head. I knew it, and something told me he knew ti too because at the time, I had no intention of writing this article. He looks up at me, clearly annoyed, then begins to look around the bar, likely for another table. "Uh, I like your band." Shit! Why did I say that? From Teenage Head?"įrankie looks at me and than turns back to his pint of Blue. It's 12:05 a.m., my friend's 21st birthday, I'm screaming the words to the Clash's I Fought the Law, I'm drunk, and I'm ready to talk to Frankie.Īs I approach his table I begin to second guess myself and wonder exactly what I'm going to say to this man - a man who played a part in the biggest rock and roll riot this country had ever seen. "Do you know that guy or something?" I asked. I stared at him longer then I probably should have, and then I drifted back to the conversation, only to see one of my friends staring at the exact man i was. Pool table, dartboards, televisions and then, in the corner, a lone figure sitting, enjoying a pint. The Ti-Cats were playing the Argos on the big screen in the Labour Day Classic, but I was much more interested with the eight dollar pitchers of beer that were being consumed at an incredible pace by me and my band of associates.Īs the night progressed, and the litres of beer disappeared, someone began to tell a Frankie Venom story - this one involving a sighing only one week before at the exact bar we were presently patronizing. I was sitting with a few of my friends at a bar called G.P. I had heard so much about this man that when the opportunity arose for me to sit down and talk with him, I could hardly say no. Living in Hamilton, however, and working across from Westdale Highschool, hardly a day goes by that I don't hear a story that involves Frankie, parties, booze, and ambulances - in that order. It's a story - one of rock and roll, ups and downs, and extreme intoxication.īefore tonight, I had never met or seen Frankie Venom. This interview is, in fact, not an interview at all. I made no phone calls to Frankie Venom's people, and we didn't casually meet up in a coffee shop to discuss future Teenage Head albums or upcoming shows. It's Monday night, and before I go any further I have to make a confession. Ironically, this blog will probably be my status. It seems to be no different then opening a phone book, dialing 300 random numbers and hoping half of them pick up and listen to what I'm selling. Honestly, are we actually socializing on these networks, or are we marketing ourselves? our events? I have, but when snowballed with 700 or so status updates a day, it gets harder and harder to separate the good from the crap. That's not to say I haven't found out about some interesting things going on thanks to Facebook. At their worst they become a tool designed to spread the word of our own selfish agendas. Social networking sites at their best are a way to connect with people who have been a part of our lives in one way or another. It's just a blank autonomous comment that people use to describe pizza. Once in a while there is some sort of feedback, but with the recent "I LIKE" link, that feedback doesn't even have to contain any text at all. Spreading a word, that very few are actually interested in. Myspace, Facebook and now Twitter, the constant bombardment of invites, and status updates have become like cold calls. YO! DJ _ at Club _ TONITE! Fucking ( insert party adjective)!
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