What follows is a forum on pressing issues in the contemporary local music firmament. The only ground rule in this freewheeling discussion was that you couldn’t publicize your own work. One member of the panel (hint: he owns a label and a management company) chose not to follow this imperative, so we’ve replaced all his comments with lyrics from “Daddy Yaddo” by the northwestern 1960s garage band Have Trunk and Big Ears Will Travel.

The transcription:
Artie Capshaw: thanks for being here. Who wants to start off?
OS: Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda.
Jim Fix (Olympus Studios): Can we just say that there are more good bands in town now than perhaps ever?
OS: Dada yadada. Yadadada Dee.
Millie of the Model Marvels: Everybody still talks about the old days, though.
OS: Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda.
Jim: No, I was there. It’s better now. More bands. More clubs. More variety…
Artie: More clubs? There are three, plus a couple of basements.
Jim: There used to be one. Plus there’s way more happening at the college than there ever was.
OS: Dada yadada. Yadadada Dee.
Sherry Frish (Music Dept. instructor, college on the hill): Most of my students still come down the hill to the Bullfinch.
Millie: Bully for them. You can always spot a college boy at a Bullfinch show.
Jim: Give them a break, Millie. They’re not all about partying. I was a college boy once, you know.
PS: Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda. Yadda Dada, yadda Dee. Yadda dada yadda yadda dadadada yadayada…

… and that’s all we have room for today.

Bib Ballads and My Four Weeks in France at the Bullfinch, leading the songwriting ring… Treat ‘Em Rough and The Real Dope at the club which frowns on drug references in band names, Hamilton’s. Guess they must think you’re stupid rather than stoned, TRD… The Young Immigrunts and Own Your Own Home at D’ollaire’s, a cheapie night of bands which didn’t have to travel far…