On the 12 Days of Christmas, My Blogger Played for Me: Songs in the Key of A(lternative)

On the 12 Days of Christmas, My Blogger Played for Me: Songs in the Key of A(lternative)

If you’re looking for a list of the most beloved Christmas carols, you’ve come to the wrong blog. Times have changed, after all. The Little Drummer Boy is set to tour with Bruce, and Frosty's a puddle on my front lawn - a victim of global warming. And if you’re seeking recommendations for the most popular rock and R&B-oriented holiday…

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Don’t Take Your Horns to Town

Don’t Take Your Horns to Town

You know, almost all goats - both billies and nannys - are born with horns. Some of our human rulers remove our beautiful crowns by burning them off with a hot iron. It’s called disbudding, and we undergo this torture within our first 10 days of life. It’s akin to infant human boys undergoing castration! It hurts like hell, but…

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Pumpin’ Some Pittsburgh Labor Day Love with The Iron City Houserockers

Pumpin’ Some Pittsburgh Labor Day Love with The Iron City Houserockers

There’s no city in America that defined labor quite like beautiful, hardscrabble Pittsburgh. Our workers produced the big, hard, heavy, clanging things that made the world go 'round: iron, steel, aluminum, glass, massive rotors, giant generators. Nobody worked as hard as Pittsburghers. And nobody wrote and sang about the working class lives and loves of Pittsburghers quite like the fabulous…

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Golden….Slumbers?

Golden….Slumbers?

Oh, sure. They’ve accused me of lacking originality, just because I occasionally pen clever parodies of famous songs and poems. Those boorish Capitol Steps people do it, and they’re not one bit FUNNY. Face it: I’m very good at livening up the classics with puns about bodily functions. But, baby, I ain’t going anywhere NEAR “Golden Slumbers.” (Though it IS…

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Maggie’s Farm No More

Maggie’s Farm No More

I don’t know any goat that’s 100% black or white or tan. Most of us are of mixed color, and proud of it. But I do know a few billies who are predominantly black, and I never understood how they could work at that racist place called ‘Maggie’s Farm.’ You know, it was ME who encouraged Bob Dylan to write…

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