Best days of my life bryan adams1/4/2024 ![]() ![]() I knew it was something his friends back home in Fort Qu’Appelle, Saskatchewan had made him so he would stay abreast of things in Canada. Now, I didn’t know it was black when the mail arrived because it was Terry’s mail, and his tape, and his music, but a couple of months later, Terry handed me the tape.īy then, I knew exactly what was on it. It was one of those padded yellow envelopes used in North America, and inside there was a black tape. Well, we even knew David Lee Roth’s lines in the intro to “ Just a Gigolo” by heart.Īnd then one winter’s day, Terry got mail from Canada. He played Twisted Sister, and Tragically Hip, and Van Halen, and Rick Moranis’s and Dave Thomas’s comedy album “ The Great White North” in his room, and we watched music videos we had taped off the one show that played music videos to the point where we both knew the lyrics to Kiss’s “ Heaven’s on fire”, Dio’s “ Last in line”, and Limahl’s “ Neverending story”. Wanting to keep on playin hockey, he chose Finland, and together with his Cooperalls (long hockey pants), Saskatchewan Roughriders baseball cap, and the flag, he brought rock’n’roll with him. Terry didn’t grow up with “Rock Radio” because he was Canadian (in case the fact he put a flag of Canada on his wall wasn’t a giveaway), in Joensuu to spend a year after high school to figure out what to do next. We were so rock/pop deprived in Finland, that a buddy of mine and me stayed up all night to see Lionel Ritchie sing “All Night Long” at the 1984 Olympics closing ceremony in Los Angeles. In the next couple of years I graduated to Finnish new wave, rockabilly – which was all the craze – Elvis, Gene Vincent, Buddy Holly and by the time Terry hung his Canadian flag on the wall in our house, I was listening to whatever was on the “Rock Radio”, a radio show in the afternoons, three times a week. Knowing the lyrics to all Paul Anka songs impressed at least one girl in my first ever school dance, even if my singing probably didn’t. And I sang along, approving of their message. When I started school, I spent my afternoons alone at home, listening to the Beatles, Paul Anka, and Finnish pop, which at the time, consisted mostly of Finnish covers of songs that had charted elsewhere. It hasn’t always been easy, especially since Mom used to play Harry Belafonte and Edith Piaf at home when I was a preschooler, and as much as I’d love to say I was fluent in French at the age of five, well, I just can’t.Īnd “Je ne regrette rien” may even have been be easier to understand than “Day-o, day-o, Daylight come and me wan’ go home, day, me say day, me say day, me say day”. I think it’s partly because my brain’s just wired to play with words and twist and shout them, and love the words, and partly because I wouldn’t want to get caught pushing a message I don’t understand. Well, the exception that confirms the rules is “ Scatman” but I’m not sure if that even counts. I listen to the text, and for me to like a song, the text has to make sense. I am one of those people who like lyrics in songs.
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