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B.C. TRAVELBLOG September 2008
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Part 1: The Day Before. Sept. 18/08.
Capping off an incredibly busy week, I rushed from studio to rehearsal to home, excited and appalled at the disorder I had wreaked upon my usually tidy home environment. Instrument cases, tapes and CDs, toolboxes filled with gear, suitcases, duffels, clothing, shoes, toiletries, and dishes littered all available surfaces and much of the floorspace.
What time was it anyway/ I had set all my clocks three hours back in a perhaps vain attempt to precondition my body to the vagaries of timezone adaptation and jet lag. It hardly mattered since I had slept so little for the past few weeks as to be on virtual autopilot and I had been digging deep in my store of accumulated professional training in order to concentrate on the performances I had given earlier in the day.
The results had been satisfactory, in fact, exceptional at times, with the help of my good friends, bandmates, and co-producer James Paul. Whenever I found myself losing focus, I knew I could always count on James to give me the straight goods; he wouldn't accept anything less than the best we could do to go "on tape"; he knows also how important this project has become to me.
I've been playing music and singing songs since I was a little kid; took lessons, taught myself, went to choir, did Carl Orff, played in the highschool band, went to music camp, studied composition at University, and of course, played in bands, or solo, in bars, auditoriums, churches, outdoor gardens, bars and more bars, and finally in the recording studio, where I found a deep and abiding sense of belonging, a wonderful playground where realities evolved from dreams, creations bloomed where before there was nothing but a germ of an idea. And this record was to be my defining moment, my magum opus, piece de resistance, and chef-d'oeuvre (pardon my French) all rolled into one.
I'd made a couple of recordings of my own songs, struggling over 15 years to find the time and money to get my little tunes down, with a lot of help from the musical community I found in Toronto, and before that, in Montreal and Kingston. Claude Kent, my own personal superhero, has been with me on the whole journey, from the day we hooked up in the short-lived but influential (at least to us) TEN TO MIDNIGHT, a sort of showband-cum-soul revue featuring a remade local former rockabilly crooner, a slick keyboard player with foxy black female singer in tow, and a young bass player fresh out of Humber College who would factor largely in my later life as a colleague and engineer/ producer in his own right. Claude was the drummer, and the day I arrived for the audition, Marshall stack and souped-up Telecaster in hand, we had that rare connection that musicians sometimes form; part competitive, part instinctive, and 100% respect. Over the years since, I like to think we've helped each other get much better at what we do.
So on this particular day (the 18th of September, for those who care about details), we were booked at James' studio, The Rogue Music Lab, to play as a rhythm section (he's the drummer, I'm the bassist) on a mostly-finished song of mine, destined to be the title tune of this record, called (905) Blues.
I had recorded the bass part and several guitars earlier in the year with a programmed drum part, but was now aware that the feel was not right. Other than Don Barber's contributions as a vocalist, this was to be the first time I had involved any outside players on this project, wishing to make a very personal and "solo" statement dealing largely with my recent experiences of, and opinions about the city and society in which I had been living, with major influences on the writing coming from my recently- defunct marriage. I hadn't been particularly comfortable with revealing the details of the demise of this relationship, and am still not, but inevitably many aspects of the story found their way into the songs.
We only had one afternoon to get the tracks done, as I was leaving for Vancouver the following day, and studio time being at a premium, we wanted to use the time well. I was antsy, sleep-deprived, a bit nervous about the upcoming trip as I felt myself at a crossroads in my life and career(s) (more on this later), and was anxious to get the work done and hit the road. Claude had major rehearsals and gigs in his immediate future, but handled the tedious process of setup and "getting sounds" with his usual calm demeanour, engaging sense of humour and overall aplomb. After a quick lunch break, we were ready to roll by about 3 p.m.
Part 2: (905) Blues and the Friday Night Boys. Sept. 18/08.
Once we got a couple of takes done, Claude and I were meshing seamlessly, our breath and beats coning from the same place, the wonderful primal pulse of the blues. He'd been through all this with me; the joy of finding my "long-lost love", tempered with the knowledge we both have that fairy tales don't come true, but you still have to try, to reach for the brass ring, to risk all for love, knowing all you may get for all your efforts is another song. And we'd played these themes out again and again over the years, in smelly rehearsal halls, cramped studios, dingy bars, and in the comfort of our own homes; ringing the changes, feeling the rhythm. By 5 we were done, with two great takes available to us for later editing. The song had been transformed from my 3-year old voice-and-guitar demo sketch to a full-blown almost completed production. Once again I marveled at the power of the will to create something real (if music, with all its ethereal qualities, can be called that) from nothing but a feeling and the germ of an idea. I got the (905) Blues...
Back to the chaos of home, more phone calls to make and take, dinner beckoned. I'd eaten about 4 hours before, but the effort and concentration spent on the recording process had burned all those calories and I was starting to feel light-headed. I knew this was also the adrenaline buildup I always feel before I start a journey, but it was also a sharp hunger that needed feeding.
Emptying the fridge of all the fresh veggies (thanks Mom!) I had left, I proceeded to assemble a glorious pasta sauce with broccoli. Roast garlic and peppers, pesto, fresh tomato and a little red sdauce I always keep for these occasions. I made way too much sauce and way too much pasta and ate it all in ten minutes flat. I was ready to rock once again.
Nearly every Friday night year in and year out, I have been playing music with a group of men I've known since were barely more than boys. I still call them the Friday Night Boys, even though the "band"'s name has changed a few times, as has the personnel. Jobs, families, moves to other cities, all manner of triumph and tragedy have altered our lineup and relationships, but we have remained fast friends. At one time called the Normal Names (Bob, Don, two Johns, another Bob, and Dave, plus Scott the exotic one), even to the point of having two Smiths, we typified the aging-hippie bunch of guys still clinging to our youth playing songs now 40 years old, and with a little push, learning newer material. This had recently seemed to create somewhat of a rift among the usually even-tempered group of old mates. Some wanted to work on tightening up arrangements, requiring "homework" and decreasing freedom to "jam" and meander, others wanted a more relaxed, social, freewheeling approach. There's always been a healthy mix of both models, even to the extent of my "teaching" them my songs, usually to enthusiastic support. But tension had been obviously surfacing the past month or so and I was a bit apprehensive, having felt myself somewhat at fault the week prior for pushing too hard on the "work" button.
Bob and Don met me on the driveway, heading out for a breath of air before sealing themselves in the basement rehearsal room. John Smith, the host, greeted me inside and immediately reassured me that my behaviour the week before had not been offensive and had in fact helped to focus and direct the proceedings, for which I was most grateful and relieved.
Once we all got set up, and I was politely informed that tonight's session would be of the more "relaxed" variety, good humour prevailed, and with attentive consideration to each other and the material, we proceeded through a most enjoyable evening, at reasonable volume levels, of visiting music we love from all the eras of our lives. There is nothing on this earth like making music with your friends, and I consider myself profoundly blessed in this company as with all the many friends who have inspired and collaborated with me over the years.
Part 3: YYZ to YVR. Sept. 19/08.
I'm at the airport! I can't believe it; everything actually came together on time; even my haircut although it took me FOREVER to get to the First Choice of my choice. Thank you Sabiha!
Plenty of time to spare before my charter flight boards, so I stroll the malls at the fab Terminal 1, which I had not used before. Looking for a new read for the trip, I come across Bryce Courtenay's SYLVIA in paperback, one of his recent works which I have not read- I'm a big fan of his and have read everything else he's published up to this one. Figure I'll check out CDs as well and immediately zone in on Hawksley Workman's latest for Universal, LOS MANLICIOUS. So I'm set for art and head for the gate, realizing enroute that I have to charge my laptop.
Having only had time for a tea and bowl of granola breakfast, I decide to hit the noodle bar, and get a great chicken-Ban Pho soup chock full of veggies and hit it with the hot sauce. Finding a four-top occupied only by one young buck who's on the phone, I proceed to scarf down the meal. Since I am an inveterate and incurable eavesdropper (occupational hazard of working in restaurants and bars) I quickly realize that my dining non-companion is in the music biz. When he hangs up In ask him, So you're a performer? And we introduce ourselves; he's Gord Bamford, a rising star from Alberta on the country scene. Has a big-name songwriter from Nashville producing some of his stuff, just got back from there on a writing/ business junket, apparently has won some Canadian country music awards and had a few radio hits (a number 1, somewhere he says). I'd never heard of him but I'm not dialed into country as much as I once was, so that doesn't mean anything. Anyway I Googled him later and sure enough he's doing very well and I hope to run into him again and/ or sell him a song. You hear that, Gord?
Just time to call the ex-wife and say goodbye (again). Then we're boarding. Sunwing is fantastic- Hot towels, great staff, full meal with complimentary wine (I'm not drinking), flight's on time (actually 5 minutes early), decent movie, and the price is right. Hello, Air Canada?
Not so much the royal treatment with Budget when I go to pick up my car. Service is sloooow, and when I get to the counter, I find out why; the service agents are trying to upsell and gouge on every line of the contract. After half an hour I finally head downtown to cross the Lions' Gate and meet my billets in North Van., the crazy McQueen brothers. Turns out they've just gotten an eviction notice for their apartment and will be moving in 10 days, so the place is in turmoil. You don't want the details, but I suggest we head out for food.
Hurricane's Bar & Grill has a couple of burly gentlemen outside the front door dressed as pirates, but inside the welcome is warm and the servers are hot. Steve and Will know the manager, Jason who plays music too, so he comes over for a chat. A couple of dozen shrimp later, we're ready for more excitement, so we head over to some other friends' place, and there I meet... John, Paul, Doug and Marnie. The first three of which are musicians sitting about killing time on a Friday night, missing one player for a quorum.
I'm it, so we head to their rehearsal space and jam till 1 a.m., at which point I am their new god and they want me to move to Vancouver and join the band. Great guys, good tunes including lots of originals, I got to play a black Gibson Explorer with a mirror top (pics to follow). From Mary Jane's Last Dance to Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat with a few stops along the way for a Scottmandu tune (Keep It Away), some blues, some punk, we had a bigass loud good time. Just like any other Friday night, except louder.
Somehow Steve gets lost, so we leave instructions for him to call when he turns up, thinking he may have gotten bored and headed home ahead of us. When Will & I get there, he's still AWOL, but calls soon after and that's all sorted.
Next morning I'll have to be up bright and early looking for fruit, yogurt, a cellphone and a guitar before heading out to Gabriola Island.
Part 4: North Van to Gabriola. Sept. 20/08.
Waking early as I seem to do now with alarming regularity, I stumble to the bathroom to clean up and clear my head. Having a week of road miles ahead, I've decided to acquire a cellphone, which is a luxury(?) I have been happy to forego for the last couple of years. All those "where are you?" calls and constantly looking for the handset and/ or charger were a thing of the past and not sorely missed. However, on occasional out-of-town trips in my trusty '91 Maxima, I had often wished for the security of a line to assistance should that ever be necessary.The prospect of traveling the winding and often precipitous highways of the Lower Mainland, while trying to make contact with friends and locate venues, had tipped the scales.
So, it was off to the 7/11 for a prepaid, and hopefully some sustenance. The first store, just a few blocks away, was out of phones but had bananas and yogurt. The next store was in distant "downtown" North Van, and the proprietor did not seem anxious to search his stock for a phone package, asking me to return later (it was about 8 a.m. by now): "How much later?" Oh, maybe 9? 11? 12?" I prevailed upon him to make the sale forthwith since I had a long day of travel to the Islands ahead of me, and eventually he put aside his paperwork and capitulated.
Of course, I couldn't use the thing until it was charged up and activated, but I would deal with that later. Meanwhile, I had a guitar to locate, and I knew Long & McQuade had a North Van branch. What I didn't know was how far it was from everywhere else I planned to be for the remainder of the week, so I was forced to change plans, and headed back across the Lions' Gate Bridge to the downtown core of Vancouver, where I knew L & M had several branches, including one on Hastings which I had used three years previously when touring with SCHLOSS. However, times change and I was out of the loop; that store was long gone, replaced by a mega-store on Terminal Ave., which after a few calls (payphone) I was able to locate. By noon I was on the road to Horseshoe Bay and the Nanaimo ferry, freshly-strung Taylor 410-CE in tow and sounding like a dream.
The weather up until now had been glorious, late-summer sunshine and moderate but pleasant temperatures. Little did I know I was about to be immersed in the true Nature of B.C. The atmosphere changed with each mile traveled; the sky darkened, fog rolled over the waters of Horseshoe Bay and Howe Sound, and my plan of leaving my rental car on the Mainland and heading to Gabe on foot suddenly didn't seem so appealing. Calculating the cost of parking for 2 days, not to mention the inherent risk of leaving the vehicle unguarded with visible "tourist" possessions inside, added to cab fares on Vancouver Island and Gabriola, and inconvenience factors, and my decision was made. I joined the queue of vehicles waiting to board the newest BC Ferry, Coastal Renaissance for the 1 hour- 45 minute trip to Nanaimo.
The ferry is a wonder; huge, comfortable, with first-rate catering and ample deck space for photo opps. I settled into a business workspace to charge my phone and laptop, settled in to do some reading, and eventually made my way to the café for SUSHI! Definitely worth the price of admission.
Once deposited at Departure Bay Terminal outside Nanaimo, I was directed into town to another small ferry dock to make the 40- minute crossing to Gabriola. With some time to kill, I hit the mall, purchased a bottle of white wine for the evening's dinner, and was able to take a few photos and some video footage before leaving.
Having phoned ahead to Jane for directions from the dock I was pretty confident of arriving at her house in good time, but somehow got "North Road" and "South Road" confused and drove most of the way around the island (it's small) before giving up and calling her back. Now, you understand, I wasn't lost; I just didn't know exactly where I was. And as most of you who know me would attest, that's not unusual. Anyway, I prefer to think of this leg of the trip as "local reconaissance".
Once on the right track, my arrival was greeted with much hullabaloo and pandemonium, and we settled in for a good chinwag as Jane set to preparing a fabulous dinner of roast veggies and stuffed pork. With Jane's son James providing witty repartee, and Sookie, the lovely Golden Retriever in rapt attention, we fell to with a vengeance, and a good time was had by all. After this long day of travel, bed was welcome, and the evening, though pleasant, was somewhat short, at least for me.
Rehearsal and sightseeing plans would have to wait for tomorrow.
Part 5: Gabriola Jam at SKOL. Sept. 21/08.
After a productive, satisfying and companionable day with Jane and James touring Gabriiola Island, (The Haven, the Galleries and Sandwell provincial Park) catching a glimpse now and then of indigenous species, such as wild turkey, alpacas, Connemara Horses, deer (the little kind), etc. I had a shower and got ready for a trip to SKOL, a little dockside cantina that until recently went by the name of the White Hart Pub. Sunday is (one of several, it turns out) Jam Night and I was ready to play. There were a couple of denizens at the bar when we (Jane and James decided to come with me) arrived shortly after 8. The band members had already plugged in and were tuning up before going on. One of them, Kelly, greeted us and asked if I wanted to play, said they'd warm up for a few tunes then get me up on stage.
After two songs, the call came and I joined the band (Enver, Pete, Tony and Seamus; Kelly sat out until the next set). The Taylor acoustic I had rented was going to get its first real workout, even though the rest of the band was (well-) amplified. With the help of a DI box, I got into the mix through the P.A.
On Feelin' Alright, Stuck In The Middle, and Boots or Hearts by the Hip I played guitar, then we needed a harp on Stormy Monday so that was me. A or Bb? They asked me. Well I don't have any flat harps, so A it was.
I figured I'd had my time, quit when you're ahead but they asked me to sing a couple, so Copperhead Road and Rockin' In The Free World got a workout, then I was toast. I knew J & J didn't want to stay out late, but they surprised me and stayed at least another hour, really getting into the experience of watching some locals bangin' out the rock & roll. Good time had by all.
Part 6: Back to the Mainland and the Backstage Lounge. Sept. 22/08.
Rising early (what's new?) on Monday I knew I had a number of miles (kilometers) to cover; timing the ferries to make the jump from Gabriola to Vancouver Island, then to Horseshoe Bay required some advance planning, there also being commuter traffic on weekdays to consider which means one's arrival time dockside will determine where in the queue you sit, and if volume is large, the possibility exists of having to wait for the next sailing, delaying arrival dockside for the connecting ferry, etc. I made it to the pier in good time for the 7:30 sailing however, Jane packing me a small road lunch of fruit and chocolate. Sweet! I spent the crossings trying to get photos and video footage off my cameras and onto hard drives, hampered somewhat by time constraints. However, everything was saved, and I arrived at Horseshoe Bay around 11, giving me ample time to do some shopping and have lunch in North Van.
First though, I thought I'd avail myself of one of the bonus coupons provided by my car rental company (thanks, Budget!) and join the tourist throngs at the Capilano Suspension Bridge. Just off the highway a mile or two north of Burrard Inlet, this piece of temperate rainforest has been turned into a heritage site, incorporating local and aboriginal history, eco-tours, and an interactive experience which takes visitors onto the 450-foot long suspension footbridge over the 230-foot gorge of the Capilano River. Another self-guided tour takes you up into the canopy on a series of footbridges and paths, from which you can survey the terrain and trees. Many photo opps. And a good bit of hiking, which resulted in... you guessed, it, hunger. So I set off in search of lunch.
There's a new wine and accessories emporium in North Vancouver which just opened in May (Everything Wine) where I spent a few happy hours browsing and picking up hospitality gifts for my various hosts-to-be. From there I crossed the road to Hurricane's for another shrimp scoff, then hit Indigo for CDs and book browsing, until I was ready to head downtown. Some friends had planned a Vancouver shopping day and had a room at the Sutton Place Hotel so I invited myself over to avail myself of the facilities, shower and iron clothes for the gig that night. We had a laugh and some wine, then went for a light dinner (oysters for me) at Joe Forte's, a favorite of locals and tourists alike just off Robson.
Made it down to the Backstage Lounge, a really nice comfy room on Granville Island in good time, met Evan Symons, with whom we'd shared a bill in Toronto a couple of years back, and settled in to wait for things to get started. It was quite late by the time I got onstage, and the road miles were catching up with me. I was at a little less than peak performance but got a good response from the crowd and filmed my set ("Body Thief", "Hold On" and Steve Earle's "Jerusalem") as well as one song which Evan performed. As it was a "school night" we endeavored to get home fairly early, Evan graciously offering me a mattress at his apartment, although I satyed up for a while doing more film transfers. An hour or so and I hit the wall, gratefully falling into the soft layers of coverlets and blankets. It's starting to get chilly at night out here!
Part 7: More Adventures on the High Seas. Sept. 23/08.
Tuesday dawned sunny if a bit cool, and I thanked the weather gods for granting me mostly clear skies so far. Headed down to Stanley Park with the notion of visiting the Aquarium, but it wasn't open yet, so I headed for Horseshoe Bay again and the ferry to the Sunshine Coast (formerly "The Coast of Romance").
The idea was to visit the town where my father had spent his early schooldays, Gibsons Landing, later made famous by the CBC series "The Beachcombers" starring Bruno Gerussi and a cast of Canadian legends-to-be.
Arriving at Langdale dock in the late morning, I had time for a leisurely stroll down to the harbour for photo opps and a bask in the sun-drenched small-town vibe before repairing to Molly's Reach (where else?) for a "Beachcomber Benny" (poached eggs, Hollandaise, over crab and shrimp cakes with Yukon Gold hash browns) and lots of hot tea. Yes, I know the shrimp thing has gotten out of hand, but I AM on the ocean! Down the lane behind Molly's Reach I spotted a little "Molly's Music" sign and entered a small emporium selling many miscellaneous wares; the music section was really just a boutique in the corner; some guitars, CDs, sheet music and other accessories. On a stool in front sat a fellow playing guitar so naturally I sat down to listen, and he played me a snippet of a children's song he was working on. We got to talking, and before long were exchanging names (he's Graham Walker), stories, then e-mail addresses, then I was walking out of the store with one of his records. "Even the adults like it!" he warned me. I did take his picture, but due to technical difficulties it didn't turn out. Sorry, Graham!
Asking directions (how unusual!), I made my way to the Gibsons Museum and Archives where the lovely Alison asked me my business and told me the name "Sherman" didn't ring a bell but invited me to buy a disc of photos of the colourful early 20th-century history of the area, taken by Helen McCall , the area's leading, possibly only, photographer of that era. I picked up the disc on my way out after a pleasant half-hour of wandering through the tiny museum with its displays of arcane logging gear, antique home furnishings and tools such as "flensing knives" which I assume were marine in nature.
When I left she encouraged me to e-mail
any questions or requests for information that might occur to me and my family, and I allowed as how I'd also ask if there were any museum-worthy items in the Sherman household which might find their way to her (decluttering, anyone?).
There didn't seem much more to do in town and I'd blown the day's budget on lunch and culture, so I decided to drive, first in a roughly southerly direction, along the shore of Howe Sound on the winding Gower Point Road which eventually deposited me on a main highway, which I followed back into town, then to the ferry but I was way early so I drove partway to Port Mellon but got tired before I got there so I turned around and went back to the ferry dock to shave and suit up for my interview at the Vancouver Club. (Wwhew). (Deep breath).
I had made contact with Brian Berry, the Food & Beverage Manager, before leaving Toronto, on the off-chance I could set up a meeting with him. To my pleasant surprise, he got back to me promptly with a firm time, and today at 4 was it. With a slight delay on the Lions' Gate Bridge, I was apprehensive about arriving on time, but all worked out well, and BB was in a meeting when I arrived. Shortly after 4 I was cordially greeted by him and another management type, Chris Woodburn (?), both of whom made me feel very comfortable as we began to discuss their operation and the culinary scene in Vancouver and B.C. generally. They were both very knowledgeable and informative about various companies and personalities in the business, and quite supportive of my initiative to relocate my practice to their area. By the time I left that day with a very favourable impression of the Van Club, I had also met the HR manager and the GM. Feeling that I had made real progress in establishing local contacts, and buoyed by an invitation to return on Thursday for a walkthrough to "see what it would be like to work here", I prepared for an evening of music in Kitsilano.
Part 8: The Wired Monk. Sept. 23/08.
All over the Lower Mainland can be found franchises of The Wired Monk, offering (naturally) a wide range of coffee products, as well as teas, ciders, smoothies, healthful food items and desserts, and, in some locations, beer and wine. Also featured are free internet and live music. Having done some research online before heading west, I intended to visit a couple of these hot spots, one in Langley, an outlying burg which I never did visit (more on that later), and another in the trendy, beach-y bohemian artsy enclave of Kitsilano, at 4th Ave. and Trafalgar.
With time on my hands and dinner hour approaching, I pointed the mighty Yaris in a roughly southwesterly direction, across the Burrard Street Bridge and before long I was homing in on the neighborhood I was seeking. The last time I'd been out here was about 15 years ago, although we'd passed through on the way to UBC a few years back when SCHLOSS did a radio interview/ performance on Radio Thunderbird Hell with our good friend Evan Symons acting as host.
Confirming that there was an open mic that evening at the Wired Monk starting at 8 (signup at 7:30 I was told) , I attempted to connect to the Internet to check e-mail for the first time since leaving home, but service was sketchy, so I walked a block to the Cornerstone (there's a coffee house on every block, most with Wi-Fi) and managed to connect there. On the way back I found a lovely little noodle bar and ordered myself a bowl of Udon with Won Tons and vegetables ($8.50) which I enjoyed immensely in peace and solitude.
By 7 I was done dinner, and took my time getting back to the Monk, arriving at 7:15 to find the host, the engaging and talented Aidan Mayes, setting up the P.A. and greeting the already assembled masses of performers (I had been told this was a popular night for musicians). The signup list having already circulated and filled with 12 or more acts, I quickly calculated that it would be close to 11 p.m. before I would get to play, by which time the entertainment was to have ended. I was encouraged nonetheless to sign up as a reserve, in case someone dropped out or things moved along more quickly than the allotted 15 minutes per set. I never did get to play that evening, but stayed for over two hours of quite fine entertainment, meeting a number of other players, such as Enos, who was making his first appearance (and did very well), "Doctor Tom", a violinist who accompanied most of the singers from his stageside table, and Aidan herself, whose performance won me over sufficiently that I bought her CD.
What with the late night before, the long day of travel, and the trip to Horseshoe Bay for evening accommodations at Michael Creber's home/ studio ahead of me, it may have been all for the best that I didn't have to perform, and I enjoyed an alcohol- and cider- (they ran out) free evening of music for free. Michael had a gig at UBC that evening, so stopped in to meet me and guide me through the dark up the Sea to Sky Highway (construction delays even at 11:30 p.m.!) and we visited briefly before calling it a night. Wednesday we would begin recording a demo for my most recent creation, "Coming Home". And I needed the rest.
Part 9: The Horseshoe Bay Sessions and More Wired Monk. Sept. 24/08.
After a much-needed more-or-less full night's sleep (early earworms and Michael's daughter heading out to the ferry to camp intervened at around 6 a.m., but I fell asleep again and woke at 9:30), I was much refreshed and ready to get back to work. The rest of the morning was devoted to housekeeping; Michael in the kitchen and me on the laptop, dumping photo footage from the last couple of days and catching up on e-mail.
By noon were ready to start in the studio and with some trepidation I commenced to introduce my new song to Michael's well-tuned ears. This man has worked as a professional musician with some of the best in the business, and though we have a very close bond stretching back years, this would be our first serious collaboration.
"Coming Home" was an anomaly for me, a song in its infancy, barely a month old from its original inception, written for a friend whose father had just been diagnosed with cancer in a far-off city. It had a somewhat more "commercial" feel than the material I had been working on for the last few years; it had "lush ballad" written all over it- inspirational, emotional colours in the lyric, complex harmonic constructions, and an overall sensitive tone which could easily deteriorate into schmaltz and triteness if not handled carefully. In addition, I had never performed the song; in fact, I had never even played and sung it all the way through and the bridge was still "under construction". Clearly, I would be making some crucial decisions about the details of the tune on the fly. That's OK, I like a little pressure; in fact, I've found that once the process is underway, many of these choices make themselves- the developing whole will determine the correct place for the parts.
As it turned out, I had nothing to fear. As I began to run the chord changes for Michael to take notes, I could hear him humming the melody, and working out licks on the keyboard in front of him. "A little Joni Mitchell- meets- Jimmy Page" I quipped, and he got it! Realizing I had over-written the lyric for the bridge, it was quickly pared down to an instrumental passage with one transitional line of vocal. An unorthodox cadence, borrowing a C major- to C-minor change from the intro., followed by a rest and then immediately returning to the C major chord to begin the final verse, drew a raised eyebrow from the maestro. "I wouldn't normally use that," he mused, "but it works- I like it." I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath until I exhaled deeply. The closing passage, a series of variations on the chorus, had also yet to be finalized, but I had the idea in my head and just played it as we made notes, and it worked perfectly!
I knew we had something special to work with, and my spirits soared. This little pop song had been living in my head for little more than three weeks, but it had taken over my creative consciousness. I'd hear snatches of the melody in my imagination as I drifted off to sleep at night; I would awaken in the morning and the first thought I'd have would be of a revision to the words or the rhythm or the rhyme scheme; as I pedaled out along the lake shore on my daily bike ride, the verses would sing themselves to me until I had to sing along. To know that the "real thing" would soon take shape was very exciting to me. Hey, I know it's nerdy, but some people get their kicks jumping out of airplanes, right? Different strokes for different folks, as Sly used to say.
I'd decided to do the basic guitar track in an open tuning (the "open" or unfretted strings played together forming a G major chord), providing a wonderfully resonant ringing sound, perfectly appropriate for the heroic and uplifting tone of the lyric. This also allows for some wonderfully rich harmonic voicings but also requires diligent and constant attention to tuning. It took a while, but soon we had a couple of acceptable performances from which to assemble a rhythm track, and we pronounced ourselves well pleased as we packed up for the day. It was only 4:30 and we'd stopped for lunch earlier, so all this great work had been done in just 3 hours! I was thrilled, and played the CD of the instrumental repeatedly in the car as I headed back to Kitsilano to try my luck at the Wired Monk once more.
With travel time of 40-45 minutes, I arrived just in time to (again) see the list had already mostly been filled. The musician just ahead of me in line snagged the opening spot I craved, so I had to settle for 12th, and resigned myself to a long wait to play. Meanwhile, Patrick, the evening's host, began the proceedings with a Hank Williams song, and a very entertaining evening of country, folk and pop tunes ensued. Dr. Tom arrived and took up his usual spot stageside; the djembe was passed around, there was some spoken-word and even some hip-hop (Ahh-???? conscious flow from a lovely and far-out black woman and her DJ/ partner) and the time passed quickly.
I met a few more performers, including Jason who clued me to a couple more places to play for Thursday evenings (Anza Club- more on that later), and Sam Masterton, a magnetic and inspired singer from Alberta who played a resonator guitar and got up on stage just after me. I had the distinction of being the first "unplugged" player of the evening, house rules forcing the P.A. to be turned off at 10. I was OK with that, though my voice was not as strong as it might normally be (more on THAT later). I kicked in to Gram Parsons' "Return of the Grievous Angel", kicking the country and western theme a little bit more, and also giving Tom a tailor-made fiddle solo a la Byron Berline. This also had the advantage of being good and uptempo, so the crowd really got into it. Patrick took pity on me and let me have a vocal mic. For my other two songs, and I did "One of Them", an original I had just finished mixing in Toronto, and "Hold On" by Tom Waits, one of my current favourite covers. Very well received, and I was applauded heartily as I left the stage.
The drive back to Michael's was quick and uneventful if a bit wet (no construction delays this time), and I was in bed by midnight, feeling fully satisfied with a constructive and full day of music.
Part 10: Horseshoe Bay Sessions Part 2 : The Making Of "Coming Home". Sept. 25/08.
At this point I must again make mention of all the wonderful people, musicians and non-musicians alike, who made all of my days on the coast so enjoyable. I was constantly amazed and inspired by the depth and breadth of talent I saw, the openness and support of the audiences and fellow performers, and the overall creative vitality I found. A case in point came late Thursday evening at the Anza Club, the last of the open stages I would attend. More on that later.
Settling in to the studio right around noon, Michael and I resumed work on "Coming Home", which I now faced the challenge of singing. Bothered by a persistent cough which had begun even before I had left Toronto, back even to the month before, I knew this wouldn't be a "keeper" vocal, but I wanted at least a version for the demo which I could develop and eventually replace later in the process. The words were new, and as we worked, Michael helped guide me in the right direction as regards note selection, pitch and phrasing. Some of the lines weren't singing clearly, and changes were made as we went along. By 4:30, with a quick lunch break in the middle, we had enough takes to compile a decent, if not polished, lead vocal track.
"Well," Michael says, "we have, oh, forty minutes left before I have to leave. What would you like to do? Shall I copy these files to your drive, run a mix..?" Somewhat tentatively, I ventured, "Do you think you could, ah... add some piano to this? I mean, you can send me the files anytime..." "Yeah, they'll take a while to copy too.." he responded. "Well, ok, let me try something here. It won't be a real refined part, but.." "That's OK," I cut in, just, you know, play along.."
Five minutes later, I'm literally in tears, listening to the beautiful harmonies and embellishments my friend had added (in one take) to this special song. THEN, he says, "Hmmm, let's see if we can do some of this," and, quickly switching to a sampled upright bass sound, he plays (again in one take) a perfectly complementary bass line. A few MIDI edits later, and 15 minutes for a quick rough mix, and I'm holding a CD of the demo of "Coming Home". We still had fifteen minutes of the 40 to spare! This has to be one of the highlights of my entire playing and songwriting career, a joy from beginning to end, and an opportunity I will take again as soon as possible, to work with this wonderfully talented and generous man! Thank you, Michael Creber!
I listened to the CD in the car over and over; I lost track of where I was, missed my exit to the Lions' Gate, doubled back, missed the turn off Taylor Way and drove into the Park Royal parking lot, doubled back again, and somehow made it across the bridge and into downtown Vancouver. I was enthralled with this creation. Hell, I know it's not perfect, but dammit, it was real! Anyway I finally came to my senses and realized I was driving aimlessly and had to find dinner before attending to my business at the Vancouver Club.
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