Friday, July 31, 2009

Excellent performance turns into a shocker


Despite turning in one of their best performances of the tour in North Battleford, Private Sector were greeted by stunning news when they learned opening act Fredrick the Karaoke Cat has ties to terrorist organizations.

The group were informed by RCMP after the show as Frederick was cornered and hauled away in a pet carrier for further questioning.


A shocked Bug Christopher, drummer of Sector summed it up best, "We had no idea what was going on. He seemed like such a quiet cat. This gig could have very easily gone to the dogs."

Donald Barley also expressed his feelings about the new developments as well as former opening act Creeping Jesus- a band of kids who were kicked off the tour after the first gig. "That's what happens when you work with kids and animals."

With the return of Mind the Gap to the opening slot on the tour after a one week hiatus, the band will still search for another solid opener to complement the tour.

The band stops in Saskatoon Saturday.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

The last hurrah

Unfortunately for Jill and Amy, the local, dudes in white hats sex offenders registry is not updated in time for Pottahawk.




"This new Bud Lite Lime tastes more like Pottahawk piss water."




"No, seriously Sky, we totally should've like tanned more before we came."




"It's the only way she'll let me touch her breasts."




Until next year....CHEERS!

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The T-shirts of 2009 Pottahawk

The Thompson experience


When bands fly into gigs, that usually means they have achieved a level of recognition that is saved for the few.

Private Sector flew into Thompson municipal airport in a twin engine Cessna last Sunday mainly because it was the quickest way to get there.

The performance was to be Monday night, however, the equipment, which had taken the long road of driving into the bush, had still not arrived, leaving Sector scrambling to outfit the show with rag-tag local equipment. As a result, the performance suffered and Sector found themselves playing a mostly unplugged set in between equipment problems and outages. The lighting consisted of a few par cans and two naked light bulbs.

Private Sector had never played Thompson before, blowing out the gig twenty-five years ago when they were originally slated to play there. "Now I can see why", bassist Donald Barley stated emphatically.

The boys head for North Battleford, Sask. for a gig on Thursday.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

T-shirts from Pottahawk 2009

Winter comes early


"I can't believe it's so cold here in the middle of Summer," lamented a surprise Bob Stone, keyboardist for Private Sector, but Stone was not a member the last time Sector played in this neck of the woods.

"It was the middle of winter and I'd never been so cold," bassist Donald Barley remembered.

Something from those memories must have crossed over to performance Saturday night, because the show was cold and sluggish, lacking the usual energy of a Sector show. Or, perhaps the knowledge of the next gig in Thompson would take them even closer to the Arctic Circle caused the excitement to fade.

The crowd was still receptive and for the most part enthusiastic, not getting live entertainment very often. Opening act Frederick the Karaoke Cat was a huge hit with the locals and perhaps the saving grace of the entire evening.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXX

Rabbit dug into the softness of a pudding cup as he watched Sheppard disappear into the brush. The cracking and snapping of twigs beneath his feet made it sound like he was starting a fire of his own.

Buck, down on all fours, blew on a small tepee of twigs and sticks trying to get them to ignite. His pony-tail hung like a curtain sash and for a moment he looked like he was deep in prayer. He managed to coax a small flame into existence and the others crept closer to the growing warmth. The Ranger looked cold and disheveled like he'd just emerged from a week of frat house hazings. Amber looked into the growing tongues of fire. Her stare was vacant and devoid of all emotion- too tired, too distraught, too emotionally drained to give a damn.

Rabbit felt an urge to be alone. He grabbed a can of soda and went to sit on a fallen tree by the path Sheppard had taken. Cracking the pull-tab open he took a swig filling his mouth with the sweet acid taste and set the foaming can down on the log beside him. Like Sheppard, he too thought of all that had happened today and the overwhelming sadness of it made his heart sink. The tears began to well up in his eyes. He’d lost his best friend; his father; his innocence and people were after him for what end he could only imagine. Yet, like Sheppard, he realized the importance of their trek. They had to make it to safety and warn others of the evil that had been unleashed. They would place the magnified beacon of light on this debacle and bring down whom ever was behind this. If not the silent minority who pulled the stings, hidden behind massive desks of oak and mahogany, then at least people like Grant would pay for their frontier justice.

Rabbit tried to gain his composure. He had to be strong for Amber. She too, had suffered a great loss today and only by helping each other through this would they endure. The boy swung his foot over the log to straddle it while he waited for Sheppard’s return, knocking the soda from the log with his knee as he did so.

"Damn it!" Rabbit hissed under his breath as he reached down to grab what was left of the fallen soft-drink. His hand sank into what felt like soft moss, but the smell...was all too familiar; putrid and vile- the smell of death and decay. Rabbit reluctantly looked down to see a body laying face down on the other side of the fallen tree, the soda can resting on its side in the small of the back. A froth of expelled liquid, sizzling like peroxide from a scabbed patch of skin. Rabbit’s fingers had sunk into one of the wound releasing the pungent odour from split flesh.

Rabbit yelled as he fell backward and away from the corpse, landing with a thud on the ground and scraping his hand vigorously on the grass. The others turned quickly. Buck was the first to reach the boy and pull him up. “What the hell was that about?”
Rabbit couldn’t speak, only gazing back at the big man with eyes wide. That’s when Amber screamed in terror. On the opposite side of the log the dark figure of a man appeared, slowly clawing its way up to a standing position. The light from the fire danced on his muddy features. There was a hissing sound and the eyes opened, but were only black pockets of nothingness disintegrated by the sickness. A few maggots wriggled from the cracked crevices of its upper lip above a steady stream of yellowish puss. His naked chest was covered in welts of broken lesions that suddenly seem to leak black wetness of blood as if his insides were a wealth of oil.

Grimsby yelled. “What the fuck?!”

Buck quickly scooped up the boy and raced back to the fire. “Len shoot it!”

“With what? A tranquilizer dart? How do you tranq a dead body?”

Amber continued to scream as the dark figure moved forward with uneven steps, toward them and into the light of the fire. They could now see a trail of dried blood and urine down the inseam of the pant leg, the brownish tributaries of blood from the ears and lesions around the face, broken open with excessive scratches. One of the man’s arms appeared to be broken as it hung at an awkward angle and the neck seemed slightly askew as if , it too, had been broken in a fall, or by someone. Still the figure skulked forward.

Sheppard emerged from the forest. The chaos of the camp swirling around him. He grabbed the biggest piece of wood he could find. He charged toward the figure from behind and swung with all his might, cracking the man across the side of his face and shattering the cheek bone and several teeth with a sickening crunch as the figure’s head snapped to the side- the ear easily pounding the shoulder. The wood disintegrated into a shower of splinters leaving Sheppard holding just the stump of his weapon.

The man fell backward in a crumpled heap with one leg twisted at the knee cap and underneath the weight of the body. Sheppard stood poised over the body and ready for another strike- to drive the pointed stub into the attackers throat, or chest, but none would be necessary. There was no more movement. The first blow had been enough.

Amber’s screams had turned to quiet sobs while Buck comforted her. Sheppard dropped the butt end of wood. “Malcolm toss me something from the clothes line.”

Buck retrieved a rain jacket and pitched it to Sheppard who promptly threw it over the body.

“What the fuck?!” Grimsby gasped again. “We haven’t been through enough already we have to contend with zombies now?”

“This happened before.”

“What?! When?”

“At the Vilgrain house in Coram- Rabbit are you OK? What did you do?”

“I....I didn’t mean to touch it. It was an accident...my hand...”

-“Will someone please fill me in to what I just think I saw?”

“Something about the boy. He can reanimate the dead somehow. It’s one of his gifts-”

“Gifts?” Grimsby scoffed waiving the tranq gun at the dead man. “That is not something I want to open on Christmas morning!”

“This is one of the reasons Grant wants the boy so bad Len. Our bodies run to some extent on electrical impulses. Medical science has shown that all living creatures maintain electro-chemical processes in their bodies - human beings more so, because of the electrical activity in our brains. The highest pulse frequency in our motor nerves is around 250 Hz. Rabbit is wired differently. His electrical impulses, when he needs them, seem to be off the chart. Think of him as a car battery, or a defibrillator jump starting a heart."

“Great! We’re on the run with the son of God.”

Amber shouted. “Leave him alone! He's not a freak.”

"No one is calling him that Amber, but Rabbit is special and needs more time to learn to conrol his abilities." Sheppard grabbed Rabbit’s shoulders. “Promise me Rabbit don’t touch anymore dead people.”

The boy shook his head in rapid agreement. “Don’t worry I won’t.”

Grimsby continued his tirade. “I can’t take this anymore. I’ll take my chances alone. Shit! What was I thinking when I joined this expedition?”

“Len! Get a grip! You’re best chance to get out of this is with Rabbit by your side. Can’t you see that? You think if they catch you by yourself you’ll be able to talk your way out of it? When they get the information they want from you- and they will get it- you’ll end up a lab rat until there’s no more use for you. Then you’ll hope by Christ, Rabbit will be there to reanimate your dead ass. We have to stick together.”

Grimsby finally lowered the tranq gun and placed it back in its case. “I’m sorry...it’s just that..it’s been quite the day.”

“For all of us Len. Don’t forget that- Come on we’ve need to move. Everyone down to the lake.”

Sheppard stayed behind to douse the flames of the fire while the others worked slowly through the trees along a thin path to the water side. When Sheppard joined them he found Buck sitting in the middle of the canoe holding onto both sides as Grimsby, Rabbit and Amber tried to push the canoe. If it weren’t for the seriousness of their situation Sheppard might have laughed at the sight. Instead he ran to help the others push.

“Malcolm you’re going to have to get out.”

“I’m fine right here where I am!”

“You’re too heavy. We can’t get the canoe from dragging on the bottom.”

Grudgingly, Buck climbed out with the skill of a clumsy waiter, back into the water. He helped get Amber and Rabbit into the canoe then, with great effort joined them in the middle while almost capsizing the vessel. Grimsby vaulted himself into the front and Sheppard the rear taking up the paddles and beginning to dig into the water. Together they moved silently and swiftly across the lake which had calmed down to a shimmering sheet of glass with the onset of darkness.

It was a good forty-five minutes before they could see the charcoal outline of the opposite shore. At that time the canoe began to waiver gliding hard right and then left.

Grimsby mumbled. “Sheppard, what are you doing back there? You’re not helping. What, did you suddenly forget how to paddle?”

Sheppard pulled his oar from the water and placed it across his knees and bowed his head with a sigh, while the others turned to look at him. “Sorry. I’m just tired. Malcolm would you mind taking it from here?” He handed the oar up to Buck, who despite his fear, took it and managed to get the rhythm going again with Grimsby.

Rabbit turned and looked at Sheppard with grave concern. “You’re sick aren’t you?”
“I’m tired Rabbit. That’s all.”

The boy cocked his head to the side and peered at Sheppard with a piercing gaze. A single tear rolled down his cheek. “You don’t have much time. It will happen tomorrow. I see the aura growing around you.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance as the rain was set to move in for another drenching. Behind them on the western shore, several searchlights ripped through the darkness scouring the forest from above. Grant and his people were back. They were being hunted once more.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Pottahawk overtime

"No seriously, pull my finger."



"Could someone please get these chicks to stop following me."



"Jennifer watch out for that giant seagull."



"Whoa! That giant seagull's shit nearly hit me."



"That's it Strange, you're almost under me now. See how you like it when I drop this beer on your head."

Rage is against the machine.



It was a strange show in Dryden Thursday night as Private Sector found themselves performing to a capacity crowd that was only half full.

Dryden was one of the first gigs on the tour to sell out, yet only half of the tickets sold came through the turnstiles.

Apparently the problem stemmed from a computer glitch that printed Friday's date- the 24th- on half of the tickets.

Last night when those people showed and found they'd missed the band by one night they were none too pleased. The angry mob wasted no time extracting their revenge by over turning cars and looting shops.

Thankfully the band had already moved on to their next tour stop in Flin Flon tonight with new opening act Frederick the Karaoke Cat.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Back by popular demand

Pottahawk....2009....Babes.....need I say more. That's right my friends, Ol' Strange has lovingly ripped off more pics from your favourite day of the year.


"Boy! The water really is cold this year."




"Does anyone need a plumber?"




"I think it's almost time to start using my Koobzie."




The search for Tennile continues.




"Balls? I'll show you balls."




"I'm not supposed to get them wet. I just had them done."

Thursday, July 23, 2009

T-shirts of Pottahawk 2009

Opening up to possibilities

Down one opening act already after Creeping Jesus left the tour only one performance deep- Private Sector will lose Mind the Gap who fly home for a gig at the Banshee in Oshawa this weekend.

Still undecided who the replacements will be, Sector has to do some fancy dancing to find another opener in time for performances in Flin Flon and Thompson as the band moves west into Manitoba this weekend revisiting the old haunts they played twenty-five years ago.

It is widely speculated that the band will choose local sensation Fredrick the Karaoke Cat as the opener.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

A gig they could sink their teeth into


Finally Private Sector played a show that was more a welcome home than a WTF are we doing here. After a disastrous start to their 2009 tour under unusual circumstances at Pottahawk, Blind River and Thunder Bay, Sector hit their stride with shows in Sioux Lookout- a former stronghold.

Years apart and miles between made no difference as the band lost none of their popularity, or potency and sold out both shows while adding a third Monday night.

Sector drummer Bug Christopher summed it up by saying, "If only they didn't keep the rubbing alcohol behind the counter, I'd move here permanently."

The band was even treated to a good old fashion dust-up in the parking lot afterward as two locals beat the hell out of each other. "It brings a tear to the eye," said bassist Donald Barley.

Private Sector play Dryden on Thursday.

It's all about the Pottahawk babes of 2009

Or valuable chickage. However, I had an unfortunate camera malfunction this year and have had to rely on the kindness of others for the following contributions...which is to say, I have lovingly ripped these pics off from other sites.

So if you haven't seen them- enjoy. If you have- enjoy them yet again.

Let's have a look shall we?




Let the groping begin!




For those who can't afford Sea-doos there are other options.




Hey girls. DUCK!




Nice cans, shame about the face.




Woo-hoo! Our vaginas are stuck together!




Amy, did you just lose a tampon?




And slowly they began to make their plans against us.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Monday, July 20, 2009

Amazing yard sale finds

This week I went looking for rare albums only. You'd be amazed at what I found.









Sunday, July 19, 2009

The T-shirts of Pottahawk 2009

Hijacking Heaven- Chapter XXIX

Len Grimsby and Graham Sheppard crept closer to the clearing with stealth. The silence of the wood was eerie and disconcerting. It was as if, someone had turned off the sound on all living things. Even the wind was stagnant creating an utter static buzz of silence and making the sound of snapping twigs under their footfall seem more like the cracking of a whip.

A six–man tent sat like a rounded mound facing the stone circle of a fire pit of charred back wood and ash. A few crushed water bottles lay in a heap on its outer ring surrounded by a triage of ripped fabric, paper fragments and other garbage strewn in haphazard fashion in the aftermath of, what-seemed-to-be, a frantic search. Between two trees a makeshift clothes line of bungee cords held several articles of clothing still damp from the rain and outside the tent the muddy prints of feet coming and going had trampled the ground into a compacted stencil of shoe treads.

Grimsby whispered. “Looks abandoned. Maybe whoever was here got sick and tried to hike out?”

“Don’t be so sure. We still need to be cautious. You check down by the water, I’ll take a look inside the tent, see if there are some blankets or towels we can use to keep warm.”

Grimsby nodded and scampered forward. He disappeared through a clearing near some trees. Sheppard crept up to the tent. “Hello,” he said barely audible. “Is there anyone inside? My name is Sheppard I’m here to help you if I can.” There was no response. Flies buzzed around the un-zippered opening and Sheppard felt his throat tighten and his stomach ascend into his pounding heart. He slowly lifted the flap. Crouching, he willed himself to move inside crawling through the small tunnel-like passageway leading to the dome of the tent. The stench was over powering; thick and pungent with a sourness that invaded his senses. Sheppard covered his mouth with his sleeve slowly peeled back the inner flap to look around. In the dimness of the fading twilight he could see two bodies, a man and a woman, clammy and pale, covered in vomit and dried blood, held tight to each other in one of two sleeping bags. Their faces were like many he had already seen today, twisted and distorted into anguished cries of pain from the convulsions they must have suffered. Their hair was matted and dishevelled from sweat. Flies landed on their faces crawling in and out of their open mouths and nasal cavities. Sheppard had seen enough.

He grabbed a nearby blanket and a couple of towels and quickly manoeuvred backward through the opening. He zipped the tent up and backed away bumping into Grimsby.
“Jesus Christ! You scared the living hell out of me!”

“Good news,” Grimsby reported still panting from a short jog back to the camp site. “There’s a canoe; with oars; it’s a fair size and should be able to carry us to the other side as long as Malcolm’s in the middle. What did you find?”

“Nothing you want to hear about, believe me.” Sheppard was still trying to keep from being sick and was starting to shiver from the wetness of his clothes, not to mention the vision of two dead bodies. He motioned for the rest of their troop to join them and filled them in on their findings. “We have a way across the lake. We’ll wait until it’s completely dark and then set out. Take time to rest, eat something and don’t anyone go near the tent, understand?”

Everyone nodded in compliance. Sheppard tossed the blanket and towels to Buck as he set Amber down from his back. He wrapped the blanket around her and Rabbit.

“Maybe we can risk a small fire for warmth? After all it’s no secret where we are at the moment.” Grimsby said, as he swung a towel around his shoulders and tied it like a cape.

Sheppard looked at Grimsby the super hero. “OK, but in half an hour we move.”

They plopped themselves down at various points around the campsite away from the tent, as Buck dug through the packs and distributed some food. He then set out to rekindle a small fire.

Sheppard felt a sudden urge to relieve himself and trudged into the woods to do so. It had been a long day and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a chance to feel some normalcy. Back at the motel perhaps? At least there, he was still unaware he was at the heart of ground zero for the next world war. We have to make it out of here and expose these lies before millions die. Someone will believe what’s gone on here. Sheppard knew he had enough knowledge and proof to mount a convincing case and he still had Rabbit. Yet something Grant had said back at the Vilgrain house nagged at him. It tore his insides in a tumultuous churning rapid of fear, anxiety and loathing. “A new weapon no one has ever seen; beautiful and catastrophic in its destruction,” he had said. What did Grant mean? Sheppard searched his memories for files he had read concerning new technological breakthroughs in military advancement and could think of nothing of that magnitude that had not been witnessed before. But he knew it as much as felt it; Hiroshima, the Holocaust, every earth quake, hurricane, tornado, storm, nuclear device, were child’s play compared to this new weapon of all weapons. If those microwave guns that Grant and his goon were using are just the tip of the iceberg on what is to come....then what is to come?

As the last scraps of the setting sun faded like retracting fingers through the trees, Sheppard noticed something else. That’s not urine. I’m peeing blood!
That’s when he heard a scream coming from camp. It was soon joined by another.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Pottahawk celebrity sightings

Gerard Butler was spotted at this year's piss-up, apparently pumped as he popped his Pottahawk cherry. "THIS!... IS!...POTTAHAWK!"

Out of the darkness...well, not quite



Private Sector continued their 09 tour at the Jolly Roger Club in Thunder Bay, a place where they performed first over 25 years ago.

Private Sector bassist and spokesman Donald Barley said, "It's great to see the old girl again." He wasn't talking about the club , but the afternoon stripper who graced the stage, Annabelle Star has been a staple at the Jolly Roger for the past 30 years.

Unfortunately for the band the electrical box at the Jolly Roger has also been a staple at the club for the past 30 years and the band found themselves performing in darkness most of the night and having to switch to an acoustic set of unplugged music. It was a performance that seemed even stranger given the beefed up heavy metal appearance of the band.

The band now head for Sioux Lookout for shows Saturday and Sunday.

The search continues

For the perfect opening act to replace Creeping Jesus on the Private Sector- Disputin Rasputin Tour The latest to be considered, but summarily dismissed is:



Meet: Claes Lennarth Club

Where they're from: Sweden

What they sound like: Think Abba with hemorrhoids and anal bleeding.

Claim to fame: Made semi-finals of Sweden's Got Funky Hair.

Friday, July 17, 2009

The Pottahawky goes to.....

The award for best game at Sunday's Pottahawk festivities wasn't piggy-back water fights, it wasn't beer bonging, it wasn't even Piss-water volleyball. My selection for best game this year had to be Toilet seat horse-shoes followed closely by the beer cooler races. Although the cooler races were at the dock and not at the Hawk so they only receive honorable mention.



Just like the old days


If ever there were a documentary in the waiting about the pitfalls of road touring, forget Spinal Tap, Private Sector are a prime candidate.

After what was the Pottahawk debacle, the band continued on their Disputin' Rasputin tour where they revisited all their old haunts from back in the day- this meant a trip to Blind River, Ontario was in order- the place where it all began.

However, when Sector arrived for their gig Wednesday night they found a stage ridiculously small that half the band had to set up and play in the parking lot, much to the delight of the unfortunate locals who couldn't get tickets to see the band in the tiny club.

Sector also continued to search for an appropriate opening act after Creeping Jesus where ejected from the bill after the first performance.

Next stop: Thunder Bay on Friday.

Back to normal by the numbers

The 50 greatest trailers....and by trailers I mean movie trailers, not redneck trailers.....or do I?

The 50 funniest street signs

The 50 most bizarre Google Earth images.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The search begins

With the tour already in chaos after only one performance, Private Sector find themselves in the precarious position of having to find a new opening act to complement the tour.

This meant Wednesday's gig in Blind River had to use local talent and make one, Harry "Washboard" Gilden, a very happy man with his rib-bone on washboard routine. The crowd did not seem as delighted so the search will continue as suitors are already lining up.

Meet: Uber Glasbergen Blitzkrieg
Where they're from: Germany
What they play: Think B-52's beat with a hammer.
Claim to fame so far: Fredrick Von Hubb- Lead singer once ate 28 Oktoberfest sausages.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Pottahawk 2010 it all starts here

I just wanted to be the first to list Pottahawk twenty-ten, the Chinese year of the trouser snake.

I will start the road off with a bunch of awards for the 2009 affair. Today I would like to post, what I feel, was the best sailing vessel of the day and I heard it also impressed the judges at the end of the day.

Cleeborn Southmyre from Deerborn Michigan congratulations for your....whatever that thing is. You`re a braver man than I.

Best day ever....hmmm


So Pottahawk has come and gone for yet another year. The weather, for the most part was spectacular, yet I can`t help thinking something was missing from this year- a sense of living on the edge perhaps....

For those who stayed out at the point on Saturday night, I`m not talking about the pounding the boats received when the wind shifted. I refer to the dangerously risky` nature of the participants that always materializes every year.

Sure their were a lot of people and Broadway was loaded as were many of the passers by, but that sense....the one where you feel something special, something wild, something truly unusual was going to happen, never appeared.

It`s not like we were out of position- sitting dead-centre of the first row at Broken Tree.

Was it the unusually colder water that no amount of urine could warm, I don`t know, but something was remiss.

Over the next X plus weeks I will explore the phenomenon that was this year`s Pottahawk, giving you the best of the t-shirts I spotted there, the Johnny Wad and Boo sightings and any other tid-bits I feel necessary to send your way.