Howie Mandel, that comedic icon from the ’80s, has made a comeback from those atrocious Boston Pizza commercials as the host of game show phenomenon Deal or No Deal.

This week’s Channel Changer takes a closer look at the man, the myth, and his return to Canada.

Often there is a melody playing in my head that I recognize, but can’t crystalize well enough to identify. It just roams around in there, haunting me, taunting me.

This morning I’ve got some seventies, Doobie Brothers retro thing up there, which is less surprising for me than you might think, because there’s been some great music created lately (by DJs and songwriters) that have made use of the post-funk, edge-of-disco era.

The problem is that as I play a few tracks, trying to isolate the one that is in my head, I run the risk of losing what has been there. The music being played tends to overwrite what was up there. Sometimes the act of searching becomes an act of sabotage.

I was lucky this morning, though. After chasing down a few songs I discovered that the orchestral strings, which were backed by an organ and disco percussion, were from track two of the new DJ Shadow album, Outsider.

I think it’s growing on me.

I love mornings. Even the early ones. Especially the early ones.

On very early mornings I am fresh, uncluttered. Things that have bubbled up from my subconscious during the night have an opportunity to make themselves known before the chaos of the day, the sensory overload, overwhelmes them.

This morning, from somewhere deep in my memory, came the sounds of Tinderbox, a band from Calgary when I was there seeping up the music scene. Kris Wenzel was the driving force behind the trio, and he’s since forged his solo career playing as Kris Demeanor. He’s got a gift for words, and twists his lyrics with the deftness of a poet.

Lately he’s been performing with the Crack Band, which includes guitarist Chantal Vitalis and bassist Diane Kooch, two of the best musicians I’ve ever met.

Chantal and Di were – in a time long, long ago – two-thirds of Maud, which remains one of my favourite bands. They played surf rock punk with a tinge of pop and were awesome.

One day I’ll tell you about how we once planned for me to sing Tommy Tutone’s Jenny (867-5309) with Maud at a wedding reception.

I just discovered that Kris Demeanor is releasing a new album, go away (with me), this fall. You can preview songs at their MySpace site.

The weird thing is that I know where all this came from, and it’s because I was listening to the new Islands album yesterday, and the chorus of “bones, bones, brittle little bones” from the song Don’t Call Me Whitney, Bobby, sound so much like Tinderbox used to.

Some days I’m so foggy in the morning that I don’t seem to have anything playing on the internal soundtrack. Today was one of those days.

I fumbled around getting dressed, managed to remember to don socks and underwear, zombie-walked through the public transit system, and plopped down at my desk, wondering when the week is going to end.

And realized I was humming the chorus from Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy.

I became distressed this morning when I looked up the details for Endtroducing and realized the seminal album from DJ Shadow was released in 1996. Ten years ago.

I didn’t discover it then. It wasn’t until filmmaker Marc Singer made the documentary Dark Days and used music from Endtroducing as a soundtrack that I learned about it. That was in 2000.

But listening to Endtroducing for the first time was one of those unique experiences that defines a place in time. For me it was the early days of my explorations into hip-hop, a musical form I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy. Some of it, anyway.

I woke up this morning hearing the ethereal prologue to Building Steam With a Grain of Salt, the second track from Endtroducing.
The sounds, which always make me think of a peal of bells in Victorian London (don’t ask me why, because I do not know) are an echo that Shadow uses throughout the album.

Endtroducing was an album experience in the way that Shadow’s new release, Outsider, tries to be but isn’t. Outsider sounds variously crunk, Thorogood, Radiohead, Buddy Guy, and new-punk. I’m not sold on it, despite how eagerly I anticipated it. Give me some more time to form an opinion.