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Welcome aboard. Blogging like it's still 2004.
Blogging like it’s 2004 means typing freely, posting impulsively, and embracing the messy charm of the early web. No algorithms, no polish—just raw thoughts, quirky links, and the joy of having a tiny corner of the internet to call home. Here’s to simpler times and unapologetically personal posts.
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Driven by my interest in the influence of US clear-channel stations, I was curious what they actually sounded like back in the day. Thanks to archive.org, I found aircheck recordings that let me experience what is otherwise an ephemeral medium. Currently, I’m diving into a 1970 Top 100 countdown with DJ Bruce Morrow. Between the music and his quintessential New York accent, it’s a fascinating listen. Had I been born early enough to seek it out, I definitely would have been a fan.
Radio is, by its very nature, an ephemeral medium—a stream of data pushed into the ether, meant to be experienced in the moment and then lost forever. Unlike a book or a film, which are curated for the shelf, these broadcasts were 'disposable' culture. Finding these recordings on archive.org feels like intercepting a ghost signal; it’s a rare chance to catch a broadcast that was never truly meant to survive the night it aired.
Radio is, by its very nature, an ephemeral medium—a stream of data pushed into the ether, meant to be experienced in the moment and then lost forever. Unlike a book or a film, which are curated for the shelf, these broadcasts were 'disposable' culture. Finding these recordings on archive.org feels like intercepting a ghost signal; it’s a rare chance to catch a broadcast that was never truly meant to survive the night it aired.
U.S. clear‑channel AM stations had a surprisingly strong influence on the Maritime musical landscape. Anne Murray, growing up in Springhill, could pick up stations like WABC at night, and that polished American pop sound shaped her early musical style.
Other powerful U.S. stations carried different influences into the region. WWVA in Wheeling, West Virginia, brought bluegrass directly into Maritime homes, while WSM’s Grand Ole Opry broadcasts reached parts of Nova Scotia. This exposure introduced instruments like the banjo and mandolin — along with their distinct picking styles — well before local access to records or returning servicemen’s albums.
Not all parts of the Maritimes received these signals equally. The north shore of New Brunswick often sat outside the skip zone, meaning those U.S. broadcasts simply didn’t reach them. As a result, that region developed along different musical lines, shaped more by Acadian and Quebec influences than by the American country and bluegrass that took root elsewhere.
U.S. AM radio didn’t just entertain the Maritimes — it rewired the region’s musical genetics.
Other powerful U.S. stations carried different influences into the region. WWVA in Wheeling, West Virginia, brought bluegrass directly into Maritime homes, while WSM’s Grand Ole Opry broadcasts reached parts of Nova Scotia. This exposure introduced instruments like the banjo and mandolin — along with their distinct picking styles — well before local access to records or returning servicemen’s albums.
Not all parts of the Maritimes received these signals equally. The north shore of New Brunswick often sat outside the skip zone, meaning those U.S. broadcasts simply didn’t reach them. As a result, that region developed along different musical lines, shaped more by Acadian and Quebec influences than by the American country and bluegrass that took root elsewhere.
U.S. AM radio didn’t just entertain the Maritimes — it rewired the region’s musical genetics.
Mourning Eggs and Moving On
Feb. 21st, 2026 09:47 amI’m now officially a refugee from my breakfast place. My beloved diner—convenient, tasty, and stubbornly unpretentious—didn’t survive the fentanyl‑driven chaos downtown. A tiny tragedy in the grand scheme of things, but still a real loss. It had everything: off‑street parking, a breakfast plate that could make a cardiologist weep (three eggs, ham, sausage, bacon), and that perfect diner‑blend coffee designed to be drunk black and without ceremony.
So today I went wandering in search of a replacement. I think I’ve found a Saturday‑morning lifeboat, even if it doesn’t come with the familiar cast of regulars who used to provide the unofficial community‑theatre element of breakfast.
A small deli in the city market served me a smoked‑salmon open‑faced bagel so good it felt like it should come with a warning label. Capers, cheese, the whole thing balanced like a tiny edible miracle. They even have a few stools, and the staff has exactly the right level of quirky charm. They asked how I was when I walked in; I said “slow,” and they assured me they had the cure. And honestly… they kind of did.
So today I went wandering in search of a replacement. I think I’ve found a Saturday‑morning lifeboat, even if it doesn’t come with the familiar cast of regulars who used to provide the unofficial community‑theatre element of breakfast.
A small deli in the city market served me a smoked‑salmon open‑faced bagel so good it felt like it should come with a warning label. Capers, cheese, the whole thing balanced like a tiny edible miracle. They even have a few stools, and the staff has exactly the right level of quirky charm. They asked how I was when I walked in; I said “slow,” and they assured me they had the cure. And honestly… they kind of did.
Redialing Like It’s 1989
Feb. 20th, 2026 04:55 pmRemember frantically redialing a radio station to win concert tickets? I didn’t realize that skill would come in handy again—until yesterday.
My knee flared up, and getting a walk-in clinics doctor’s appointment turned into a full‑on redial marathon. I called over 280 times before I finally got through. It felt exactly like trying to be caller number nine, just with much higher stakes.
The good news: once I got in, the visit and the prescription worked wonders. My knee went from miserable to feeling 1000% better.
Turns out those old radio‑contest reflexes still pay off.
My knee flared up, and getting a walk-in clinics doctor’s appointment turned into a full‑on redial marathon. I called over 280 times before I finally got through. It felt exactly like trying to be caller number nine, just with much higher stakes.
The good news: once I got in, the visit and the prescription worked wonders. My knee went from miserable to feeling 1000% better.
Turns out those old radio‑contest reflexes still pay off.
Lately I’ve been digging deep into my usual maze of musical rabbit holes, and I stumbled onto a wonderfully gritty late‑60s French yé‑yé artist who instantly grabbed me. There’s something raw and charming in that sound that feels perfect as the anchor for my next mixtape.
I’m shaping the vibe now. Stay tuned for the next drop — it’s going to have some real texture.
I’m shaping the vibe now. Stay tuned for the next drop — it’s going to have some real texture.
Analog retreat
Feb. 17th, 2026 12:33 pmForget the Olympics; I've decided that ignoring them is officially a sport in its own right this year. Instead of watching the world stage, I've been retreating into the analog world, and I'm finding the RTM C60 is a perfect modern substitute for the high-end vintage tapes I usually hunt for. I'm actually pretty impressed—it's been running flawlessly without a single "niggle".
I had a great win during a run to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore recently-I managed to snag a Chromium Dioxide version of Paul Young's 1983 classic, No Parlez. I'm curious to see how well the chrome tape has held up after forty years.
It's a timely find, too, since I just featured Young on my latest blue-eyed soul mixtape. He helped define that specific soulful-yet-synthy 80s sound.
I had a great win during a run to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore recently-I managed to snag a Chromium Dioxide version of Paul Young's 1983 classic, No Parlez. I'm curious to see how well the chrome tape has held up after forty years.
It's a timely find, too, since I just featured Young on my latest blue-eyed soul mixtape. He helped define that specific soulful-yet-synthy 80s sound.
I’ve been having a bit of fun analyzing local artists through the lens of my recent rants on the Acadian music scene. As I’ve noted before, many acts—despite heavy promotion—fall flat once you strip away the flag-waving and the regional accent. While singing in Chiac or other Acadian dialects is an interesting texture, you still need a lyrical or musical "edge" to truly engage.
To be clear: this isn't a talent issue; the execution is often fine. It is a problem of composition. If you translated these songs into standard French or English, would anyone outside the Maritimes care? Too often, a "safe" folk-rock sound becomes the default simply because it’s what local grants, festivals, and stations like CIFA or Radio-Canada expect. We end up with the same three-chord progressions, breathless folk vocals, and pastiche lyrics about la mer—stomp songs better suited for a kitchen party than a professional stage.
I won't name names, but I will offer my 0¢ endorsement to one group that gets it: Les Hay Babies.
They bypass the "safe" trap with interesting chord progressions, dynamic voicings, and tight 1940s-60s harmonies. Their lyrics transcend regional tropes, born from a "Honda Accord" school of arrangement where three alpha singers with differing views collaborate to create something superior. They’ve already passed the ultimate "radio test": a friend in Tennessee heard one track and immediately bought their albums, despite not speaking a lick of Chiac. That is the power of great composition.
To be clear: this isn't a talent issue; the execution is often fine. It is a problem of composition. If you translated these songs into standard French or English, would anyone outside the Maritimes care? Too often, a "safe" folk-rock sound becomes the default simply because it’s what local grants, festivals, and stations like CIFA or Radio-Canada expect. We end up with the same three-chord progressions, breathless folk vocals, and pastiche lyrics about la mer—stomp songs better suited for a kitchen party than a professional stage.
I won't name names, but I will offer my 0¢ endorsement to one group that gets it: Les Hay Babies.
They bypass the "safe" trap with interesting chord progressions, dynamic voicings, and tight 1940s-60s harmonies. Their lyrics transcend regional tropes, born from a "Honda Accord" school of arrangement where three alpha singers with differing views collaborate to create something superior. They’ve already passed the ultimate "radio test": a friend in Tennessee heard one track and immediately bought their albums, despite not speaking a lick of Chiac. That is the power of great composition.
Tracklist, Blue Eyed Soul
Feb. 15th, 2026 10:24 amThis is the final tracklist for the mixtape I just finished for a friend. I won’t name names regarding the two specific artists he suggested that I ended up cutting, but let’s just say they didn't quite vibe with the aesthetic I was going for!
I really wanted to lean into that polished Blue Eyed Soul groove—music that’s got one foot in sophisticated pop and the other in classic R&B. Side A is all about the "Groove" to get things moving, while Side B dives a bit deeper into the "Soul" side of things.
It took some fine-tuning to get the timings right for a 30-minute flip, but I think this flow is exactly what the project needed.
I really wanted to lean into that polished Blue Eyed Soul groove—music that’s got one foot in sophisticated pop and the other in classic R&B. Side A is all about the "Groove" to get things moving, while Side B dives a bit deeper into the "Soul" side of things.
It took some fine-tuning to get the timings right for a 30-minute flip, but I think this flow is exactly what the project needed.
| Artist | Song Title | Duration |
|---|---|---|
| Side A: The Groove | ||
| Wham! | Everything She Wants | 6:32 |
| Steve Winwood | Higher Love | 5:47 |
| Hall & Oates | Method of Modern Love | 5:32 |
| Culture Club | Time (Clock of the Heart) | 3:44 |
| Fine Young Cannibals | She Drives Me Crazy | 3:36 |
| Side B: The Deep Soul | ||
| Simply Red | Holding Back the Years | 4:26 |
| George Michael | Father Figure | 5:36 |
| Michael Bolton | (Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay | 3:52 |
| Paul Young | Every Time You Go Away | 4:26 |
| Marc Cohn | Walking in Memphis | 4:18 |
| Terence Trent D'Arby | Wishing Well | 3:30 |
| Michael McDonald | I Keep Forgettin' | 3:42 |
1970s bar-band tropes
Feb. 13th, 2026 03:05 pmA great piece of music should be able to "travel." If you play a track for someone in Japan or Morocco who knows nothing about Acadian history, and they find it haunting or beautiful, it has musical value. If they find it boring, then the "cultural importance" was just a local excuse for a lack of imagination.
Today's drive was a monochromatic study in slate and charcoal. Beneath a deep grey sky, evergreens turned black, their needles etched in sharp, white snow. The only defiance was the vibrant yellow line on the pavement. Despite the gloom, it was strikingly beautiful—a serene, silent masterpiece of winter.
« Wintry mix »
Feb. 11th, 2026 05:57 amA “wintry mix” forecast always feels like meteorology throwing up its hands. I don’t remember hearing it much before this year, but it perfectly captures the uncertainty of those near‑freezing days when 10 mm of sleet could just as easily become 10 cm of snow. A few degrees decide everything, and the term admits exactly that.
Just finished a 1,500-line code review and my brain is now a NullPointerException. I've stared at so many brackets I'm starting to see code in my peripheral vision. Accepting donations of Monster, ibuprofen, or a complete memory wipe. LGTM? More like 'Let God Take Me' at this point.
Sort of jelly that my manager is off to Phoenix today. Twenty‑six degrees and sunshine would be a welcome reprieve from the cold and snow we’re slogging through up here.
On the brighter side, I’ve got a new production blank cassette from Recording the Masters on the way. A friend tossed a few artist suggestions my direction, and I’m curious to see how this tape stock handles them. I won’t name names, but let’s just say a mixtape steeped in late‑’80s to early‑’90s blue‑eyed soul feels like the right test.
On the brighter side, I’ve got a new production blank cassette from Recording the Masters on the way. A friend tossed a few artist suggestions my direction, and I’m curious to see how this tape stock handles them. I won’t name names, but let’s just say a mixtape steeped in late‑’80s to early‑’90s blue‑eyed soul feels like the right test.
A good rest yesterday definitely helped me reset after the daycare virus based whirlwind, and I’m feeling much better today. As for the knee — yes, that loud pop while I was taking off my socks was mine. Thankfully, it seems to be improving dramatically.
To anyone within about 2000 nautical miles of my place… if you heard a sudden yelp around 8:30 p.m. AST last night, that was absolutely me.
To anyone within about 2000 nautical miles of my place… if you heard a sudden yelp around 8:30 p.m. AST last night, that was absolutely me.
Fireside Tunes & Cat‑Powered Healing
Feb. 8th, 2026 01:37 pmDeclared today an official Chill Out Day™. Spinning Dark Side of the Moon and Brothers in Arms, and I even went full music‑nerd and re‑sequenced The Police’s Synchronicity (details in a previous post). Shockingly, it now flows like an album that actually likes itself.
The reason for all this enforced coziness? My knee’s IT band has staged a dramatic protest, and I’ve caught the annual daycare special. So I’m embracing the only sensible plan: Sunday tunes, fireplace roaring, cat firmly installed on lap. Doctor’s orders. Probably.
And since it’s that time of year, I should note that I’m once again not participating in the grand cultural ritual of watching the Superb Owl. I respect the majestic bird and all, but today my energy is firmly committed to music, blankets, and pretending my immune system isn’t filing for bankruptcy.
The reason for all this enforced coziness? My knee’s IT band has staged a dramatic protest, and I’ve caught the annual daycare special. So I’m embracing the only sensible plan: Sunday tunes, fireplace roaring, cat firmly installed on lap. Doctor’s orders. Probably.
And since it’s that time of year, I should note that I’m once again not participating in the grand cultural ritual of watching the Superb Owl. I respect the majestic bird and all, but today my energy is firmly committed to music, blankets, and pretending my immune system isn’t filing for bankruptcy.
Police Synchronicity
Feb. 8th, 2026 05:27 amWasn’t happy with my album side police cassette tape so I asked a Ilm for a redo.
1. Synchronicity I [3:23]
2. Murder by Numbers [4:31]
3. Low Life [3:45] — noir grit
4. Synchronicity II [5:02]
5. Once Upon a Daydream [3:31]
6. Every Breath You Take [4:13]
7. King of Pain [4:59]
8. I Burn for You [4:50]
9. Wrapped Around Your Finger [5:13]
10. Tea in the Sahara [4:11]
44m | High-fidelity tension
mothershould have stayed on the editing room floor.
SYNCHRONICITY // EXPANDED
1. Synchronicity I [3:23]
2. Murder by Numbers [4:31]
3. Low Life [3:45] — noir grit
4. Synchronicity II [5:02]
5. Once Upon a Daydream [3:31]
6. Every Breath You Take [4:13]
7. King of Pain [4:59]
8. I Burn for You [4:50]
9. Wrapped Around Your Finger [5:13]
10. Tea in the Sahara [4:11]
44m | High-fidelity tension
Chilling out today, doing QA on my first analog tape recording in decades.
Excerpts from Stereolab – Dots and Loops on one side, The Police – Synchronicity on the other.
There’s something about hearing those textures roll through tape again—the warmth, the wobble, the little imperfections that make it all feel alive. Nice reminder of why I fell in love with this stuff in the first place.
Also, thanks for the Stereolab recommendation. Somehow I completely missed them the first time around, and now I’m wondering how that even happened. Perfect fit for this little analog experiment.
