Podcast appearances and mentions of bruce hilliard

Always do your very best to live a life you're proud of, and if it falls short, have the strength to start over again. I used Better Each Day as my mantra. In the words of 19th century psychologist and pharmacist Emile Coue: “Everyday in every way, I'm getting better and better.” So here's the spoiler. I moved to Mukilteo WA based on a gut feeling of following my own compass, making new friends and excelling in a career. After 5 years and 8 months I'm graduating from Home Depot Paint Associate to Buyer at Airbus Robotics.The following are some words I wrote. Something from a lyric notebook. The spiral notebooks where I write poetry, lyrics, ideas and sometimes just what's on my mind. Here's an excerpt from one of them.“I spend a lot of time with those people. Time well spent. My mind and body get to do what they like best: chat about anything in the world with the brightest group of people I've ever met while doing a feel-good workout. Suddenly I realize how good it really is. No amount of money could buy this.”These are the guys I see every week morning. I think we all have little slots of time where you're with your friends, work colleagues or just warm thinkers. Sometimes it's at work, sometimes with your family. For me? I met this motley crue at the local YMCA. There's over a dozen of us depending on the day. We're ages from 42-80. Non-exclusive…it just worked out we gelled.One of the regulars said the group is a sweet thing. I found what I set out for years ago when I moved here from Aberdeen. This was written for the relationship between her and her sister. Freya and Annie, The Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known.It's a team that was formed purely out of showing up to start the day at a gym. That simple gesture of peace to your body and mind is a good way to begin a day on your A game. We do our best work when all cylinders are firing.So back to the Trainwreck of Aberdeen. Sometimes life is a complete tornado of disturbing changes and rip offs. I was spending a moment now and then on the edge of I don't give a shit anymore. With a little help from my friends the train got back on track. And somehow when you look back at it all, it plays out like a finely crafted novel.Flashback to June 2016. I moved from a trainwreck in my hometown Aberdeen. I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Maybe it's ironic the first friend I made when I landed in my new hometown was named Haight. I met Graham Haight as a fellow real estate broker at Windermere and followed him around town like a stray puppy. I was a rescue. He later had me fixed. Then he had me sew some on.I joined the same gym, hired the same doctor, dentist and even auto body man as Graham. When I needed to buy a car on my Wendy's wages budget, he was there with a car dealership of a guy Graham was a corner trainer for in boxing. Graham was my ride for my hand surgery. I drafted behind him.He became my head football coach and the guy to bounce things off. Someone to give me some focus and direction. The big brother I never had.My real estate attempt in Mukilteo was an unreachable dream. Competitive beyond my budget and timeframe. I fell back on my painting business, gave guitar lessons, worked at Home Depot and spent the rest of my time writing, producing podcasts and playing an occasional gig.All the while, I searched and applied for jobs. Then the pandemic hit.I didn't stop applying for jobs. I was looking for a job in procurement but was willing to start at any level with upward mobility.Back in September Graham mentioned his daughter needed some paint work done. She'd just bought a house that's nearby the Y and only blocks from her new place of employment, Airbus Robotics. I said I

Hey to all the Better Each Day Listeners, this is Bruce and welcome to episode 251. Welcome to the show but most importantly welcome to the first annual year end Christmas party where we feature a special theme.Now keep in mind that I am, and apparently always will be, a hopeless romantic love song writing fool. One thing we can all agree on is that some songs just need to be written. And some people need to be written about.This year the vote was unanimous to introduce some songs you may have heard on previous shows, songs that were inspired by friends. The friends I speak of are sisters Freya and Annie. They are the stars of the show. Now, I wrote, produced and performed everything you're hearing but it wouldn't be happening without someone to write about and an audience.Just to set the scene, I met Freya and Annie at the local YMCA almost five years ago. They're happily married with kids but while we're at the Y we are all kids. When I see them it's in a noisy environment full of competition for their attention. Sometimes I'll squeeze in for a chat and hear a story that leads to a song like this one.Roses and Strawberry Rain was inspired by my friend Annie, now grown and a mother of two, who played with Little Ponies…the toy Little Ponies. So I did my best to capture a story about a little girl playing pretend with her hero and champion race horse, Strawberry Rain. Rain wins the roses at the Kentucky Derby, the rain washes time away and years later she tells her children about her legendary story of…Roses and Strawberry Rain.Annie's older sister Freya, who like Annie, is the warmest of warm people. Going nose to nose with Annie's miraculous ability to jump rope and defy gravity, Freya, who has super powers also, saw the crappy clothes I wore when I performed…my ragamuffin clothes weren't hittin' it and she went into her rescue mode to save my sorry ass. Freya took me by the wrist and we went clothes shopping. And she organized a photo shoot with Annie as part of Operation Dress Bruce for new promo pics.One of the new promo images created by Annie was the result of a filter that, I don't know if it was intentional or not, formed several images of my head in the shape of a heart. It looked like a kaleidoscope version of a heart with me in my Freya shirt.Sometimes something is said in the morning workout that rings in my head and becomes a lyric. In this case it was a scenario where Annie stopped me briefly during our morning ant farm gym jam to tell me a quick Annie happy word about nothing in particular…to which I smiled and looked blankly at her. She responded, “that's all I got.” I turned, walked away and looked back. I thought “That's all I got?” Other than stand ups, who says “that's all I got?” I turned to see her waiting for me with a goofy smile.That's all I got? Sometimes we end a conversation with “that's all I got”...or even end a sentence.I used color names from Home Depot paint for this “xanadu, limousine leather and melody” list of paint color names. “Comfort words and hearts and rainbows in my feed, that's all I need.” Annie introduced me to her mother Kerri at the gym one morning about three years ago. It was hugely apparent where some of Annie and Freya's magic came from.My little song Kerri is about a small town girl meeting a small town boy, on bicycles, on a sunny summer day and Kerri announcing to the world “someday I'll marry that boy.” If it sounds like it could be a true story, it is. Well 50 years and 6 children later…Kerri and Dad are still a small town girl and a small town boy.Combine Kerri, Freya and Annie, put them in a blender and voila, a song, the...

Hey folks and welcome to the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show with your host, Bruce Hilliard. This is a special episode with the ghost of John Oates past. I was reflecting on a conversation from a while back where we talked about band names, the Beatles and Hall and Oates being two of them, and the famous Abandoned Luncheonette.So here are a couple of covers starting with one from an album called Help! It's by that band with the name that catches on after a while, the Beatles.I just recorded this last night. The Bee Gees' To Love Somebody.Here are two songs in a row that I wrote about my imaginary romance.This is a song I'm proud to say was written and recorded by two brothers of different mothers from mine, the Murchy Brothers with On The Harbor…that would be Grays Harbor where we grew up together.Thank you so much for listening. Here's on more of my tunes. This one is one of those “stop and smell” the roses…Doesn't Anybody Fall In Love No More.

Hey folks and welcome to the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show with your host, Bruce Hilliard. We had a storm here in Mukilteo WA that knocked out our power yesterday. I was reduced to a pencil and an acoustic guitar, two of the best inventions ever.This song was the result.RunawayThinking again of leaving it all behindPacking my things and wondering why oh why I feel this sometimesYou and I will runaway, taking our time, let the whirlwinds blowYou and I will runaway, I wanna run away with youYou and I will run away, taking it easy time can waitAnd I will run away with youSo sleep silent angel go to sleep until the morning comesThere is a place, where we both can live and never live without loveYou and I will runaway, taking our time, let the whirlwinds blowYou and I will runaway, I wanna run away with youYou and I will run away, taking it easy time can waitAnd I will run away with youHere's a set of originals. I'll list the titles in the show notes. I hope you enjoy your drive with me on an ocean road to wherever you want. A little influence from the Byrds and anyone with a 12-string Rickenbacker. I'm Going Home.

Bruce Hilliard speaking. The leaves are falling, times are a-changin' and I heard Mr. Wines took the coda. My most influential band director Mr. Wines passed away a few days ago. In music, a coda is a passage that brings a piece of music to an end. It may be as simple as a few measures, or as complex as an entire section. This guy was an entire opus, an epic rock opera for me and many others. Mr. Wines, one of my personal influences and motivators of my music career, passed last Sunday October 23rd 2022. He was 97. A long life for anyone. It deserved a long coda. He was the lifeblood of my music community…the Professor Harold Hill from The Music Man. And to think he was old by my standards when I had him in his late forties…what seems like a lifetime ago.In my hometown Aberdeen WA, Hampton Rudolph Wines is a legend. He came to us as a young teacher from Eastern Washington, Pasco is the city I remember him mentioning. In Aberdeen he set a standard for excellence in everything from marching band, symphonic band, pep band, stage band, brass choir for Christmas, witty humor and other psychological mind games he messed us up with.So, after working closely with him during some very formative years of my life, I'm writing a pod letter to my dear and recently passed high school band coach, teacher and visionary, Mr. Wines.Dear Mr. Wines,Thanks for the mind games. I say mind games in a good way. You knew what we were capable of and figured out ways to trick us into achieving it. You taught us as teenagers the importance of discipline and accountability. You preached respect for our instruments and uniforms and most importantly the attitude to carry it off with 100+ other students fueled mainly by fries and hormones.You used signature phrases like “well this week is shot”, “moxie, intestinal fortitude” and if we sucked you encouraged us with suggestions like “you might as well take that horn and make it into a planter.”The “this week is shot” speech was a landmark in my way of thinking everything, yes everything, is funny. Do you remember how 52 weeks per year could be shot year after year?Every Monday morning sounded like this: Well today is Monday and the day is half shot already. Tomorrow will rain so we can't rehearse on the field but we can stay inside but since it's Tuesday we'll be getting ready for Wednesday…and that day is shot. (And he'd be diagramming this on the chalkboard.) That leaves Thursday and Friday. Friday is the pep rally and game (actually the Friday concert at the football stadium). So Thursday is the only day of the week we can do anything…unless it rains. (Which it did.)And Mr. Wines…I was apprehensive to visit you in your house on the hill later in life because when you're busy you say “don't bug me man.” I wonder what you think about the current educational system. I believe you took an early retirement when budget cuts hit the arts first. Many people were disappointed to see you retire.Music was morphing into the rock era and in your lifetime went from Gershwin to Nirvana, from analog to digital and back. From formally educated musicians and composers to garage bands. Did you like my bands Denny and the Chadwicks and Tahola Toilet Authority? Somehow those that followed your fundamentals went on to appreciate your white glove inspections. You literally wore white gloves during our periodic inspections of our gear. You commanded cosmetically perfect white marching shoes to march in the football field mud. And...

The weather is changing, the leaves are too, here are my songs just for you. Ahh, to be a brilliant master of rhyme. Rhyme's disease. And now…from Johann Sebastian Bach's Toccata in D minor to my Roses and Strawberry Rain in D major.Roses and Strawberry RainJust To Know YouSweetest ThingKerriPollyannaEndless RainThanks for listening!

When I was a little kid I watched American Bandstand because I liked the songs Dick Clark and company selected for his top hits it's what the kids want countdown. Based on what I heard, I walked downtown to Aub Schmidt's music store with a dollar in coins and bought a 45.Being a fan of vocal harmonies, Beach Boys and Four Seasonsy stuff, I heard this version of “I've Got Rhythm” by the Happenings. I had the honor of speaking with David Libert, the baritone and arranger of the Happenings a couple days ago and he said the stereo separation he did were copying the Mammas and the Papas strong stereo separation. As you'll hear in the following chat with David, I say no one invented anything from zero. So here it is, from Bruce's 45 collection, “I've Got Rhythm” and listen for the lead vocal on the left and the other Happenings happening on the right.David Libert had such a long and interesting career in the music business, his friends encouraged him to write a book about it…so he did. The result is an autobiography 50-plus years in the making aptly entitled Rock and Roll Warrior, recently released on Sunset Blvd Books. It's a chronicle of David's inner circle life in the music industry as a popular international performer, singer/songwriter, tour manager, booking agent, producer, and drug dealer on the Sunset Strip. It's a story so wild, so crazy, so over-the-top that it can only be true. He was Alice Cooper's road manager and knows as much about the business as anyong…so he wrote a book on his experiences.

Thanks for listening. I've had a few requests for some original music...and maybe a new one. Here it is, Polyanna: Pollyanna You don't even know me , so how can you show me what to do You don't even need  me, if only for less lonely night You shouldn't go on thinking we'll be someday And turn that  darkness into day? I don't know (Chorus) Pollyanna won't you please come out of the rain You know you're driving me insane Always looking for a miracle Always searching for revelation How can a loser ever win? You're always looking for a miracle Always searching for a supernova Somehow you always find your way You find your way   You find silver lining, somewhere were the skies are always blue Wake up when your makeup starts to run Boo hoo'n when you do the things you do  You always find a way to make things work Catch a falling star and you'll get burnt No, not you (ding) (Chorus)

Me and my buddies from shop class sang this at the junior high talent assembly. Our band was the Beach Balls, vetoed by the elder teacher with glitzy cat-eye glasses that hovered over the production and basically censored our really good work. The word “balls” was too radical so I suggested instead of Beach Balls, how about the Sons of the Beaches? “Sons”?, “beaches”?”...nothing satanic there! We settled for the Leech Boys. My first memories were of 78 rpms with about 25% of the Mom/Dad record club collection being the standard 33 ⅓ rpm vinyl that prevail to this day. By the time I was old enough to buy a record, 33 ⅓ albums were the norm and the coolest things ever invented. But for affordability? Forty-fives. And you could avoid the filler crap songs on albums that were fairly common in those days. Buy the songs you liked, avoid paying more for lame filler songs on the LP and when the album you liked came out…buy it and listen with friends.   Here's more from a random grab of songs from my ancient gallery of 45s From an Old Box. These are the songs I liked, maybe didn't buy but currently am holding…waiting for the unknown owner from 1963 to call. Please enjoy the memories and scratches, the way we used to listen with gum.

Hey everyone and we have a surprise in store for us. I, while looking through my memorabilia for a Johnny Quest outdoor horizons adventure club card (made that up) I ran across an old brown box full of 45s. So, randomly, here are ten or eleven 45 r.p.m. records played on a 1972 turntable I found while looking for my retainer. I was into Santana/Page/Hendrix for guitar inspiration but for melodies and vocals, this apparently was what I was listening to as a young teen. I think these are the melodies and sincerity that people miss. These are the songs I listened to in bed, in the dark on my General Electric clock radio that I could operate the knobs proficiently at the top of my head without looking.

We don't smoke and we don't chew, we're the class of ‘72. I was honored to play at an Aberdeen High School class reunion 1972 and had a great time and I'm not surprised. The acoustics in the party venue well…as big boomy rooms go, the sound wasn't optimum so to those who couldn't hear the troubadour, this is for you.

Hey everyone! And welcome to the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show…the show that features recording artists and their work. That's what we usually do but this episode is all about a party I'll be playing in a week. It's taking me back home to Aberdeen Washington or Warshington for the washing impaired. Aberdeen, the town that put the Gator on the Animal House movie via Bill Murray who watched in person our hometown ritual dance, the Gator, performed at the Rocker by our beer soaked Schmenges flailing on the dance floor like freshly caught fish on a dock. He told someone at SNL and low and behold, the John Belushi Gator.  Aberdeen was the childhood home of both football icon John Elway and Patrick Simmons of the Doobie Brothers. William E. Boeing was a local and Nirvana sprouted out of a garage just down the street. Most importantly to me are the friends and family that came with the magic of growing up there. I remember a happy childhood with neighbor kids everywhere. We were the baby boomers and we knew how to have fun. As a kid, I'd go to door of my buddie's homes, knock politely and ask in my best Eddie Haskell voice if their precious child could come out and play with the well adjusted neighbor Bruce. Then we'd go out and build a howitzer slingshot or blow something up. Hot air or hydrogen balloons with fuses, model cars with fuses, everything with fuses. As I got into my 60s I found myself metaphorically going from door to door to see if anyone could come out and play. It seems in our old age we've become jaded and have seen and done it all. No one to play with anymore. Until one day I received a call from Aberdeen friend Paul Koski asking if I'd like to take a three hour tour on his awesome boat with Ginger and Mary Ann. (I made up the Ginger and Mary Ann part but the boat was pretty cool.) Plus, I got to reunite with some people I hadn't seen in a long time. We did two of those boating day trips and had plans to travel to Finland to visit his relatives and see the sights. COVID put that on the back burner but last March we drove to Helena MT and back in four cold and snowy days. The goal? To deliver a car and visit with his brother-in-law and have fun. We did both. I'm so glad I got to know him beyond our teenage years. He returned to his wife and home at Aberdeen Gardens to complete his new house. What was to be his final home I assume. He was killed working on it about a month ago in a tragic accident. He never moved in. His friends gathered for a rememberance and there was still a sense of numbness. Those get-togethers can be so healthful and bring some smiles but for me there was a silver lining bonus of being asked to play a set at Aberdeen High School's graduating class of 1972 reunion in a week.  Now those guys graduated two years prior to my class of ‘74 but having known many of these classmates, my friend Paul being one, I said “yes, where, when” without hesitation. So from my heart to all the Aberdeen High School Weatherwax graduates of 1972, here with us or gone, my song I'm Coming Home. There's a line at the end: It's not on a map, only a poet would know, I'm coming home.

Hey, it's Bruce Hilliard with today's guest Tommi Tikka with a message to go to the Born Free Foundation and he and several generous and concerned musicians have donated time and music to the cause…cause that's what we do. Please kick back and listen to our chat and music from the Born Free climate change project. https://www.bornfree.org.uk/news/climate-change-conservation (Born Free Climate Change Contributions Welcome Here!)

Hey, it's Bruce Hilliard with today's most excellent guest Steve Blaze, lead guitarist in of one of the hottest rock bands I've heard in years, Lillian Axe. Their latest album From Womb To Tomb will be released on CD on  August 19 by Global Rock Records.  This is the band's first new album in ten years and it comes ahead of their first UK headline dates in 29 years. Coming up, a few cuts from the LP written by our guest Steve Blaze and a chat with Steve!

Hey it's Bruce and come see me in concert at the https://blacklabgalleryeverett.com/ (Black Lab Gallery and Bar) in Everett WA on Saturday July 23rd (that's 2022) at 8:00. And please welcome today's guest Silvano Ancelotti…From Italy, its Uncle Bard and the Dirty Bastards and some of the best Irish pub music you'll ever hear. Folk/Rock music, spiced up with Irish Trad! Based in the north of Italy (weird, innit?) and made up of lads who, in one way or another, lived or spent too much time in Ireland! Too rock for the Folkies and too folk for the Rockies, the Bastards could please or disappoint almost everyone. Formed back in 2007, they play a unique blend of folk/rock and Traditional Irish Music. Uilleann pipes, tenor banjo, mandolin, Irish flute: there are few others bands in the folk/rock scene that could compete with the Bastards in terms of deep knowledge of Irish Traditional Music and Irish culture and society. As written in a review of the first album, “Uncle Bard & The Dirty Bastards don't pretend to be Irish. [...] They are showing “huge gratitude and all the due respect to Irish music and culture”. They are really Ireland's adopted sons and have brought a new breeze to the European Celtic rock scene.” CONTACTS Management: info@ubdirtybastards.com Booking: booking@ubdirtybastards.com Web: www.ubdirtybastards.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/UBDirtyBastards Instagram: www.instagram.com/dirtybastards

It's a Thursday edition of the Better Each Day Podcast Radio Show and here's the reason. The Zombies are in town. Live at the Historic Everett Theater tomorrow night at 7:00 PM, tickets are still available. And next week Saturday July 23rd I'll be at Black Lab Gallery and Bar in Everett…two blocks away from the Zombies' show the week prior so you can hang at the park for a week and just walk to my show. Here's a conversation from last September (when we first warned the village folk that the Zombies were coming) with Colin Blunstone, the voice of the Zombies' #1 hit Time Of The Season.

Asher began classical violin training at the tender age of 2 and had already performed with the Buffalo philharmonic by age 13. Asher's expertise in trans-genre improvisation has led him to a career as a soloist in demand, performing at venues such as Madison Square Garden, Carnegie, Lincoln Center, the Jacob Javitz Center and across four continents. Asher has also been featured on PBS, and has made headlines on CNN, WABC, and NBC and many other major news sources. Asher is known for breakdancing across stages with his LED electric violin, in addition to performing as a DJ violinist, bringing his experience as a live performer and technical prowess as an audio editing and mixing guru to countless clubs and stages across the country.

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard and today's guest Flood Dud, yes me, to talk about blind dates. You can say what you want about them, or even worse….go on one. This can be a marathon event to locate someone you like but with the right amount of perseverance I'll be finding a mate. There's no better defining moment between artificial intelligence, in this case the dating app on my iPhone, compared humanoids, in particular your friends that know what you like, than the blind dating process.  The blind dating process that involves a matchmaking algorithm that's set up to keep us using their app, flipping and flipping through screens in search of love only to meet this awe inspiring person and embarrassing yourself into permanent submission.  Smart Picks. Up sells. You have to budget your dating app investment to allow a few bucks for the date. I'm doing a reverse Houdini here. How hard can it be to get locked into a trick? I've become great at escaping but getting handcuffed and submerged in ice water in a coffin hanging from the Space Needle is getting harder and harder to find these days. I went on a college blind date when I was 19. It was possibly the funnest date ever for me. It was a WSU barn dance in a small grange building in the middle of a wheat field in the Palouse of Eastern Washington. She was a short freckled faced chubby girl in bib overalls and a “let's go have fun” face. We got drunk on the way there, parked on a small road and with only the light of far off grange we cut across the pitch dark field to save time. Without being able to see where hell we were, we fell ass-over-tea-kettle into a 15 foot deep irrigation ditch full of mud. It was so dark we couldn't see and when we realized we couldn't climb the slippery muddy embankment to escape the bowels of death, we started laughing. And man, it's hard to climb out of a muddy irrigation ditch when drunk and laughing hysterically.  Climbing out involved inadvertently pulling one another back to the bottom of the ditch which got us laughing to paralyzation. The picture we posed for later is one of the best mud photos ever taken at a dance. That was then, this is now. The dating scene for us old guys is brutal. If you're married, stay there. Don't be thinking you can put on your “hey I'm hittin' it now” look on and strut out there with the confidence of Buddy Love. I read in the one Christmas gift I received this year, Dating for Dummies, you should never talk about other women on these trial dates. So stay tuned because just as I felt the Titanic start to wobble and sink I played the “talk about other women” card. I was at the meet up bar before my mystery date and spotted her oddly shaped butt as she waddled though the doors. I waved to her and pulled out her chair. Something told me I was in for an awkward test of my character. We chatted for a minute and ordered. She said she was dying for a rum and coke so she ordered a Margarita and meatballs. I wanted a glass shard Tabasco smoothy but stuck with the near beer I'd been nursing before the princess arrived. Then the screening began. It began with the description of her favorite husband…the one that could do everything I do only far better. He played every instrument and was an awesome DJ. He was ambidextrous and had perfect pitch. I wanted to say “same here” but walking on water wouldn't have impressed this jaded lady. So it was my turn to impress. I wanted to use the airline joke and tell her in the unlikely event of a water landing, we could use her ego as a floatation device, but no. Here's what I did. I changed the topic to my YMCA friend Freya. My way too young Freya is happily married and is in no way romantically involved, at least that she knows of, with me. Freya was my helper smurf when I needed advice as to a place to meet this ice cold blind date super sized Slurpee.  My dear Freya, without hesitation texted me the name of this happy hour haven. It

Chuck Wright is today's guest. When Chuck is not fighting crime by night, he is best known as the bassist from Quiet Riot!   Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard and today's guest Chuck Wright, to talk about his new and first solo album, or project as he refers to it, Chuck Wright's Sheltering Sky. Chuck is proud and excited to release his debut solo album, Sheltering Sky, on Los Angeles-based Cleopatra Records, on May 20.   The album features guest appearances by several of Wright's musical peers including keyboardist Derek Sherinian (Dream Theater/Billy Idol), guitarist Lanny Cordola (House of Lords), vocalist Jeff Scott Soto (Yngwie Malmsteen), Troy Luccketta (Tesla) and the late Mr. Big drummer, Pat Torpey.The album's 11 tracks also illustrate Wright's impressive songwriting ability as he either wrote or co-wrote all nine original songs on the album.  Also included is an edgy, intense version of Bjork's “Army of Me” along with a soulful, Celtic-rock take on the The Youngbloods classic, “Darkness, Darkness.”  Chuck also produced and engineered most of the album. Sheltering Sky exhibits a diversity and breadth of musical styles that embraces facets of Wright's hard rock legacy while also delving into a more varied side of Chuck's musical vision with well-written songs that feature ethereal guitar work, tasteful, soulful 70s era influences, Prog, Jazz Fusion and even a bit of heavy funk.  Besides his usual outstanding bass work as performed on a variety of different bass instruments, Wright also contributes on keys and acoustic guitar on several tracks.The new single from Sheltering Sky is Throwin' Stones, a fierce and passionate call for the end of armed conflict, a call which couldn't be more perfectly timed for today's world.  It features a heavy funk groove that emphasizes Wright's powerhouse playing and the various playing techniques for which he is known.

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard telling you they tattooed her in darkness. That is a line from Goddess Reborn, a song we'll hear and hear all about from guest and rockin' it James Carr. James is the front for the James Carr Band. If you get a chance, check them out. Very good. James Carr plays some kick ass guitar and what a great vocalist!  Okay, I'm back with a couple minutes to play this by request. A song I wrote about a promise made by a little girl to a little boy one sunny day in the 60s. Her name and the name of the song, Kerri.  

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard. I'm here all week, tip your waitresses and for all your painting needs? Welcome to my day gig. Please select a color from your favorite food groups. Raspberry red, avocado or Huskie purple , and how shiny you like your sheen. We have Charlie Sheen, Martin Sheen and even washingma sheen. It's a DYI project for you alone, “do-yourself-it”, FYI.  Today's guest just turned 18 on Monday May 9th 2022. She is Hungary born and Scotland raised beautiful young Hannyta. Her original debut song Wildflower reached #5 on the iTunes Pop Songs chart in South Africa. The video is Hannyta haunting. Here's what Hannyta sounded like at 17

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard, with guest Phil Tittle. Phil Tittle is a singer-songwriter based out of Pensacola, Florida. His music has traces of blues, country, rock, and singer-songwriter influences that fit nicely into the Americana genre.     ​Phil's first studio album, “All Over the Map” was released in 2019 under his band's name "Colt Weston" and he released "The Roadhouse Hymnals" the following year. Phil now regularly plays solo throughout the SE region under his given name.  He released his first LP using his given name, appropriately titled, "The Truth in Me" in April 2021.

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard, with a warm spring day and actually you don't need to point out that you're not “being here” with me. But in spirit with ears to listen and enjoy a few original songs. Many of the Better Each Day shows are musician interviews with the famous or the hopefuls.  I love em all but here's some of the music listeners have been asking for and I'm happy to deliver in under a half hour or you get a free pizza or something of equal value. A true Kodak moment. A true selfie occasion with videos and images to attach and text. The Kodak moment of 2022. And there's nothing more valuable than a good relationship with another person. I was invited to a birthday party last Friday and it was a room of people I know and admire. Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known: Have you ever had a time when you looked at a couple, or a situation or even a relationship of someone elses and said “That's so cool, people getting together?” The people are cool but the relationship is beyond words. This song is about relationships. Two sisters. Relationships may be the sweetest most precious thing in the world. The ragamuffin troubadour in this lyric wants one but all he has in exchange is one song for the sweetest thing I've ever known. My friend and incredible singer/songwriter (I taught him everything he knows) Dean Backholm and I will entertain you for about a half hour starting with Dean-O and his song Montreal.

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard, and my guest, guitar man Greg Martin of the Kentucky Headhunters. As I'm looking out my studio window (the studio that's my kitchen and bedroom too) I see a coyote. I live on the Harbour Pointe Golf Club's ninth hole where sometimes I see people stopping off in the bushes to drain their veins but other than squirrels and Easter bunnies ya don't get all that  much wildlife. For wildlife I turn to my day gig at the Home Depot paint department, where doers get more done. I heard a standup comic say: If you haven't worked retail you haven't really had a taste of it's a small world afterall.  One day at the paint department there was a guy that leaned over the counter and asked me what kind of paint would I recommend for a time machine. He specifically asked for fast drying paint to which I responded “Why not paint it in the past?” He agreed and asked what color I'd recommend. I suggested going into the future and checking out the trends. He agreed again and asked if I had any questions for him. I told him I was a songwriter and was looking for ideas for lyrics. He said “look around and you'll find them everywhere.”  That night while cleaning up the department for the morning shift I noticed he left some color swatches on the counter.  Medallion, ginger, alabaster, pearl and ivory white, Xanadu and limousine leather and melody…all color names from the color name gods that gave me the idea for this song, Kaleidoscope Heart.  Our guest today is guitar wizard Greg Martin with some music from his band Kentucky Headhunters.

Thank you for being here with me, Bruce Hilliard, friend of those who want no friends and part-time dressmaker's dummy. I'd like to thank DJ Richard Dee from Aberdeen radio for that tag and a shoutout to KOSW Ocean Shores for playing my show every Saturday morning.  We're doing a couple of my darker songs, Pawn Shop Boulevard and Endless Rain followed by a country cover and a surprise. Don't freak out, it's not a new car. And I'm not depressed about my string of pitiful failures and I'm not going into a shame spiral . But for this set: Pawn Shop Boulevard: It's about a broken man that's lost his wife and is desperate for someone to talk to as a friend. He has no money, no friends and no hope. He pawns his departed wife's wedding ring and spends his last penny on a lady of the night if only to "whisper in his ear, it's gonna be alright." Endless Rain I grew up in a timber town called Aberdeen Washington…or Warshington as some people call it. It's located at the foot of an admitted rain forest, a very wet forest that's no longer in denial, and my little town gets about 80 plus inches of rain per year. In fact, much of Aberdeen's existence is the result of rain. It's forte: Fishing, logging, suicide, homelessness and rock bands.  Aberdonians make lame remarks about the weather but seldom do anything about having it replaced. When I meet people and tell them I'm from Aberdeen one of the most common responses, after the responder gets done apologizing for my struggle living in such a God forsaken impoverished ghetto, is “did you know Kurt Cobain?”  No, I knew his immediate and extended family, friends and teachers. The second half of the 70s, in the pre-ghetto era of Aberdeen, I was a big man on campus (BMOC) in the region in the form of a long haired lead guitar player. My band's  rehearsal house was about two blocks from Kurt's childhood home. The neighborhood kids would hang out in front of the place to listen and see what was going on with these counter culture dudes.  Fast forward about three years. I'd made the decision to get out of the band business and become a TV meteorologist. That's when I met a newly divorced Wendy Cobain, mother blue-eyed blond hair Kurt and daughter Kim. (This could go into Come As You Are.) She apparently thought the world of rock was always giddy and fun. And for me at the time it was but I saw a need to get a real job so I went back to WSU to study communications. That was the third to last time I left Aberdeen for the final time. I heard Kurt got guitar lessons but in true rock fashion taught himself. He taught himself many things…some good, some bad. Sometimes experience is the best teacher. I was sad when I heard Wendy quoted as saying Kurt was now a part of the 27 Club with Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison…he was 27 and gone. There is a long and distinguished list of musician icons that made it to age 27 and stopped dead. OD'd, crashes, poisonings…whatever ya got. This song Endless Rain was written and recorded prior to Kurt's death in 1994. About a year prior. It was not so prophetic as intuitive. His death was tragic but not accidental. Stop me when you see a red flag. There were drugs, money, a baby, work obligations, and I say that I don't have a gun. Being from Aberdeen I predicted the more popular hanging.  So here's to “fighters fight and writers write and mothers sigh and sanctify a lullaby to a sleepy eye of a hurricane.” I wrote this as a stream of consciousness montage. In other words, my pen wrote it. I know plenty of people that were far more Kurt/Nirvana than me but this is my song. No approval required to venture into the abyss. One of my workout buddies suggested I cover this one: Old Dominion's One Man Band.

I'm Bruce Hilliard, born in Seattle and raised by wolves and gorillas in a small timber town called Aberdeen Washington. Not Aberdeen Scotland, Maryland, South Dakota or any of the others. The Aberdeen that's best known for logging, fishing and mills. It has a huge correctional facility, more than their share of the homeless population and dead end thinking…and musicians. There was and always will be music in River City. I'm hopelessly hopeful.  I became interested in the singer/songwriter entertainment industry before kindergarten. It was the musical fun in black and white on the Mickey Mouse Club TV show. You know, with Annette, Cubby and Darlene. Not the Britney Spears/Justin Timberlake era. Back in the 60s the number one goal for most of my friends was to either go to Disneyland or tell me about it…what an awesome time they had while they were there. The Hilliards were never going to go to the happiest place on earth so when I was 10 I broke into my life savings and reallocated my Disneyland funds toward the purchase of an electric guitar. I learned Secret Agent Man, Gloria, blues, Led Zeppelin and how to make up my own songs. I've written over 100 songs and would really like to share a few of them with you tonight. Kerri is about a small town girl meeting a small town boy, on bicycles, on a sunny summer day and Kerri announcing to the world “someday I'll marry that boy.” If it sounds like it could be a true story, it is. Well 50 years and 6 children later…Kerri and Bill are still a small town girl and a small town boy. Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known Have you ever had a time when you looked at someone, or a situation or even a relationship of someone elses and said “That's so cool and can I please have some?” This is about relationships. Relationships may be the sweetest most precious thing in the world. The troubadour in this lyric wants one but all he has in exchange is one song for the sweetest thing I've ever known. Kaleidoscope Heart is my wonderful world of color song. I wrote it as a thank you for my photography and wardrobe. Most of the promotional photos you see are from the very photo session this song is about. I used color names from Home Depot paint for this “xanadu, limousine leather and melody” list of paint color names.  Roses and Strawberry Rain was inspired by a friend, now grown and a mother of two, that played with Little Ponies…the toy Little Ponies. I took the reign and made up a story about a little girl playing pretend with her hero and champion race horse, Strawberry Rain. Strawberry Rain wins the roses at the Kentucky Derby (or wherever little girls bet on horses). California For the young and hopeful, LA is the promised land. Once there was this young beautiful girl that let it be known that she was moving to California, broke everything off with her boyfriend who is pretending not to care…or does he? I'm Going Home was a song I wrote while remembering the days when I had a couple bucks in my pocket and a half a tank of gas, a hot sunny day on an ocean road and a crappy radio that sounded like a million bucks when it played the good songs.

Hey hey hello from Better Each Day Land in my newly adopted hometown Mukilteo WA.     The highly anticipated debut album from Riot Act, Closer To The Flame, is sure to please fans of the late 70s and early 80s era of Riot as well as fans of classic hard rock everywhere.   There are bonus recordings featuring the final ever recordings of their original guitarist Lou Kouvaris, who tragically passed away of Covid 19 in early 2020. The deluxe double album set will be released April 1 on Global Rock Records.   Riot Act features former Riot guitarist Rick Ventura, talented lead vocalist Don Chaffin, Paul Ranieri on bass and Claudio Galinski on drums. Our guest Rick Ventura was a member of the classic lineup of Riot Act from 1979-1984. Some bands are formed by record labels, some are the result of advertisements and a dare, and some just happen.

Hello from Mukilteo and hey it's great to be back home where it's warm. My buddy Paul from Aberdeen asked me to take a road trip to Helena Montana and I just returned to the warmest place I've ever known. My apartment on a St. Patrick's green golf course. Bruce “The Snow Blower” Hilliard here and not since my winters at WSU have I witnessed cold like Montana cold…four below…bitter fricken fracken cold and in March! I packed lightly and don't actually own skiing or North Pole exploration gear.  Instead I resorted to layers. Lots of layers. I borrowed shoes about five sizes larger than mine from Paul's brother-in-law and local artist Scott. I also wore Scott's down coat, again, way large…cuz I'm a little guy. I looked like Ralphie's little brother in the Christmas Story movie. There are still plenty of Trump signs and I think even Donald would complain that it was too cold to vote. The warmth of the people more than made up for it. The topic of Russia attacking Ukraine came up a few times.  I co-wrote a song called Snow Angel with a beautiful friend Victoria who currently lives in Germany. She is originally from Russia and is super sweet. She also sings, plays flute and piano on this. If you're listening Victoria Lye, here's to your health, here's to snow angels everywhere. Imagine being alone in a log cabin in the mountains of Montana on this one. I was invited to a community potluck gathering at the local Helena fire department. There were about 30 plus refrigerator resilient residents there. We had probably 30 yumfull dishes too. But, I came with no dish, just a song. It was worthy of this song, Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known. I played mostly covers. It was a great audience. The kids danced like children of the night and clearly copied some of my spider monkey dance moves. A very Montana looking rancher introduced himself as Bruce Anfinson. He owns and operates a ranch slash restaurant slash horse drawn sleigh and wagon rides slash music venue. Bruce, like most good Bruces, is a musician, singer/songwriter and sings the songs of the land. I hope to have him on the show soon.

Hello my little belly buttons and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast with me, Bruce Hilliard, the best looking face you'll ever hear. This is the podcast where musicians talk about their music and backstories. But due to the influx of comments and suggestions for more tales with tunes and not so many interviews with top notch celebrity rock stars, here's a story about the 60s and 70s dance scene in small town America, Aberdeen and Hoquiam Washington. But this could be anywhere there are boys, girls and rock'n'roll. It started with lame school dances, followed by the necktie ones where the girl asks the boy and without warning she does something weird with her hair and you're forced to have your picture taken with them. There I was, in the prime of my teenage hormonal train wreck, checking out the girls' bums…I was known in medical circles as the gluteus to their maximus. Now, this coming from a dude that was too shy to ask anyone to dance. I used to go to these events solely to see the band. We all were heading into those formative teenage years and joining the rest of the teenage “cloud”...teenage cloud, the place where knowledge and pertinent information is stored, in the teenage brain. The brain, according to modern science, through magnetic resonance imaging, has determined that it won't be fully functional until the little zit factories are 25. So, it turns out that most people get married before their brains are fully developed…makes sense. According to what I've read, after the dramatic growth spurts of your childhood and teenage years, by the age of 25 your brain has hit peak performance. So there you are, surrounded by hundreds of young girls with 86 billion neurons telling you “let us dance like children of the night.” The brain uses over 20% of a human's caloric intake per day. That part we had covered with the calories of about a half triple cheeseburger. Not a challenge for a teen. For some reason, at that age it's not only okay among peers to be socially awkward but drunk and or stoned was not uncommon at parties or dances. In fact worthy of weird respect. One of my formal tolo “girls ask boy” dates was Bumajean Scleavage, she put the “ugh” in ugly. She was so ugly she had, and this was something we said in high school, marks on her body from people touching her with ten foot poles. She was so ugly her mother had to breastfeed her through straw. Bumajean and I dropped a party before the dance, well a quick get together at one of her buddy's up in Bel Air aka snob hill. We weren't there for more than 20 minutes when we headed across town in my mom's yellow submarine mobile to the dance. In true fashion, we never danced but not because of me. She spewed in my mom's car. On the floor, down the door inside and down the window, and of course all over her. It appeared to be a vintage Boones Farm or Annie Green Springs fortified wine. Her formal doo was smashed up, her masquara was bordering racoon. Once I got used to the smell I asked her “Well, Buma. Should we get our picture taken now? I found this paragraph on a website called http://pnwbands.com/ (Pacific Northwest Bands). It says: I was about 16. I had just played at the Harborena with my high school band.  I was driving my girlfriend's Mustang and I backed into the brown Ford LTD Hoquiam Police car parked in front. Being young and dumb and I think somewhat high, I drove away at a brisk rate, thinking no one had witnessed it. I was arrested in Aberdeen about 15 minutes later (Duh!) and spent one of many nights in a juvenile hall. My dad was thrilled, as was my girlfriend's dad. I had to work off the community damages to the dented door…$225. I acquired a new nickname that I can't mention here. I was banished from the Harborena. Signed Maitland Ward, March 2006 But the real happening scene for the 21 and older group and holders of fake I.D, The Rocker. The Rocker was anything but...

Hello and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast with me, Bruce Andrew Hilliard. Andrew came from my grandpa Andy Hilliard. He could chew Copenhagen all day without spitting, put horseradish on everything and drank Listerine.  Last week I was invited to a 90th birthday party for a man that was a second dad to me. He was actually my best buddy's dad, the guy I ran with from first grade into high school and beyond. And when things weren't good for me at home, I was over at their house bugging them, a family of Mom, Dad and four sons…like they needed a fifth sugar infused spider monkey running around their house. They introduced me to  going to sporting events and family activities and many many sleepovers. Not that there was a warzone at the Hilliard's place but there was a whole different vibe with my lifelong friends on Hoo Humper Hill. The names have been changed to protect the innocent so for now, we're talking Hoo Humper family as per advice from the Better Each Day legal department. There was almost a guarantee there would be fun and learning about the things I wouldn't have without my second family. There was even a Hoo Humper song that Mom Scooter would sing if your ears were shiny. I never asked where the song came from but I know it's the same place that manufactures fun. So, here's to Bob, his wife Scooter and remaining sons Jim, Steve and Dale. My buddy, Eddie Hoo Humper, who introduced me to this family in 1962 passed away two years ago last August. That served to make things even tighter with the Hoo Humper family. There are other relatives and friends that fit into this equation but this is the main lineup. They still stand tall in the community and still welcome my sorry ass over for some lovin'.  These are the things that inspire songs about coming home. I wrote and recorded this one Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known just last week. The Hoo Humpers, for some reason, took me, the neighbor kid in. It was Man From Uncle, blacklight posters and football in the mud. Jimi Hendrix, the Doors and "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da", which is Nigerian for "life goes on". I was born in Seattle but Aberdeen will always be my hometown. When I tell people where I'm from, Aberdeen, they hang their heads in sorrow and ask who to make the check out to. To an outsider, it looks like a drive through Walmartian Beach. Despite its perpetual yard sale outward appearance as you drive through the main drag on the way to the beach, it has its upscale non-ghetto looking neighborhoods.  That's where we lived, played and I still look forward to driving down Think Of Me Hill into the old timbertown. But to get there from where I currently flourish up north, you need to drive through Tacoma. The city with the fifty year I-5 improvement. There's about three miles of I-5 that cut through Tacoma that, no exaggeration, has been under construction at least since I've been driving, yes, fifty years, non-stop and they still don't have it quite right. There must be at least one highway to heaven worker that can retire and say “I succeeded in congesting traffic through Tacoma for a half century.” They have a special award and lifetime supply of Tacoma aroma…another story. But it's the ocean beach I used to, and still do, love. Ocean Shores. It's where I got my start in radio, at 91.3 KOSW, the sound of the shores. Birthday Boy Bob Hoo Humper shared some compelling stories as a retired heater repairman. He knews where everyone hid their booze. Including my mom. And, he says he knew about all the times we snuck out during our sleepovers but no way…we were f'ing ninjas. He didn't know where we stashed our booze. Saturday nights meant party on and rock out at the local roller skating rink the Harborena. Here's a song I wrote and recorded with all the instruments and the sound a ca. 1970 Pacific Northwest rock band. Strike up the B-3 Hammond and…hey, check on the six-finger guitar...

Hello and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast where you can meet today's guest Greg Martin, musician, radio personality and kindred spirit I came to realize as I edited this episode. Greg and I trailed off several times. I kept most of the chat and hope you find it interesting. The Kentucky Headhunters are an American https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Country_rock (country rock) and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_rock (Southern rock) band consisting of Doug Phelps (lead vocals, bass guitar), Greg Martin (lead guitar, background vocals), and brothers Richard Young (lead and background vocals, rhythm guitar) and Fred Young (drums, vocals).   The new album is That's a Fact Jack and it rocks!

UK blues/rock band Bonham-Bullick is going to release its self-titled new album on April 29. Bonham-Bullick is Deborah Bonham on vocals and Peter Bullick on lead guitar. Today's guest is the Bonham half. recording artist Deborah Bonham, who is the sister of the late Led Zeppelin drummer John Bonham and the aunt of drummer Jason Bonham who is the current drummer for Led Zeppelin. What's it like being part of the Led Zeppelin family, literally? You'll hear her being humble and respectful. That's got to be part of the recipe. Being a kick ass vocalist that “gets it” is the craft. But what's the show about…for anyone? What happens between the artist and the beholder? Listen to Deborah Bonham address that magic connection between performer and audience and how a band her brother was in made it happen.  Here to announce her new album Bonham-Bullick and what goes into that secret sauce is Deborah Bohham.

Hello hello hello and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast where recording artists' share their backstories and their music and any embarrassing moments they care to share. I'm Bruce Hilliard and thank you for being here. The '60s — an era when television was still a modern marvel, and viewers only had a few channels to choose from — TV variety shows were one of the most important influences of pop culture. Thus, Beatles fans were especially eager to show their support for their favorite boys by watching them on the small screen whenever they scored a televised gig. The band's February 9, 1964 performance on The Ed Sullivan Show was a particularly historic moment. According to the show's official website, it was their first live American television appearance.  The boys played five of their most popular songs at the time: "All My Loving," "Till There Was You," "She Loves You," "I Saw Her Standing There," and "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The performance drew 73 million people to their TV screens. I love the song list because it starts out with an up tempo, new to American ears “All My Loving” and immediately segues into “Till There Was You”, a ballad from a popular broadway hit and movie…a song that would prevent the parents from switching the TV to Disney.  It worked like nothing our generation could have ordered from a genie. Annoying enough parents (check), introducing new music (check) and making it look so f'ing fun and easy everyone watching wanted to be part of it. When I say “annoying the parents” I mean that in a way that points out that the Beatles never harshed anyone and didn't intend Armageddon by wearing their hair a hair longer than the normal Brylcreem buzz of the day and the radical suits and ties. Punkers in a tux. In honor of the iconic broadcast's 58th anniversary in 2022, the Better Each Day Podcast collected snips from the anals (I shouldn't go for that one any more) of time for a scrapbook of memorabilia. We had just witnessed a seismic cultural shift."  Fans started their own unofficial clubs, as well. Many of them amassed private collections of Beatles memorabilia. One Oregon club possessed a whopping "30 Beatle books, 9 Beatle records, over 2,000 Beatle bubblegum cards (some are duplicates) and 3,000 Beatles pictures." Beatles fans who wanted to show off their affinity for the band with merch had a vast array of products to choose from. According to Consequence of Sound, in 1964, the Wall Street Journal declared that Beatlemaniacs across America were buying "Beatle wigs, Beatle dolls, Beatle egg cups and Beatle T-shirts, sweatshirts and narrow-legged pants." Beatle wigs? That's right. Plenty of the band's biggest admirers saw them as the perfect accessory to sport at concerts. The pop-on mop-tops were so popular that Lowell Toy Company, their officially licensed manufacturer, once told a reporter, "We're turning out about 15,000 a day, but we've got a backlog of 500,000 orders."  The wigs were only the tip of the iceberg. According to American Profile, young Beatles lovers in the '60s could also purchase officially licensed Beatles Halloween costumes, complete with flame-retardant masks. Beatles-themed board games, stockings printed with the boys' faces, Beatles-branded hairspray, and "Big Beat Beatles Bongos" were available, as well. My personal goal is to become famous, say something the journalist can spin, make everyone like me and have a Pez dispenser mass produced in my likeness. Accents and trends: Start with kids. Someone didn't come here from England in the 1700s and suddenly proclaim (with a thick southern accent) “Hey there whisker biscuit, what say we pop a few poppers and Q up some ribs!” No. It's the next generation of Americans, those little snots, that lead our societies off on their new journeys to the latest ways. In this case, there had been a world war just over a decade prior, our president had been...

Hello hello hello and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast where recording artists' tell you the backstories and their music plays a few tales of its own. I'm Bruce Hilliard and thank you for being here. I've had the pleasure of producing this show for over five years without the use of sponsors. Why, you ask.  Because I'm not selling out for anyone I tell you! That's why I eat: (multiple ads for 60s food and deodorant). That was Love Potion #9, the home game. I've got new songs coming up in the next episodes but while listening to the old TV sounds I couldn't help but flash on my dad and his accidental influence on my writing…at least subject matter.  While Dad was sitting in his recliner sipping a scotch and reading the newspaper, he, on more than one occasion, would comment on an article about a teenager getting killed as the result of a high speed chase. His point, and the one that stuck with me for all these years, is that teenagers, especially guys, are wired to run when chased. If the police would give these guys a break they wouldn't run and end their lives way too short. Dad's message, courtesy of a few scotches and the evening news, led to my story song about Joey. He was the young man that had it all and accidentally killed a peer in a tavern brawl. Joey had his eyes on a lady, the bad guy calls her a slut and Joey pops him in the snot locker and the guy “droped like a rock.” Joey freaks and hears voices. He hears the angels sing and they tell him to run.  With Valentine's Day a few weeks from now, I take you from the morbid story of Joey's hormonal imbalance leading to headlines to a syrupy love song. This song is about searching and finally finding the place you belong…and the people that make it exist. The title is Sweetest Thing I've Ever Known. There's a sneak at where it's going. But for now that's all I got.

Hello hello hello and welcome to the Better Each Day podcast where recording artists' tell you the backstories and their music plays a few tales of its own. I'm Bruce Hilliard and thank you for being here. Today's guest, Dale Bozzio is the co-founder and lead singer of Missing Persons, one of the 80s most distinctive bands…set apart by her distinctive, flat out sexy looks that MTV drooled over. A look that led her to the cover of Hustler Magazine. Dale has just released her autobiography, entitled Life is So Strange – Dale's interview was originally scheduled for last week but she was down with the bug and graciously sharing a few nose stuffy words with us.

Hello hello hello and welcome to a new year of recording artists' backstories and music plus a few tales of my own. I'm Bruce Hilliard and I thank you for being here. The opening minute was me inappropriately flirting with today's guest. Carla Williams wanted to be a country music singer from the beginning. She put her dreams on hold to raise four kids and grow a successful business.  Well here we go. Carla morphed into the late Karen Carpenter and now she's back at it…and her forthcoming album is a tribute to Karen Carpenter and includes a who's who of the really good Nashville music scene. From Carla's bio: This Mobile, AL mother of four isn't your everyday minivan soccer mom. Carla Williams' unique twist on country bridges high energy angst, throaty vocals and sound reminiscent of Patsy Cline and Karen Carpenter. “Inspiration for great country songs comes from real life experiences,” says Carla. This NSAI and SESAC writer uses everyday occurrences to develop new songs. “I want to feel these songs, put a lot of emotion behind them and I think in order to do that you have to have lived it!”

Hello hello hello and welcome to a new year of recording artists' backstories and music plus a few tales of my own. I'm Bruce Hilliard and I thank you for being here. It's heading into even more short days and long nights in Aberdeen. The rain always lives up to its reputation at the foot of a national rain forest that gets up to 150 inches in the west side. Roughly 90% of that crashed down on the kids without their jackets on in the elementary school playgrounds during recess. Since it's a new year I grabbed my high school yearbook, 1972. New year, old yearbook, makes sense but I can't explain it. The first thing you notice is the black and white photos. All the zeitgeist plus some really revealing words from my friends. The time capsule we call the High School yearbook and the friends that get to sign your yearbook. Sometimes you'd hand your book to a buddy to sign and it went off on its own meet and greet…off on its own tour getting thoughts and autographs for us all to reflect in years to come. I sat down with a cup of coffee and started reading through one of them this morning. Priceless. Kids this age are where the term special needs comes from. Here we are entering the second half of our teenage years. Our bodies are looking grown up but we're kids--our undeveloped prefrontal cortexes are being blitzkrieged by surges of raging hormones…rendering us helpless morons. How can this be? We look and sound old enough to make sane decisions but somehow we just are not. We have learned to read and write reasonably well but we have the social skills of a toddler. Please know, we were kids, and good ones. I am about to delve into my investigative journalism skills and read from the Aberdeen High School ‘72 yearbook. I flat changed the names and maybe took a few poetic edits but for the most part, this is my sophomore year experience hand written in balloony longhand. Here's one from my girlfriend Gorcon (I used a Klingon name because her real name was Cinderella). And pretend this is a teenage girl's voice: Dear Brooster the Rooster, This year really has ended fantastically, and it's all because of you. I am sorry for all the griping I have done about certain people. But you know how it is. I guess it's because I've been hurt so many times before and I couldn't stand it another time. I really like your family. I just wish they could feel the same about me. It hurts Bruce. I hate to be compared to someone, especially someone with certain advantages. Maybe someday. I hope you will never hesitate to tell me anything because I feel that I have let you in a great deal. I'll never forget the party when we kissed for the first time. Then there was the kegger at Alice's Restaurant (it was actually a cow pasture a few miles out of town). The all nighter in the bleachers. You have been so good to me. So understanding. But most of all, so much fun. Camping until 5:00 a.m. in a bush, dropping me on the floor, crashing my mom's car while sun burning my boobs, trips to the beach, Harborena dances, track season and the naked lady in the Safeway parking lot. It seems impossible for so much to happen in only one month. You are the greatest person I have ever known. I don't say things I don't mean unless I'm just kidding. I meant everything I said and I always will. Love always, Gorcon She broke up with me that June. So how can that be? We're at the height of our sex drive, we've been down Heartbreak Road and pretty much know everything there is to know about love. This excerpt is from my senior yearbook. It was written by my buddy's girlfriend, both seniors. She wrote on the opening page: Bruce, Gol, it's almost all over! It gets kind of sad at the end. Enough emotion. Bruce, I'm so glad we got to know each other. You're a great guy with a lot of talent. I know you're not the kind of person that would let that talent go to waste. Get out there in the world...

Hello hello and Happy New Year to all. Recently I had the pleasure of talking to a couple of former residents of my childhood home on 10th street in Aberdeen WA. They lived there as kids in the late fifties and moved out when their father died in 1960. For years I wondered what had happened to those kids, roughly my age, that lived there before us. It turns out they used the same rec room for shows and rehearsals as we did years later. There was a room that just called out for audiences and performers. They knew the neighborhood and some of the same teachers and businesses that have since passed. I think it's always comforting to know that the house you once lived in, had spent special occasions in, slept and grew in is still there and being cared for properly. Houses have soul. But the music in the house, and I noticed this right when we started to move in, seemed to be there for the taking. There was a jukebox full of 78 rpm records left behind. There was that but there was an inherent sense of “hey, my uncle has a barn, let's put on a show” to it. And they did and so did we. We had rock bands as we got older and into the 70s. What started as little kid marionette shows and really crappy cover bands morphed into a band that would open for Heart and the Ramones and would carry on a tradition in Aberdeen. A tradition of good music that doesn't really have a start and a finish. But, I have to say when I got off the phone with the former kids of my house, for the rest of the day I felt I'd just seen a great movie. An unforeseen feel good flick. In this show we'll feature a few of my friends, Dean Backholm and the Murchy Brothers that played in this particular basement rec room for some formative years when we cranked our amps up to 11 and shook the glasses off the bar shelves. Our next guest can relate to this band start up thing. Chris James is the current main vocalist of the Burrito Brothers, be they Flying or Notorious Burrito brothers. The band that laid the eggs for the Byrds and the Eagles. Love is a River from the Flying Burrito Brothers' Notorious Burrito Brothers album. And my life brothers that were a huge part of the Aberdeen 10th Street rec room Ed Sullivan show, here's On the Harbor by the Murchy Brothers. And Montreal by Dean Backholm. My new friends that used to occupy my childhood home before me, Morry and Judy, are awesome and I'm so glad we talked for an hour or so. It sounds like an episode to me. It already sounds like “hey, my uncle has a barn, let's put on a show!” Well, I know now they moved to California. Thanks so much for the listen. Let's make 2022 a year of less blame and shame and more Better Each Day. Support this podcast

Hello hello and Merry Christmas to all. There's been a generous response from our listeners regarding hometown nostalgia material on the show. Being from middle- everything Aberdeen WA in the early baby boomer years, there are endless small town-everywhere stories for you.  I somehow gravitate to stories about my Dad, Dr. Glenn A. Hilliard, DVM. (reverb)  Christmas is extra special when your dad is a veterinarian. A vet is the guy you call on Sunday night because your kid, a human kid, has a fever. The reason the callers would call the vet and not an MD?: “I can't call my people doctor, it's Sunday evening.” So they called Dad, the town veterinarian. Sometimes it was serious. Or sometimes just a comforting word from a trusted doctor was all it took. The call was always during dinner. It wasn't uncommon to hear the the caller's voice freaking out in Dad's ear with “my cow broke his leg, fell in the river, drifted downstream for a spell and is stuck on a snag and gettin' dark.” When I was a small boy I was told by classmates that “your dad…he killed my cat.” Later in life I heard my peers say “Thank God for you dad, he saved my cat.” Even as a snot nose kid I knew my dad wasn't in the business of killing cats. He was crazy devoted and had a gift both earned and inborn. It's raining and dark. It is evident Dad is the only vet available in the entire free world, so out he goes to save a cow…on a Sunday night. A cold outside but warm inside Disney, Ed Sullivan Bonanza Sunday night. Christmas was a special time for Dad's employees at the Aberdeen Animal Hospital. He always felt Christmas day was a day for people to be home with their families. So, in order to accommodate his helpers, Santa Dad would give them all Christmas day off. This meant Dad worked Christmas day and we spoiled baby boomers got to open presents on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve…a night of magic. This changed everything for us present openers. My two brothers and I were always stoked to open presents on Christmas Eve to allow the Christmas day off for “the girls” as he called them. Christmas Eve, like every day at closing, dogs and cats are fed, treated and cages cleaned. I was sure to tell the animals I could get them out on good behavior. But on Christmas Eve there were secret little boy conversations with the inmates. The cats especially. They've always got a plan. Hello hello hello and Merry Christmas little orphaned kittens. Don't worry. My dad won't let nothin' happen to ya. He'll keep all of you until he finds homes for you. Kittens are fun but even more so--sometimes I'd take a cage full of puppies out for a roll on the floor. Puppy breath. There was a certain silence in the animal world on Christmas Eve, just me and Dad this year.  Wet food, dry food, an occasional pill, special tuna for the meow meow that won't eat.  Some of the animals were there strictly as hotel guests for the holidays. No Bing Crosby at this dive. It was clear the fuzzies were a bit broken-hearted about not being home with their families. As the evening got closer and closer to dad and I locking the doors and heading home for the annual Christmas Eve unwrapping, the gang gets gradually louder until it sounds like a rock concert with a dog and cat mosh pit. Class, class, class, SHUT UP!!! Thank you. All they need is some lovin'. Finally we're done with the tasks required to secure Noah's Arc and go home to see what's under the tree. The lights are out. It's dark except for the glow from ultraviolet lights. We're almost out of the building when there's a scratch at the front door. I could see through the glass it was a large brown dog with a sad expression. Dad opened the door and in limped a big wet dog with no signs of an owner. He looked tired and neglected. Dad had him up on the table, treated and bandaged his right front paw. I gave the patient a milk bone and out he went. Not thirty seconds later he scratched at the door again.  Dad... Support this podcast

Hello hello and Merry Christmas to all. There's been a generous response from our listeners regarding hometown nostalgia material on the show. Being from middle- everything Aberdeen WA in the early baby boomer years, there are endless small town-everywhere stories for you.  I somehow gravitate to stories about my Dad, Dr. Glenn A. Hilliard, DVM. (reverb)  Christmas is extra special when your dad is a veterinarian. A vet is the guy you call on Sunday night because your kid, a human kid, has a fever. The reason the callers would call the vet and not an MD?: “I can't call my people doctor, it's Sunday evening.” So they called Dad, the town veterinarian. Sometimes it was serious. Or sometimes just a comforting word from a trusted doctor was all it took. The call was always during dinner. It wasn't uncommon to hear the the caller's voice freaking out in Dad's ear with “my cow broke his leg, fell in the river, drifted downstream for a spell and is stuck on a snag and gettin' dark.” When I was a small boy I was told by classmates that “your dad…he killed my cat.” Later in life I heard my peers say “Thank God for you dad, he saved my cat.” Even as a snot nose kid I knew my dad wasn't in the business of killing cats. He was crazy devoted and had a gift both earned and inborn. It's raining and dark. It is evident Dad is the only vet available in the entire free world, so out he goes to save a cow…on a Sunday night. A cold outside but warm inside Disney, Ed Sullivan Bonanza Sunday night. Christmas was a special time for Dad's employees at the Aberdeen Animal Hospital. He always felt Christmas day was a day for people to be home with their families. So, in order to accommodate his helpers, Santa Dad would give them all Christmas day off. This meant Dad worked Christmas day and we spoiled baby boomers got to open presents on Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve…a night of magic. This changed everything for us present openers. My two brothers and I were always stoked to open presents on Christmas Eve to allow the Christmas day off for “the girls” as he called them. Christmas Eve, like every day at closing, dogs and cats are fed, treated and cages cleaned. I was sure to tell the animals I could get them out on good behavior. But on Christmas Eve there were secret little boy conversations with the inmates. The cats especially. They've always got a plan. Hello hello hello and Merry Christmas little orphaned kittens. Don't worry. My dad won't let nothin' happen to ya. He'll keep all of you until he finds homes for you. Kittens are fun but even more so--sometimes I'd take a cage full of puppies out for a roll on the floor. Puppy breath. There was a certain silence in the animal world on Christmas Eve, just me and Dad this year.  Wet food, dry food, an occasional pill, special tuna for the meow meow that won't eat.  Some of the animals were there strictly as hotel guests for the holidays. No Bing Crosby at this dive. It was clear the fuzzies were a bit broken-hearted about not being home with their families. As the evening got closer and closer to dad and I locking the doors and heading home for the annual Christmas Eve unwrapping, the gang gets gradually louder until it sounds like a rock concert with a dog and cat mosh pit. Class, class, class, SHUT UP!!! Thank you. All they need is some lovin'. Finally we're done with the tasks required to secure Noah's Arc and go home to see what's under the tree. The lights are out. It's dark except for the glow from ultraviolet lights. We're almost out of the building when there's a scratch at the front door. I could see through the glass it was a large brown dog with a sad expression. Dad opened the door and in limped a big wet dog with no signs of an owner. He looked tired and neglected. Dad had him up on the table, treated and bandaged his right front paw. I gave the patient a milk bone and out he went. Not thirty seconds later he scratched at the door again.  Dad... Support this podcast

Hello hello hello and merry Christmas from the corner of Christmas Street and Better Each Day. Come on along and take a walk with me. You're here just in time for an eggnog and my Christmas 2021 song Hello Hello Hello. It's about being committed to the Christmas fruit cake boom boom room for believing in Santa. “I believe in Santa Claus and giving.”  Christmas Street can be anywhere, anytime. It doesn't need to be a street. It can be in a Victorian home or visiting the mother ship. In this story it's down a gravel logging road near North River. It doesn't matter where my North River is, just come along for the ride.  We're riding with my dad in his veterinary van on a quest for the perfect North River Christmas tree. It's December 1960 something. I'm about 10 and he's about 42. It started snowing. The good stuff. The road is getting narrower with more snow and the thought of meeting a fully loaded log truck coming head on sucks even more than the cigarette smoke. Dad finished his Winston and lit another one as we parked where only the Lewis and Clark Expedition would have dared…somewhere out in the cold wilderness where anyone could easily get carried off by a pack of bandicoots.  This is one of those areas where people disappear and later reappear as a bat. I made that up. But time seems to be moving at the speed of a parked car. The 27 mile trek in the snow uphill both ways was just about to begin. The hunt for, not the Home Depot tree or tree farm tree or Bigfoot, but the majestic tree that roams with its herd in the hills of the Pacific Northwest jungles…the aromatic but ever so elusive wild Christmas tree. We walked. The snow was morphing from creamy to crunchy style under my boots. Somewhere along the way Dad got far enough ahead of me to secretly drop some raisins in the snow along the trail. Why? You ask. It's the trick where later when we walk by the little SunKist pile together, the funny one who planted the raisins cries out “hey, Santa's reindeer have been here” as he picks up a handful of raisins and eats them. The unsuspecting recipient says “oh major ew” and hilarity ensues. Always a fav. After two weeks we ran out of supplies and began eating each other. No we didn't but that's probably a better show. Now, most of the trees in nature don't look like they've been pruned. In fact most of the trees down North River way looked a bit like a Charlie Brown tree.  The scenery was getting whiter and I spotted an eight point buck not far away…just as Dad went to eat some of the raisins, at least what he thought were raisins. Yep. Once he got his mouth back we spotted what was to be one of the three wild trees required to make one domestic Christmas tree.  The trick was to take three trees home, cut them into thirds and use the best sections. Each tree was carefully selected by the master himself for high end, mid or bottom. The thirds were attached with dowels. The concept defies any known grafting techniques. The snow was really coming down as we slid our three donors to the van. It was a Kodak moment ingrained in my mind forever. Even more impressive was Dad's knot acumen. He could sinch down a load that would make a Peterbilt log truck proud. Dad was busy tying off the trees, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was dusk. A snowy dark December dusk. I watched until I drifted off into a song. A song about a hot snow angel that shows up if you wish hard enough.  When I woke up I was 66-years-old, thrice divorced and living in a van… The tree, as I've come to find out, once decorated, looked awesome like they always do. The experience is among some of my fondest childhood Christmas stories.  Special thanks to the co-writer, flautist and vocalist on Snow Angel. She is Victoria Lye and I wish you, Victoria, and your loved ones a Merry Christmas in your home in Munich, Germany. And a shout out to all the people that make this show possible, my friends: All my... Support this podcast

Hello hello hello and merry Christmas from the corner of Christmas Street and Better Each Day. Come on along and take a walk with me. You're here just in time for an eggnog and my Christmas 2021 song Hello Hello Hello. It's about being committed to the Christmas fruit cake boom boom room for believing in Santa. “I believe in Santa Claus and giving.”  Christmas Street can be anywhere, anytime. It doesn't need to be a street. It can be in a Victorian home or visiting the mother ship. In this story it's down a gravel logging road near North River. It doesn't matter where my North River is, just come along for the ride.  We're riding with my dad in his veterinary van on a quest for the perfect North River Christmas tree. It's December 1960 something. I'm about 10 and he's about 42. It started snowing. The good stuff. The road is getting narrower with more snow and the thought of meeting a fully loaded log truck coming head on sucks even more than the cigarette smoke. Dad finished his Winston and lit another one as we parked where only the Lewis and Clark Expedition would have dared…somewhere out in the cold wilderness where anyone could easily get carried off by a pack of bandicoots.  This is one of those areas where people disappear and later reappear as a bat. I made that up. But time seems to be moving at the speed of a parked car. The 27 mile trek in the snow uphill both ways was just about to begin. The hunt for, not the Home Depot tree or tree farm tree or Bigfoot, but the majestic tree that roams with its herd in the hills of the Pacific Northwest jungles…the aromatic but ever so elusive wild Christmas tree. We walked. The snow was morphing from creamy to crunchy style under my boots. Somewhere along the way Dad got far enough ahead of me to secretly drop some raisins in the snow along the trail. Why? You ask. It's the trick where later when we walk by the little SunKist pile together, the funny one who planted the raisins cries out “hey, Santa's reindeer have been here” as he picks up a handful of raisins and eats them. The unsuspecting recipient says “oh major ew” and hilarity ensues. Always a fav. After two weeks we ran out of supplies and began eating each other. No we didn't but that's probably a better show. Now, most of the trees in nature don't look like they've been pruned. In fact most of the trees down North River way looked a bit like a Charlie Brown tree.  The scenery was getting whiter and I spotted an eight point buck not far away…just as Dad went to eat some of the raisins, at least what he thought were raisins. Yep. Once he got his mouth back we spotted what was to be one of the three wild trees required to make one domestic Christmas tree.  The trick was to take three trees home, cut them into thirds and use the best sections. Each tree was carefully selected by the master himself for high end, mid or bottom. The thirds were attached with dowels. The concept defies any known grafting techniques. The snow was really coming down as we slid our three donors to the van. It was a Kodak moment ingrained in my mind forever. Even more impressive was Dad's knot acumen. He could sinch down a load that would make a Peterbilt log truck proud. Dad was busy tying off the trees, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It was dusk. A snowy dark December dusk. I watched until I drifted off into a song. A song about a hot snow angel that shows up if you wish hard enough.  When I woke up I was 66-years-old, thrice divorced and living in a van… The tree, as I've come to find out, once decorated, looked awesome like they always do. The experience is among some of my fondest childhood Christmas stories.  Special thanks to the co-writer, flautist and vocalist on Snow Angel. She is Victoria Lye and I wish you, Victoria, and your loved ones a Merry Christmas in your home in Munich, Germany. And a shout out to all the people that make this show possible, my friends: All my... Support this podcast

Hello hello hello and merry Christmas from the groovin' with the tunes of Rube Tubin and the Rondonnas Better Each Day toy shop. It's a jolly little shop where each Christmas I write a new song for the occasion. It's a time when I compare my music to the classics like the number one selling single of all time, White Christmas. If that doesn't humble your inner Irving Berlin I don't know what will. Or, Little Drummer Boy by Tacoma born Bing Crosby. Coincidentally, I was reflecting back on chestnuts roasting on an open fire. The Christmas Song co-written and originally sung by Mel Torme. Then, down the internet it came with a clatter. I clicked on my mouse to see what was the matter. An email from a promotion manager with a new song. Written and performed by the son of the Velvet Fog himself Mel Torme, Steve March-Torme has a new holiday song for you. Steve is the son of legendary singer-songwriter Mel Torme and the stepson of well-known actor/comedian Hal March. He is a talented entertainer in his own right.  Since the late 1970s, he has been a successful singer, entertainer, recording artist, TV & radio host and has toured extensively worldwide to an ever-growing fan base. Steve has written a brand new, original Christmas song entitled I Remember Christmastime.  It's a beautiful, nostalgic, sentimental salute to fond remembrances of the Christmas season. Support this podcast

Hello hello hello and merry Christmas from the groovin' with the tunes of Rube Tubin and the Rondonnas Better Each Day toy shop. It's a jolly little shop where each Christmas I write a new song for the occasion. It's a time when I compare my music to the classics like the number one selling single of all time, White Christmas. If that doesn't humble your inner Irving Berlin I don't know what will. Or, Little Drummer Boy by Tacoma born Bing Crosby. Coincidentally, I was reflecting back on chestnuts roasting on an open fire. The Christmas Song co-written and originally sung by Mel Torme. Then, down the internet it came with a clatter. I clicked on my mouse to see what was the matter. An email from a promotion manager with a new song. Written and performed by the son of the Velvet Fog himself Mel Torme, Steve March-Torme has a new holiday song for you. Steve is the son of legendary singer-songwriter Mel Torme and the stepson of well-known actor/comedian Hal March. He is a talented entertainer in his own right.  Since the late 1970s, he has been a successful singer, entertainer, recording artist, TV & radio host and has toured extensively worldwide to an ever-growing fan base. Steve has written a brand new, original Christmas song entitled I Remember Christmastime.  It's a beautiful, nostalgic, sentimental salute to fond remembrances of the Christmas season. Support this podcast

You'll discover: How to effectively infuse emotion into mastered techniques. 
 A unique approach to memorizing a new piece– then overcoming stage fright.
 Life lessons to rekindle lost inspiration. 
 Three necessary ingredients for honing natural aural acumen and play by ear.
 The beginners course into a commercial music career. 
 You've practiced the classics and improved your skill. Now elevate your playing to transcend melody and tell a story that reaches the hearts of your listeners—not just their ears.  In this light-hearted and humorous guide for any piano student, pianist Emile Pandolfi shares his holistic philosophy that harmonizes method and mindset to help you communicate through every chord and resonate more passionately with your listeners— for an encore-worthy performance each time you play.  The book: Play It Like You Mean It is available wherever books are sold. Support this podcast

You'll discover: How to effectively infuse emotion into mastered techniques. 
 A unique approach to memorizing a new piece– then overcoming stage fright.
 Life lessons to rekindle lost inspiration. 
 Three necessary ingredients for honing natural aural acumen and play by ear.
 The beginners course into a commercial music career. 
 You've practiced the classics and improved your skill. Now elevate your playing to transcend melody and tell a story that reaches the hearts of your listeners—not just their ears.  In this light-hearted and humorous guide for any piano student, pianist Emile Pandolfi shares his holistic philosophy that harmonizes method and mindset to help you communicate through every chord and resonate more passionately with your listeners— for an encore-worthy performance each time you play.  The book: Play It Like You Mean It is available wherever books are sold. Support this podcast

When I was 2-years-old the Hilliard family, in accordance with my life plan as dictated by me as soon as I was potty trained, moved west from Bellevue, Washington, to a small timber town twenty minutes from the coast.  While in Bellevue we lived in a neighborhood that is a chip shot from Microsoft campuses today. Maybe we should have stayed there but we migrated west to a small town called Aberdeen, Washington. Aberdeen, Washington, is at sea level. This meant, to you inlanders, that when it rained 40 days and 40 nights (which isn't at all that Biblical in Aberdeen), there's gonna be a    flood.  Flood the color of mud.  And we had street fountains.  During high tide the holes in the manhole cover plates had jets of water shooting up about a foot through the holes.  You just don't get that everywhere. The lower city was built on pilings, apparently before floods were invented.  The weather never affected football. At age four I was a manly man like the cowboys on TV. Not  the Dallas Cowboys, the Hollywood cowboys. Now back to the game, not quite in progress yet.   Sometimes I got to play with the big boys.  The Big Guys were 6 to 8-years-old!  Sometimes they would let me play in their game “Attack Khrushchev” (the Post Hitler Cold War version of good guys and bad guys) with them.  My buddy and one of the  big guys was Dan.  Dan's dad was head coach for the Aberdeen High School Football Team.  I always liked both of them.  I had no idea what adventures were in store with the dad, the head coach of Aberdeen High School football team when it came my time to play at that level.   The “Attack Khrushchev” Cold War Game (the home version) involved the good guys (us) and bad guys (this Khrushchev dude, whoever he was).  You had to be able to ride a bike to play…or run really fast for a long, long time to keep up with the big boys on their Pee Wee Herman bikes.  I didn't own a bike yet, so I ran with the guys as fast as I could.   One day the big guys decided to play a game called football.  I had heard of it.  It required an odd shaped ball you couldn't bounce because it didn't come back the same direction.  My parents had given me a toy slide projector shaped like Mickey Mouse's silhouette.  The show?  Touchdown for Mickey.  I was so excited about it.  Mickey, as you may have guessed, scores a last second touchdown!    But back to the gridiron, it's time to choose the teams.  The Big Guys lined up side by side and two of the biggest guys stepped forward as captains.  There was some argument with a third big guy about what was fair about who got to be a captain. That's probably still in negotiations.   The two captains chose their players.  As usual in life, the biggest guys were selected first, the best friends chosen second. And me?  Last.  This underdog thing turned out to be a blessing later in life.  It turns out I was usually the last kid picked for a team later in sports...unless there was a stopwatch or a tape measure to determine the winner.  I would have to learn to overcome my size deficiency and the inherent politics in sports, and in life.   This meant never being late for practice, never dogging a drill, and always trying my best to be out in front of other players in order to get any attention from a coach. This is life. I was lucky to have this demonstrated early on. The players were dressed in worn out jeans, Red Ball Jets, white T-Shirts and Dad's flannel work shirt. This later became the grunge look. It was a classic late fifties group of boys. The original Goonies. We had nicknames and never knew each other's real names sometimes. There was a pale skinny guy we called Wormy. We had Booger Munch (self explanatory), Smells Like Rotten Oranges, future NBA star String Bean Levine and the one... Support this podcast

When I was 2-years-old the Hilliard family, in accordance with my life plan as dictated by me as soon as I was potty trained, moved west from Bellevue, Washington, to a small timber town twenty minutes from the coast.  While in Bellevue we lived in a neighborhood that is a chip shot from Microsoft campuses today. Maybe we should have stayed there but we migrated west to a small town called Aberdeen, Washington. Aberdeen, Washington, is at sea level. This meant, to you inlanders, that when it rained 40 days and 40 nights (which isn't at all that Biblical in Aberdeen), there's gonna be a    flood.  Flood the color of mud.  And we had street fountains.  During high tide the holes in the manhole cover plates had jets of water shooting up about a foot through the holes.  You just don't get that everywhere. The lower city was built on pilings, apparently before floods were invented.  The weather never affected football. At age four I was a manly man like the cowboys on TV. Not  the Dallas Cowboys, the Hollywood cowboys. Now back to the game, not quite in progress yet.   Sometimes I got to play with the big boys.  The Big Guys were 6 to 8-years-old!  Sometimes they would let me play in their game “Attack Khrushchev” (the Post Hitler Cold War version of good guys and bad guys) with them.  My buddy and one of the  big guys was Dan.  Dan's dad was head coach for the Aberdeen High School Football Team.  I always liked both of them.  I had no idea what adventures were in store with the dad, the head coach of Aberdeen High School football team when it came my time to play at that level.   The “Attack Khrushchev” Cold War Game (the home version) involved the good guys (us) and bad guys (this Khrushchev dude, whoever he was).  You had to be able to ride a bike to play…or run really fast for a long, long time to keep up with the big boys on their Pee Wee Herman bikes.  I didn't own a bike yet, so I ran with the guys as fast as I could.   One day the big guys decided to play a game called football.  I had heard of it.  It required an odd shaped ball you couldn't bounce because it didn't come back the same direction.  My parents had given me a toy slide projector shaped like Mickey Mouse's silhouette.  The show?  Touchdown for Mickey.  I was so excited about it.  Mickey, as you may have guessed, scores a last second touchdown!    But back to the gridiron, it's time to choose the teams.  The Big Guys lined up side by side and two of the biggest guys stepped forward as captains.  There was some argument with a third big guy about what was fair about who got to be a captain. That's probably still in negotiations.   The two captains chose their players.  As usual in life, the biggest guys were selected first, the best friends chosen second. And me?  Last.  This underdog thing turned out to be a blessing later in life.  It turns out I was usually the last kid picked for a team later in sports...unless there was a stopwatch or a tape measure to determine the winner.  I would have to learn to overcome my size deficiency and the inherent politics in sports, and in life.   This meant never being late for practice, never dogging a drill, and always trying my best to be out in front of other players in order to get any attention from a coach. This is life. I was lucky to have this demonstrated early on. The players were dressed in worn out jeans, Red Ball Jets, white T-Shirts and Dad's flannel work shirt. This later became the grunge look. It was a classic late fifties group of boys. The original Goonies. We had nicknames and never knew each other's real names sometimes. There was a pale skinny guy we called Wormy. We had Booger Munch (self explanatory), Smells Like Rotten Oranges, future NBA star String Bean Levine and the one... Support this podcast

Welcome times a trillion to the 10th degree. I'm the familiar voice of Bruce Hilliard and today's show is Bruce Songs By Request. These are selfie recordings, all written, performed, recorded, mixed and blessed with fairy dust by me.  Be sure to click in on Thanksgiving: Bruce's High School Football Adventure this Thanksgiving. It's a fun look at my childhood, football and the glory days of the Aberdeen/Hoquiam Thanksgiving Football Classic. Don't miss it. It's made more headlines than a corduroy pillow. Find a time to break away from the craziness and give it a listen. Some nostalgic music and speaking of music, here's one I wrote… When I was little I saw https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3puv9rPCNA&ab_channel=HRBronhaski (Darby O'Gill and the Little People), a Disney film. It had a death coach that comes out of the dark mist, picks up passengers and flies off to Florida, or somewhere. The EQ is courtesy of brother Gary. It's the telephone sound and makes the next song CA pop! The Midnight Arrow is coming for someone. I hope you enjoy the music. Support this podcast

Welcome times a trillion to the 10th degree. I'm the familiar voice of Bruce Hilliard and today's show is Bruce Songs By Request. These are selfie recordings, all written, performed, recorded, mixed and blessed with fairy dust by me.  Be sure to click in on Thanksgiving: Bruce's High School Football Adventure this Thanksgiving. It's a fun look at my childhood, football and the glory days of the Aberdeen/Hoquiam Thanksgiving Football Classic. Don't miss it. It's made more headlines than a corduroy pillow. Find a time to break away from the craziness and give it a listen. Some nostalgic music and speaking of music, here's one I wrote… When I was little I saw https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G3puv9rPCNA&ab_channel=HRBronhaski (Darby O'Gill and the Little People), a Disney film. It had a death coach that comes out of the dark mist, picks up passengers and flies off to Florida, or somewhere. The EQ is courtesy of brother Gary. It's the telephone sound and makes the next song CA pop! The Midnight Arrow is coming for someone. I hope you enjoy the music. Support this podcast