09/30/2024

What can I tell you of Joe Boyd? Well, I don’t think that I would be overstating it to say that the man is a legend, but he’s kind of a stealth legend. Music people know about Joe, which isn’t at all surprising given that his extraordinary career is now into its seventh decade, but he’s one of those guys who a lot of people aren’t necessarily aware that they’re aware of… if you get my drift. If you’ve listened to music or watched movies to any depth since around 1966 or so, it's very likely that you've heard or seen Joe’s work.
09/17/2024

With Santa Fe Fiestas and its attendant mayhem now safely in the rear view mirror, it was back to bidness at Ye Olde Matador Bar & Lounge. Bartender Katia was back from the DL, none the worse for her unfortunate close encounter of the arachnid kind, and Big Dom kept his steady eye on everything from the door. This is the traditional Matador format—a tight three-person crew running the show, keeping a positive vibe in effect, backing one another up. Case in point: Around mid-evening a diminutive young lady entered the bar decked out in notably unseasonable attire. Though it was still 70-ish outside she wore a heavy winter coat, a knit hat, dark glasses and a black turtle neck sweater pulled up to completely cover the lower part of her face. She ordered a draft beer from Katia and then began to wander around in the nether regions of the bar, eventually disappearing into one of the bathrooms. Noting this from my DJ post, I began to get a bit curious when, after 15 minutes, she was still in there. I alerted Katia that something odd was afoot, she alerted Dom, Dom went to investigate and, after cueing up several songs, I went to cover the door. Dom got everything sorted and the mysterious diminutive individual emerged from the bathroom, finished her beer and disappeared into the streets of a Thursday night. Interesting.  No harm/no foul.
09/01/2024

It was back to the swampy confines of Ye Olde Matador Lounge on Thursday after a two-week hiatus for a journey up to the Great White North. The occasion for travel was to observe Ink Mum’s birthday—96, if you can believe it!—and to savor some beach/forest/countryside time in America’s Dairyland. A side excursion was made to see a Brewers/Dodgers game in Milwaukee on the 15th. The Ohtani effect was fully evident and a torrential deluge added to the mayhem outside of the former Miller Park. The stadium was packed to the rafters beneath the thankfully retracted retractable roof, but the 3/4 Billion Dollar Man didn’t unleash any fireworks on this day. The Dodgers ended up losing, 6-4, much to the joy of the Brew Crew faithful, splitting a four-game series. I listened to the first two innings on the radio from my rental car as I waited in an endless queue to be directed to a soggy parking spot. I had paid $200 for my third row seat just behind the home on-deck circle, so I figure the Brewers organization owes me about $50. I’ll accept a voucher for a future game, thank you very much.