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A few weeks ago a friend of mine agreed to come out with me to hear my son's cover band.  Her easy acquiescence made me quite happy as my peers are no longer in budding youth and nights out at bars aren't the norm for most. Admittedly, while my talented kid performs a variety of music at different venues,  this particular band is not for the musically frail.  They handily attack peppy pop,  alternative, hair metal and rock — all at full volume.  So, though there are older fans among the regulars,  generally my husband and I have come to accept it's not a scene for most of our friends. This gal, however, dove right in. I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose. She's one of those incredible people who pretty much goes in with the attitude she's going to like whatever she's about to do.  And I have to say that seeing her jump for her phone to video the boys playing Pantera,  while hooting excitedly that she had to show her daughter what she was doing, was

There are those of us who listen to music, and there are those who make music.  I know it's a deadly sin but I  admit to boundless envy for the latter group.  While I have an adequate voice, my dream to play an instrument has never been realized. From the first moment I saw The Beatles I wanted to play a guitar. I begged, whined and cajoled my mother. However, the charms of the four lads from Liverpool were somewhat lost on her, making my sudden desire to strum seem a tad capricious.  After months of my harping, she finally agreed that if I wanted to learn an instrument it would be the piano. Now, there were a few things about raising a rather strong-willed pre-teen that my mother hadn't as yet figured out. You could lead me to a keyboard, but when it was strings I was wanting, you couldn't make me play. Piano lessons bored me and in my petulance,  I had no interest in discovering the beautiful potential of the instrument. I quit after a year. Oddly, when I became

My husband and I love music. Our CD storage is filled to overflowing, and our television viewing is often geared towards documentaries on such subjects as Muscle Shoals renowned recording history or Ken Burns Jazz. We are too big fans of live music and will travel miles to concert venues to hear favourite entertainers, or hang out in pubs to listen to often equally talented, but struggling, musicians. Throughout the summer there is never a shortage of festivals to attend, from jazz to blues, or even in the case of a recent gig for our musician son, Bollywood. Another hobby of ours each summer actually ties in quite nicely with our love of music. Cruising to car shows in our beloved classic car means windows down and oldies blaring from the speakers.  The mood continues upon arrival as these events are a historical showcase of automobiles typically with an accompanying soundtrack. There is nothing to my mind that says summer better than walking around amidst 1960's muscle

It's rare to be treated these days to great music without the high price of a ticket.  But Saturday and Sunday that's exactly what I got. Each year the city of Kitchener,  Ontario, where blues legend Mel Brown made his final home, hosts a 'free' blues festival.  Sure, nothing else is, and one can easily drop a wad of money on food, drink and accommodations, but it's still a pretty sweet deal. My guy and I have attended for almost all of the 15 years the festival has been going. While some of those weekends have been hit and miss for entertainment and weather, this past one was pretty decent. Saturday's rain held off, Sunday was glorious, and the variety of talent throughout ensured there was no reason to be disappointed. While I love listening to the musicians it's always a great opportunity to people watch as well. And one of the most satisfying aspects of that little hobby of mine is seeing how the music they're hearing makes them feel. The l