Friday, December 16, 2011

Jim Cuddy reminds me why I love him.

I was a little disappointed with Blue Rodeo's last album. Not so with Jim Cuddy's latest solo work.

Skyscraper Soul. Get it. Listen to it. Love it.




I also love Jim Cuddy because in the notes of every Blue Rodeo and solo album he tells his three children and wife of twenty-some years how much he loves them.

And because he reminds me of Woody the Cowboy.


 Separated at birth.

Am I right?








This week the Ottawa Citizen was running a contest in which Cuddy fans could win tickets to his February stop at the National Arts Center, as well as a library of all his CDs. One lucky contestant will also get to meet the man himself after the concert. Now,  I already have all his CDs and my tickets to the concert, but I still kinda wish I had entered. Jim Cuddy has written the soundtrack to my life, and I would have looked forward to the melancholy ballad he might have penned after meeting me: "Nervous Mumbling Idiot Girl from Ottawa":

Oooh, I was tired when I met her,
But I smiled and said hello,
She said somethin' that sounded like "Newtnk apptr ak lrrr,"
And that's when I knew it was time to go....

In other news, Blue Rodeo is about to be inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame.
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13 comments:

  1. You are right. You should have entered the contest. You could always have shared the prize with some of your sisters. Maybe one of them could have even been enticed to Ottawa to attend the concert with you. I like your lyrics as well. Almost as good as "Baby Your Goodlooking"

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  2. It is good to see you back Mrs. Beazly.

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  3. He's ok I guess. But what the song you posted lacks is Greg Keelor mumbling about Hindu gods and Sazza MacLoughin (?sp) wailing in the background over wind chimes.

    How come I can never say anything nice?

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  4. Because your Grumpy Old Man brain has been affected by the extreme heat of your hemisphere. Livable, two-storey house with large yard for sale on a block near me. Check it out.

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  5. Mrs. Jones, it didn't occur to me that I could have shared the prize with one of my sisters. I was only thinking of Mr. B. impatiently tapping his foot while I was busy fawning over Jim Cuddy.

    Anonymous, thanks for the welcome back.

    DRJ, if you think you love Jim Cuddy, you probably DO love Jim Cuddy.

    Ted Blurn, you never say anything nice because you are too busy lording it over other people that you once met Jerry Jerry and that guy who is no longer a Barenaked Lady. Dang!! If I'd won this contest, I finally could've put an end to that! But I think we can agree that Greg Keelor should not be let near the wind chimes.

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  6. In the spirit of Christmas, let me add that I like many of Greg Keelor's Blue Rodeo contributions, too.

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  7. Greg Keelor's voice is like vodka: a little is pleasant, on the right occasion, and in moderation.

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  8. Is there a job that comes with that livable house?

    The heat can't get to me anymore. It was only 25 C here today. I had to wear a sweater.

    Not only did I meet Jerry on several occasions I once gave him money to play Pacman between sets because he didn't have any coins. I would've been more impressed with Steven Paige if he would've admitted he didn't know 'Gimme Back My Wig' instead of saying he would see if they could fit it in to the last set.

    In the spirit of Christmas, here is something I like about Greg Keelor. I like that he spells 'Keelor' with a double 'e' instead of 'ea'. That's all I got.

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  9. Maybe the job is making the house more livable.

    25 degrees. As Sniffy would say, "Boo Hoo."

    If Greg Keelor is vodka, what is Jim Cuddy?

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  10. I can't compete with 25 degrees, not even right beside my fireplace. You wouldn't want to live here anyway. Trust me.

    Jim Cuddy is a dessert coffee containing Grand Marnier with whipped cream and Bernard Callebaut chocolate shavings sprinkled on top.

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  11. I was going to say Grand Marnier!! But your response is even better, Yum!!

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  12. Well I guess we share a brain, Mrs. Jones. And one that is apparently steeped in Grand Marnier...

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