Tag Archives: Music

Stompin’ Tom

I remember going to a concert with a friend in Lethbridge, Alberta, probably in the 70s.  I’d vaguely heard of the guy – Stompin’ Tom Connors – but I didn’t know what to expect.  Well … onto the stage came this fellow dressed in black, including his stetson hat, and carrying a wooden board.  He set it down under one of his feet, grabbed his guitar, and launched himself into “The Hockey Song”, all the while smashing his cowboy boot in rhythm on the wood.  My God, but he was an original!

I know you probably don’t know the tune, but close your eyes and let your mind run free:

Hello out there, we’re on the air, it’s ‘Hockey Night’ tonight
Tension grows, the whistle blows, and the puck goes down the ice
The goalie jumps, and the players bump, and the fans all go insane
Someone roars, “Bobby Scores!”, at the good ol’ hockey game

Where players dash, with skates aflash, the home team trails behind
But they grab the puck, and go bursting up, and they’re down across the line
They storm the crease, like bumble bees, they travel like a burning flame
We see them slide, the puck inside, it’s a 1-1 hockey game

Oh take me where, the hockey players, face off down the rink
And the Stanley Cup, is all filled up, for the champs who win the drink
Now the final flick, of a hockey stick, and the one gigantic scream
“The puck is in! The home team wins!”, the good ol’ hockey game

Snippets of this song are still played at rinks all over Canada during breaks in the play.

Tom was born in New Brunswick and was taken from his mom at an early age by the Children’s Aid.  He eventually was adopted but took off from that family at age 15 to go hitchhiking across the country with his guitar.  And the hitching continued as he explored Canada and brought his music to the locals.  Many, many concerts and albums later, Tom was given the Order of Canada, perhaps the highest honour that civilian citizens can receive.

Tom was himself, writing songs that he liked, about his back aching after picking tobacco in Tillsonburg, Ontario, or drinking a bit too much after his shift at the nickel mine in Sudbury, Ontario.  He didn’t fit in with the Canadian music industry but the people loved him.  And still do.

Tom died in 2013.  He wrote a goodbye, which was published in newspapers after his death.  The man and the human being shine through:

Hello friends.  I want all my fans – past, present or future – to know that without you, there would have not been any Stompin’ Tom.

It was a long, hard, bumpy road, but this great country kept me inspired with its beauty, character and spirit, driving me to keep marching on and devoted to sing about its people and places that make Canada the greatest country in the world.

I must now pass the torch to all of you, to help keep the Maple Leaf flying high, and be the patriot Canada needs now and in the future.

I humbly thank you all, one last time, for allowing me in your homes.  I hope I continue to bring a little bit of cheer into your lives from the work I have done.

Cheers, Tom

This Old Guitar

A few weeks ago, I started playing my acoustic guitar again, and singing to Jody.  It’s been many months, if not a year or two.  I learned the basics during group lessons in Ottawa in 1972.  You could say that I’ve never gone beyond that, sticking with a few chords and a flat pick.  I’ve imagined myself as one of the virtuosos I often see on DVDs, playing cool melody lines while I fingerpick away.  Not in this lifetime, I believe.

I’ve also fantasized about being Canada’s next great singer-songwriter, in the tradition of Stan Rogers, David Francey and James Keelaghan.  Touching people with lyrics that speak of our human condition.  I’ve even written a few songs but they’re  not very good.  I don’t seem to have an anthem akin to John Lennon’s “Imagine” sitting on the tip of my tongue.

Number three in my “wish fors” has been to form a folk group – say two men and three women, guitar, fiddle, mandolin, double bass and keyboard.  Exquisite vocal harmonies that take the listener away.  Playing for audiences – large or small -bowing to the applause, contributing.  Nothing happening on that front at the moment.

I finally see that all of those supposed deficits are okay.  I just want to sing beautiful songs to my beautiful wife.  I don’t care who wrote it, or that I didn’t.  Here’s John Denver’s ode to music shared:

This old guitar taught me to sing a love song
It showed me how to laugh and how to cry
It introduced me to some friends of mine
And brightened up some days
It helped me make it through some lonely nights
Oh, what a friend to have on a cold and lonely night

I’ve sure laughed – try “Dropkick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life”, for example.  And I’ve cried.  “Song for the Mira” comes to mind, with a man reliving his youth and contemplating his death.  I’ve sung songs in the dark of English Bay Beach in Vancouver, in my dorm room at the Prince of Wales Hotel, and at sunset while hitchhiking through Northern Ontario, with no ride in sight.

This old guitar gave me my lovely lady
It opened up her eyes and ears to me
It brought us close together
And I guess it broke her heart
It opened up the space for us to be
What a lovely place and a lovely space to be

When Jody and I first met in the 1980s, I favoured her with a few tunes that brought a smile to her face: “Annie’s Song” (You Fill Up My Senses), “How Can I Tell You That I Love You”, “Mr. Bojangles” and “Free in the Harbour”, the story of whales swimming untroubled in the waters of Hermitage Bay.  I struggled to express my own words of love but the songs said it so well.  And still do.

This old guitar gave me my life, my living
All the things you know I love to do
To serenade the stars that shine
From a sunny mountainside
Most of all to sing my songs for you
I love to sing my songs for you
Yes I do, you know, I love to sing my songs for you

Okay, not exactly my living.  I’ve easily been able to keep my amateur status.  But I’ve serenaded a few stars with songs such as “Poems, Prayers and Promises” and “Be Not Afraid”.  And moonlit asphalt has been my companion as my thumb and I let “The Long and Winding Road” surround us.

But it’s into your eyes, Jodiette, that the melodies and the chords truly find their way.  And our hearts vibrate in response.

 

Symphony

Perhaps it’s all music to the ears

A cellist playing the sublime melody of “The Swan”

The squeal of tires at the Monaco Grand Prix

Birdsong at dawn

A soloist singing “Amazing Grace” at a funeral Mass

The patter of raindrops on a tin roof

The moans of a mother during childbirth

Springsteen belting out “Badlands” in Barcelona to thousands of jumping up fans

Foster Hewitt shouting “He shoots, he scores!” after every goal at Toronto Maple Leaf hockey games in the 60s

The roar of an avalanche sweeping across a glacier near Lake Louise, Alberta

The whisper of “I love you” from one dear one to the other

The frenzy of three accordion players in Quebec City (definitely not “oom pah pah”)

Thousands of Brazilian fans singing their national anthem at the World Cup

The whistle of a steam locomotive crossing the far field of grandpa’s farm

The asthma patient’s wheezing as she climbs the stairs of her home

The song of crickets at twilight

The pitter patter of little feet on the hardwood

Jackie Evancho silencing the Christmas shoppers in Chicago with “O Holy Night”

The agonized scream of stitches coming out too late

The rustle of turning pages as a Constant Reader devours a Stephen King novel

Steaks sizzling on a barbeque

The soft whump of a volleyball lofted into the air for a teammate

The mutter of a jet engine passing 30,000 feet above me

The wind singing through the pines around a Canadian Rockies campfire

“F___ off!”

The tinkle of a coin dropped into a beggar’s cup

Silence

Home County

I drove into London today to listen to some of the workshops at the Home County Music and Art Festival.  It was a gorgeous sunny day in Victoria Park – ten acres of mature trees and wide spreads of grass.

Here are some moments from the folk festival that took me beyond the world of form:

***

A woman leaning back against a big tree, her head nodding to the music, and her backside caressing the bark

A young black singer deep into a gospel song, standing at a stationary microphone without an instrument, opening her mouth so wide as she sang, her fingers opening and closing in the air

James Keelaghan telling us that his dog died last Friday and then singing “Sinatra and I”, an ode to his four-legged travelling companion.  All in a deep baritone

Nathan Rogers moving forward and back in his chair, as he channelled the storytelling energy of his dearly departed father Stan, with words such as “The mountains moved inside of him”

A young woman guitarist, resplendent in a white fedora, Shirley Temple curls and an all-black outfit, sending the melody to heights unknown with the vibrato in her fingers

The audience clapping and smiling after each fiddle, mandolin and electric bass solo

Connie Kaldor singing a song about a nightclub in France for dogs, and a woman in the audience standing up, moving to the stage with her white terrier in her arms, and dancing big circles with her doggie

The fingers of a bass guitar player making love to his strings as he took over from the vocals

A woman crooning the lyrics “With my aspirin, my soul begins to slip” (or so I thought), when she really was saying “With my last breath, my soul begins to sleep”

And more words from elsewhere:

The way she sang was magic
Of the things we know are real

Riding the dark train to heaven

It was a winter of record-breaking lows for me

***

The music lies within us all, and seeks to open our hearts.  May we listen.

May I Suggest

In August, 2010, Jody and I drove to Nova Scotia to drink in the Lunenburg Folk Harbour Festival.  Some of my favourite singer-songwriters were performing: David Francey, James Keelaghan and the Barra MacNeils.  Five days of glorious folk music, with the evening concerts, in a huge white tent, running from 7:00 till midnight.

There were lots of workshops during the day at various venues in town.  We sat down one afternoon in the Lunenburg Opera House to hear groups who harmonized beautifully.

And along came Red Molly, three women based in New York City.  They favoured us (so true) with blissful vocals and a haunting message entitled “May I Suggest”.  Another one of those wide open mouth moments.  The song has stayed with me ever since, and it will continue to do so.

YouTube can help you experience the joy.  A search will yield several performances.  I recommend you listen to “Red Molly In Concert – May I Suggest”, the one indicating “by betsyfollystudios”.  Susan Werner wrote the song.  Would I ever like to sit down for a coffee with her.

See what you think:

May I Suggest

May I suggest
May I suggest to you
May I suggest this is the best part of your life
May I suggest
This time is blessed for you
This time is blessed and shining almost blinding bright
Just turn your head
And you’ll begin to see
The thousand reasons that were just beyond your sight
The reasons why
Why I suggest to you
Why I suggest this is the best part of your life

How about if this very moment is blessed for me, no matter what’s happening or how I’m feeling?  How about if I can access timelessness and untold beauty right now, with no effort?  How about if light of a very subtle kind surrounds me (and you) always?  If all this is just beyond my sight, maybe I just need to turn my head a bit.  Maybe just look up a bit.  I know it’s there.

There is a world
That’s been addressed to you
Addressed to you, intended only for your eyes
A secret world
Like a treasure chest to you
Of private scenes and brilliant dreams that mesmerise
A lover’s trusting smile
A tiny baby’s hands
The million stars that fill the turning sky at night
Oh I suggest
Oh I suggest to you
Oh I suggest this is the best part of your life

I am loved.  So are you.  Something unnameable, I’ll call it Spirit with a capital S, is waiting, ready to open a door that I didn’t know was there.  And when I see what’s inside the room revealed, I’m sure that those smiles and hands and stars will stop me in my tracks.  And close my mouth.  Simply awe.

There is a hope
That’s been expressed in you
The hope of seven generations, maybe more
And this is the faith
That they invest in you
It’s that you’ll do one better than was done before
Inside you know
Inside you understand
Inside you know what’s yours to finally set right
And I suggest
And I suggest to you
And I suggest this is the best part of your life

I think of my grandpa, of sitting at his knee on the cement porch of his farmhouse,  listening to the stories pour out.  Grandpa gave me his heart and soul, though he would never have expressed it that way.  And now to pass it on.  Better?  I don’t know.  How could I possibly add to grandpa waving his hand around at the peak of the tale, looking me right in the eye as he scared me, or moved me, or made me smile?

This is a song
Comes from the west to you
Comes from the west, comes from the slowly setting sun
With a request
With a request of you
To see how very short the endless days will run
And when they’re gone
And when the dark descends
Oh we’d give anything for one more hour of light

There are a few Internet passwords I like.  One is “lasttime”.  Because I never know if tonight will be the final time I’ll say “Good night, Jodiette.  Sweet dreams”, or tomorrow smiling at a stranger, or sitting at the edge of the field watching turkey vultures soar.  Please may I have many more hours of light.  There is much to give.

And I suggest this is the best part of your life

July 14, 2014 at 7:53 pm will do just fine.

 

The PW and Me

I worked at the Prince of Wales Hotel for five summers – 1969, 1970, 1974, 1975 and 1976.  The PW is a grand chalet-style hotel, perched on a hill above the northern end of Upper Waterton Lake, with mountains running southward on both sides towards Glacier National Park in Montana.  I had marvelous adventures during the tourist season, hiking many trails with many friends.  The fall of 1974, however, was another kettle of fish.

Johnny, the hotel’s caretaker, had asked me to stay for September and October to close the grand old lady down.  I became a specialist in draining toilets and putting up shutters.  I slept in my room at the middle dorm – the only person there.  After all the summer parties in employees’ rooms, and the general hustle and bustle in the hallways, there was silence.  I didn’t even want to play music.  Spent a lot of evenings under my comforter, looking out the window at Waterton Lake and thinking about life.

Mealtime was another story.  I ate in Johnny’s house – with him, his wife Jean and son Brent … just a wee little lad.  I sat across from Brent and loved pointing behind him (“Look who’s there, Brent!”), and having him turn to see.  Then I’d take his plate of food and put it on my lap.  Looking back, I’m sure that he figured out my ruse pretty quickly, but kept going because the game was fun.  Many years later, back visiting family in Lethbridge, Alberta (near Waterton), Jody and I were walking through a mall when a young man looked funny at me, came right up, and said, “You stole my food!”  It took me a few seconds, but I finally got it.  “Brent!”  Very lovely.

Back in 1974, it was just Johnny and me in the hotel for eight hours a day.  I loved the old place and still do.  It was built in 1927, I believe by the Great Northern Railroad.  Imagine tall rough-hewed beams of dark wood, am immense chandelier way up there and maybe the best view in the world.  Seven stories altogether, with the last two squeezed under the eaves, and a series of interior balconies looking down on the lobby.  Cozy leather sofas were available to both guests and staff, and I spent many an hour listening to the string quartet and watching folks from around the world stroll towards the dining room.

In the fall of 1974, I often leaned over the fourth floor balcony, with no Johnny in sight, opened my mouth, and sang.  The voice was pretty good.  The acoustics were sublime.  And the world stopped.  One of my all-time best memories.

Johnny and I took breaks together, downing a lot of black coffee.  He was such a gentle man, almost always sporting a big grin.  We both loved the place.  The fact that Johnny liked me made such a difference in my life.  I needed someone to like me – preferably a girl, but Johnny would do until the love of my life decided to show up.

I wish you all could have been there in 1974, and felt the spirit of the PW.  Many of you, of course, were in other places, drinking in their essence.  And some of you hadn’t yet made your debut on this fine planet.  I bet that without you ever being there, you already know my dear old hotel.

 

Sing Me a Love Song

“Play your guitar.”  Although the request was from my lovely wife Jodiette, I gulped.  It had been so long.  But why had it been so long?  I took group lessons in Ottawa in 1972.  During the spring of 1974, I often took my guitar out to the beach in Vancouver.  And in the summer of 1975, when I was managing the laundry at the Prince of Wales Hotel in Waterton Lakes National Park, me and my guitar were pretty much joined at the hip.  I played in a staff talent show, and later that year sang “Hello In There” to folks who were with me on Vancouver Island at a workshop called “Coming Alive”.  So why did I let the musical zest seep away?  I don’t know.

A few nights ago, I played “For You” for Jody, complete with not-quite-right-on chords and a questionable approximation of the melodies.  Jody loved it.  She cried.  And I loved hearing my voice again.  I went to the Internet and found the lyrics and chords for some old favourites:  “The Mary Ellen Carter”, “How Can I Tell You That I Love You?”, “Help Me Make It Through The Night”.  And somehow I made it through the songs, with the finger burn making me stop eventually.  But it was a very sweet hour.

Over the last few days, I’ve forgiven myself for having let the guitar go, for not singing to my darling all these years.  I vaguely remembered having a thick file folder full of songs but I had no idea where it was.  Jody said, “Look in the piano bench.”  And lo and behold, there it was.  I also found eight sheets of paper, dated February, 1997, with the title “Songs I Want to Learn” … 115 in all (sadly, none of them learned).

Such a strange journey we’re on, full of imperfect choices and odd diminishments of aliveness, having had no intention of doing so.  It’s as if I’ve been asleep at times, in some sort of trance, walking the expected walk through the events of the day.  Jody has asked me to wake up.  And so I am, with many stories, melodies, harmonies and chords to come.

May ABBA teach us all:

Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing
Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me

John Sings to Jody

Last night, Jody and I sat up on our bed, watching “The Wildlife Concert” on her laptop.  The singer was John Denver.  Such a voice, such a presence.  I looked at his face, and it was just about transparent.  Radiant he was, and the words of the songs covered us both.  After a half hour of holding each other, Jody asked me to put on “the love one’.  And so I did.

John was at the piano, accompanied by four women – two playing the violin, one the viola, and one the cello.  He sang “For You” … through the laptop screen … to Jody.  The strings swelled, the piano fingers drifted along, and all was right with the world.  Jody was crying.  I think John knew.

Here are the lyrics.  I wonder if you can sense the melody through them.  I wonder how deep they’ll drop into you.  I wonder if they’ll draw you even closer to your loved one.  And if right now you don’t have a loved one, may the music open your eyes to another soul.

For You

Just to look in your eyes again, just to lay in your arms
Just to be the first one always there for you
Just to live in your laughter, just to sing in your heart
Just to be every one of your dreams come true
Just to sit by your window, just to touch in the night
Just to offer a prayer each day for you
Just to long for your kisses, just to dream of your sighs
Just to know that I’d give my life for you

For you, all the rest of my life
For you, all the best of my life
For you alone, only for you

Just to wake up each morning, just to have you by my side
Just to know that you’re never really far away
Just a reason for living, just to say “I adore”
Just to know that you’re here in my heart to stay

For you, all the rest of my life
For you, all the best of my life
For you alone, only for you

Just the words of a love song, just the beat of my heart
Just the pledge of my life, my love, for you