Lorrie Matheson

Paul Westerberg - It's A Wonderful Lie

Wow. 8 weeks in. My friend Dave was impressed when I did it 2 weeks in a row, so he must be ecstatic now ( his mood on this night will have nothing to do with the amazing OT win this aft, this is all about ME).

For those of you who have written me, thanks a lot for listening/reading - I'm sorry I haven't replied to each one of you separately, but typing is not my forte (it takes longer to write this stuff than it does to do the tunes, most times - shoulda paid attention in grade 10 Typing class, I guess).

Funny how this thing is working - I've been getting a ton of requests! I'm not sure how I'm gonna deal with them yet - it was my intention to make this a personal journey of some kind and to share it with whomever would take the time to bother, so I'm overwhelmed to say the least, and flattered that those of you who put forth ideas for covers care enough to do so.

The song this week was actually requested a while ago, and to be honest, I would have done it anyway. Not that the other requests aren't good songs or interesting choices, it's just that this song has been a staple of my live show for a really long time. In fact, I probably open about 95% of my sets with it. I can't really explain how/why, but it calms me down and helps me settle in to a show - I still get anxious beforehand, even after hundreds of gigs - and if I'm really antsy, I'll play Lee Shedden's "Bordersong" right after and I'm good to go. Works every time, and not because they are both in the same key, although it helps that I don't have to switch harmonicas...

Why this song? I'm not sure. Westerberg is one of my heroes, there is no doubt - just ask anyone who knows me - and he has written a ton of songs that have slain me, melodically, musically, and most of all, lyrically. Although this one is from one of his least-praised records, it is the one that over the years has become my all-time favorite of his. I will never get sick of the line "you can dress to the eights, you can dress to maim/make you feel great, this fortune and fame/wearing too much makeup, not near enough clothes". In fact, I have to stop myself from chuckling every 3rd or 4th time I sing that line. It is so sad, and so hilarious, all at once.

Before I was able to call Mike Plume my friend, my band was opening for his one night, and at their soundcheck they played "It's A Wonderful Lie". I was put out and amazed - I thought I was the only guy that would dare do the tune, and now here's this dude stealing my thunder. At the same time, I was tickled that someone else thought enough of the song to bother covering it. That night we bonded over the 'Mats and Westerberg's songs, and spent a good deal of time discussing the lyric quoted above. I wonder sometimes if he hadn't played it at the soundcheck if we'd ever have gotten on as well as we have, and maybe I never would have gotten to make records and play a few gigs with him or even just hang around with the guy, which have been some of the best times I've had, ever. I can say without exaggeration that I would be at least one friend (and possibly my girl) short today if it wasn't for the songs of Paul Westerberg.

All you need is 3 chords and the truth, someone once said. Well, they have to be the right 3 chords, and Westerberg has the ability to tell you truths that you didn't even know existed, even if he says they are wonderful lies. Funny... and sadly beautiful.

Paul Westerberg's "It's A Wonderful Lie"

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 11:46 PM

The Seventy Sevens - The Lust, the Flesh, the Eyes and the Pride of Life

As a kid, I was crazy about rock and roll. Not unlike most of you, I would imagine, but most definitely unlike most of you, my dad was a farmer 6 days a week and a Church of Christ minister 7 days a week. Old school, too. No drinking, no smoking, no dancing, no playing cards on Sundays. Once, in the dead of winter, waaaay too cold to go outside, we were hanging around in the house, trying to amuse ourselves. Mom was at the kitchen table, working on a quilt or some knitting or something, and it wasn't going too well. Completely frustrated, she threw her hands in the air and screamed, "Heck! Heck! Heck!!" My dad, who was passing through the kitchen, stopped and gave her a reproachful look. "Mother - stop your swearing! In front of the kids, even!"

I never once heard a curse word pass my father's lips - the closest he ever came (when I was in earshot, at least) happened when I was 9 or so, and he was fixing the combine - head, shoulders and arms inside the maze of belts and turbines and pistons under the hood. I was fooling around in the cab, pretending I was driving, when I accidentally started it up. I never heard such an unholy noise - it was my dad, screaming. I jumped down to see what had happened, thinking I'd killed him. Visibly shaken, he glared at me with a mix of terror and intense anger in his eyes. "Daaaa- aaaaah- AAAAHHH!"

I got the message. He didn't need to put the "mn" on the end for me to know that was the worst thing I'd done in my young life. It still freaks me out thinking about it, and to this day, if I'm getting an oil change and I'm sitting in the car while someone is under the hood, keys out of ignition - end of story.

It was tough trying to get my fill of rock music, though. He once humiliated me immensely while I was standing in line at the Zellers checkout, waiting to pay for a Steve Miller Band record. He walked up and asked "WHAT are you BUYING?"

"It's the new Steve Miller," I said, meekly. "It's on sale."

He snatched it out of my hand and strode back to the record racks. "Yup, it is, but not for you." Chuckles ensued in the queue, me, red-faced...

He must have heard the "black panties with an angel's face" line somewhere and decided that no son of his was gonna own that record. It was no small victory when he told me a few years later that he actually liked "King of Pain" by the Police. I thought the tide had turned and we were gonna start hanging out in my room listening to records together, but for some reason, that never happened, probably because I tried to extol the virtues of Zeppelin IV to him, and that was the end of that.

I gotta hand it to my parents, though - they saw they were losing the battle with rock and roll, and so they decided to join the dark side and buy me some Christian rock tapes. Selection in my hometown was limited, so they just went into the Christian bookstore and asked for the most popular titles - Whiteheart, Petra, Rez Band, Amy *cough* Grant, etc.

Thing is, I'd heard all that stuff and dismissed it. They were sheep in wolves' clothing (Stryper, anyone?). I had been subjected to soooo many Johnny Bible-Thumpers trying to "reach the youth" by attempting to be "relevant" to us (me), that I was not buying the shuck-and-jive acts with their rock and roll hair and loud guitars - they were still just preaching at me, and I figured that I got enough preaching in church on Sunday, whether I liked it or not. Why would I choose to listen to some bonehead in tight pants telling me that Jesus died for my sins, when I was willing to die to see Van Halen live?

"Runnin' with the devilllll"

When I left home and came to Calgary, it was to attend bible college. To say that I went there with a purpose would be stretching it, and I felt like a fish out of water there (well, anywhere, really). I didn't understand what the big deal was when I performed a Prince song in chapel service one Thursday night. "It's about God!! Whatsamatter?!?!?"

I was one mixed-up kid, and often the only thing that made any sense to me was my record collection. I put on a brave face and acted the part of the good young Christian, but really, I had no idea what was real or true, or what I believed. About anything. Anything except rock and roll. A cliche? Yes (I hear a Springteen song playing somewhere), but for me it was real, and it was true. My tastes had gotten more sophisticated as I neared the end of my teens (Steve Miller and Van Halen long disappeared from my stax o' wax), and I furiously devoured all radio, TV and print that had even the most remote chance of turning me on to something new to listen to.

There were a couple cool guys at the college who seemed kind of "into" music, and one day, one of them shoved a tape into my hand. "You gotta listen to this. You're gonna love it."

"I'm not into Christian rock", I said, flatly.

"This is different. They're on Island."

Whoa. A Christian rock band on Island Records, home of U2 (who were vaguely Christian enough to be deemed acceptable by the Church... ummm... tastemakers... ?) and Nick Drake and the Slits? I had to check it out.

To say that the 77's self-titled Island debut knocked my socks off on first listen would be a lie, but there was one song that stood out. The title at first put me off, as I recognized it from many hours spent at Bible Study. I reached for my NAS and looked the phrase up. Yup, I was right - 1 John 2:16. Oooofff. Not a good sign. Let's start the sermon, shall we?

"Well I feel like I have to feel something good all of the time
With most of life I cannot deal but a good feeling I can feel
Even though it may not be real"

Whoa (again). Here's a guy - a Christian guy - singing about how he feels? No proselytizing, no "Yay God!", no by-the-book-Jesus-style-nursery-rhyme dreck? What's going on? And, to boot, the band is good! It's a good song!

(I admit, I like the sad-bastard tunes - they get me through rough times. The record really grew on me and is now a favorite, and has gotten me through many dark days, and given me great joy...)

Obviously, I was young and naive, and was just beginning to discover that there were thoughtful and passionate artists out there who just happened to believe in God. The difference with the 77's was that they didn't play 'Christian Rock', they were Christians who played rock music. Of course, their lifestyle and beliefs would color their music (just like Marilyn Manson's are reflected in his, um, songs), but I got (and still have) the feeling that these were regular dudes who liked being in a band, and their singer, Mike Roe, was a pretty smart dude and had some interesting things to say.

Now, I'm not gonna delve into some religious discussion here - that would take far too long to get through, and besides, there would be no hope of resolution, and the word 'religion' makes my skin crawl. Suffice to say that in regard to the God question, I'm still as screwed up as the 18-year-old that came to the city to go to Bible college. I'll admit that for a long time (in my Angry Young Man phase) I viewed Christianity with a healthy amount of disdain, choosing to judge the book by its Jerry Falwell/PTL/Pat Robertson cover. I would put on the 77's and think they were the exception to the rule back then, but now I just think there's no rule. Say what you wanna say, do what you wanna do, believe what you wanna believe, and if you're an idiot, you're an idiot. Listen - I'm a male, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. You could paint me with a pretty ugly brush...

I was in a coffee shop one time when I couldn't help but overhear a conversation at the next table. This mohawked vegan punk rocker who had just kicked the bass player out of his hardcore band for eating a piece of cheese (it was a long, loud and very entertaining conversation) was complaining about and ridiculing Christians for being "so fucking dogmatic" - his exact words - and I thought to myself (amongst other things), "This guy needs to hear the 77's".

Too bad I didn't have a tape to press into his hand...

"The Lust, the Flesh, the Eyes and the Pride of Life" by the Seventy Sevens

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 9:04 PM

Teenage Fanclub - About You

I've always been a sucker for a pop song. I think it's because I found solace in my early years in AM Top 40 radio (see last week's post). I'm not ashamed to admit that when 'Uptown Girl' comes on in the Safeway, I'm singing along in the produce section. Now, my head says it's garbage, and my heart and gut, too, but somewhere there's a piece of me that loves that stuff. Ask my thoughts on Billy Joel, and depending on my mood, you will get "He sucks" or "I hate that crap", or, if I'm in a particularly foul mood, a rant that will seem endless and will only end when you look at your watch and say, "Jeez, Lorrie - been good chatting, but I gotta go... ummm... clean my hamster cage... right now..."

Hypocritical? Yup. A contradiction? Absolutely.

What can I say? You cannot define how or why a song will affect you, or what that means. Sometimes a sunny melody and a great hook are all I need. A great song does not need a deep, intellectual lyric that explores the depths of the human condition and/or a million chord changes you'd need a Master's degree to figure out how to play in order to move me. We're not talking desert island stuff here, but really - who among us is gonna wind up on a desert island (is there even any desert islands left?), and if we do, will we remember to pack a solar-powered stereo and our 10 favorite records? Besides, who could possibly have only 10 favorite records?

(An aside - years ago, when Nick Hornby's High Fidelity came out, I was all about that book. Couldn't stop talking about it. After a stellar Westerberg show in Vancouver, a bunch of us went to a pub down the street from the Commodore Ballroom to hang out and recap the show. Of course, Hornby's book came to mind, and I asked my friend Andrew - biggest Springsteen fan in the world, I think - if he'd read High Fidelity. He response was that he'd started it, but only got a few chapters in before putting it away. "WHAAAAT?!?! You didn't like it?" I was stunned. He stared back at me over his pint with a look of grim determination - "Look..." Deep breath. " I like my fiction... to be FICTION! I don't need some smartass telling me my own life story!")

And it works the other way, too. I am (to some of you, anyway) about to commit heresy here. Often, when getting into a real good knock-em-down-drag-it-out music discussion, people (regardless of how well they know me personally) will bring up Townes van Zandt in reverential tones, expecting that he is someone we can all agree on the genius of. Not me. I don't get it. I've tried, a thousand times. His music does nothing for me. One of those guys songwriters "have" to like, and I don't care one whit. If (to paraphrase my pal, the inimitable Joel Stewart) TvZ were playing in my backyard, I'd close the drapes.

Leonard Cohen, too. And any band Bill Bruford has ever been in. There. I said it. I'll take 'Hang on Sloopy' every time over those dudes.

---------------

I remember buying Teenage Fanclub's "Bandwagonesque" at Sam's Chinook in the winter of 1991. I had never heard the record and only had a vague recollection of hearing about the record. The cover was (still is) atrocious, so that can't be why I bought it. I was, however, trembling with anticipation in the store, looking at the CD in my hands, and I have no idea why. Once I got it home, though, it didn't leave the stereo for a good long time, and, once I read up on them a bit, it led me back to the Big Star records I got on account of that Replacements song - records I never really bothered listening to.

I was a fan. At least I thought I was, but when the Fanclub's next record, "13" came out, all it did was make me wanna put "Bandwagonesque" on again (I have since realized the error of my ways), and so, when "Grand Prix" came out in '95, I did not jump at the chance to acquire it. Eventually, I got around to getting it, and the instant 'About You' came on with those ringing, chiming guitars... well, it was all over. Teenage Fanclub had won me back. One of my favorite memories from 1995 was when Fire Engine Red was out at the Halifax Pop Explosion in October of that year, and we went to see The Posies. Jon Auer (Posies' guitar player/singer/pop genius) was onstage, setting up his gear when 'Neil Jung' from Grand Prix came over the P.A. Without missing a beat, he played along, note for note, the whole tune. I loved Jon Auer (and his band) before that, but after? I woulda walked across hot coals for him.

I can safely say that Grand Prix is one of my favorite records of all time. Top 10? This week, it is. Next week, maybe Top 100, who knows? Does the ranking really matter? Not to me...

This last week was a crazy week for me. I did a project for a band in my studio, and was hard up on a recording grant deadline for myself and a bunch of potential clients in my studio (writing grant proposals and doing recording budgets is most definitely not my forte). Add four shows in 5 nights at the Marquee Room, and I was a bit of a basket case all week.

On Wednesday, I got a call from the Calgary Herald, wanting my reaction to a recently released survey that states that most artists live close to the downtown core. I'm an artist, and I live close to downtown - what do I think of said survey? I answered a few questions patiently, thinking the whole time about all the work I had to get done, figuring it was a fluff piece to be buried in the back of the City section. Needless to say, I was taken aback when the reporter told me the paper was sending over a photographer. "Huh? Ummm... OK... I guess."

Next day, I woke up groggy to a mess of email/text/phone messages. My photo was on the front cover. Man. Had I known that was gonna happen, I would have showered and put on a clean shirt. The lady at the 7-11 freaked out when I went in to grab a coffee, and I had to stop answering the phone in order to get some work done. Pretty surreal, I have to say.

One of the many ignored messages I listened to later that night was from a dear friend I don't see nearly enough of, mostly because life and love and work and all that get in the way. He's the kind of guy you could call at 3 AM and say, "I need 500 bucks and a ride to the border" and he'd be there, no questions asked, in a heartbeat - the kind of friend you never think you're ever gonna have. Expecting it to be another good-natured poke from a buddy about my (supposed) newsworthiness, the message stopped me in my tracks and wiped out the stress and strain of the week:

"Hey pal. I'm just driving around, listening to Teenage Fanclub. Made me think of you. I miss you."

Like I said - you cannot define how or why a song (or artist) will move you, or what that means, but it means a lot. Hey, Issa?

Teenage Fanclub's "About You"


(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 11:34 PM

Gordon Lightfoot - Sundown

When I was a kid on the farm in Northern Saskatchewan, I didn't know all that much about the outside world. My main sources of information were the CBC and 630 CHED (the top-40 AM station) out of Edmonton. CBC was the only television we had on the farm (we would have had to get a separate antenna to put on the roof of the house to pull in the CTV feed) and I would endure that snowy signal to see my favorite player on Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday night. CHED was my main new music source (when I could pick it up) and I spent hours taping my favorite songs onto my little shoebox cassette recorder, setting the radio next to the little mic on the recorder when "Video Killed the Radio Star" came on, cranking it up full volume and pleading with my sister to "shut up! For 2 minutes!". Lotsa cassettes of badly distorted, static-y mono recordings, with faint (sometimes not-so-faint) traces of yelling in the background.

Although this huge country of ours was largely a mystery to me (Montreal was home to the Canadiens, and they spoke a different language there, which is why there was French on the cereal box), even at an early age I felt very proud to be Canadian, that this was a great and noble land. Obviously too young to understand the politics, I was so confused by Rene Levesque and the Parti Quebecois' urge to separate from Canada - why would anyone want to leave the best country on earth?

Even though the struggles between French and English and white and Aboriginal citizens were well documented, and we spent a lot of time learning about them in school (I was a massive Louis Riel fan), I naively thought it was all in the past, that we all could live in harmony, that the biggest conflict was whether the Leafs or Habs sucked.

It wasn't so, and all through my school years the tension between aboriginals and whites was a daily reminder of our differences. To get a really good idea of the situation up there, I would encourage you all to read Warren Cariou's "Lake of the Prairies" (He was a year or 2 ahead of me in school, I was pals with his brother and once had a heartbreaking crush on his sister). I read his book in one sitting - incredibly powerful, and the most honest and accurate portrayal of the place I grew up there will be. If you're in town, give me a call - I'll lend it to you.

After I left school and Meadow Lake, I found myself in many strange and wonderful places, one of them being BC's Okanagan Valley, where there is a rich aboriginal culture as well, and where I fell in love with a girl who was actively involved in the Western Canada Wilderness Committee. They were one of many groups in strong opposition to plans for a logging road through the Stein Valley on the West Coast, one that would disrupt land sacred to the Nlaka'pamux people who lived there. In order to raise funds an awareness, the Stein Valley Festival was launched, and in 1990 (partly because of my politics, partly because of the girl, but mostly because of the music) I went to the festival, which was held on the Tsawwassen First Nation, just south of Vancouver.

There was a heightened sense of urgency at the festival that year, not only because of the fight to preserve the Stein Valley and the spiritual home of its indigenous people, but also because of the crisis happening at the same time 5000 km across the country in Oka, Quebec, - just a few miles from the Montreal Forum I'd see almost every Saturday on HNIC - where the Mohawks were trying to preserve their sacred lands. Tons of media attention on the struggles of Canadian aboriginals and the electric atmosphere at the festival really made me feel like I was part of something really important.

Many of Canada's biggest musical acts came to Tsawwassen that weekend, none bigger than Gordon Lightfoot, who headlined the show. Lightfoot was a staple on the radio and TV when I was a kid - you heard/saw him on the CBC on a weekly basis - and I was fascinated by him. Not only did he have dozens and dozens of amazing songs, but he (along with Tom Thomson and Guy Lafleur) was somehow the very definition of 'Canadian' to me.

I hadn't listened to him in a long time (I was more into Husker Du by then), and many of my friends who were there with me were guffawing about the 'old man' who was about to play.

Admittedly, I was not that enthused either, but I was interested enough to hear him that I wandered away from my clique, to the back of the field, in order to listen to the show without distraction. It was a beautiful summer night on the ocean, the full moon was rising as the sun was setting, directly behind the illuminated clam-shell stage, the entire crowd in front of me. I really wish I had a photo - the sight was mind-blowing.

Lightfoot was on fire, too. "Whooo! Whooo! How are you tonight, Tsawwassen?!?! Whooooo!!" I did not expect him to be so gleeful at such a gravely important event - all the other acts had been far more earnest and sober, and he, being the elder statesman of the bunch... well, it was a bit incongruous. Anyway, the set was amazing. He played all of his classics, singing beautifully with that rich tenor of his, the band supporting him flawlessly. I was taken back to my younger days when I would be in the truck on the farm with my Dad and "Canadian Railroad Trilogy" would come on the radio, or seeing one of his countless TV appearances, cross-legged on the living room floor, entranced.

Now, it's easy to be revisionist here, but this is how I like to remember it:

The dusk has settled and the full moon is shining brightly over the ocean as the drummer goes into this hypnotic, insistent beat. Lightfoot thanks the audience for coming, says a few words about the reason we're all there, and starts strumming his guitar. Bass player kicks in, and they settle into an unreal, trance-inducing groove, which seems to go on forever. Just when you think vertigo is gonna take over, he begins to sing:

"I can see her lying back in her satin dress/in a room where you do what you don't confess"

Sundown. Could it be more perfect? I don't think so. I was utterly mesmerized, one of my favorite musical moments, ever.

The Oka Crisis came to and end, and the Stein Valley is now protected - I guess we were in some small way taking part in something important that weekend - but to say that tensions between the various segments of our country are settled would be a lie. Maybe if we all got together to watch a game or 2 on Saturday night and then had a listen to "Gord's Gold" it would all be better... at least I'd like to think so.

After many repeated listenings of the song over the past 20 years, combined with my memory of the one time I saw him perform it live, I seriously suspect that Gordon Lightfoot, Canada's Folk Laureate, was a Velvet Underground fan. Chances are I'm totally wrong, but that sure wouldn't be the first time.

Gordon Lightfoot's "Sundown"

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 3:33 PM

Joe Jackson - It's Different For Girls

(in the "genre" column of my iTunes, all of the songs are labeled "Genre Classifications Are Odious" - a little trick I learned from my good friend and funny mofo Lee Shedden)

You know the small talk that happens when you meet someone new in a social situation - the conversation that inevitably comes around to telling a stranger what it is that you do?

I used to hate that conversation.

"I'm a musician."

"Oh wow! What instrument do you play?"

"Well, I play guitar and keyboards, I guess. A little bit of everything, I suppose. I'm mainly a singer-songwriter. I'm not really very good at playing any instrument."

"Oh, you must be good, or no-one would let you play!"

(insert jovial and completely forced laughter here...)

It went on and on... they would ask what the name of my band was, I would tell them I don't have a band. They would ask where I perform, I would tell them even though they have no clue about the places I play. Et cetera, et-friggin-cetera.

Then, the inevitable.

"What kind of music do you play?"

Immediately, my dander would be up. Steam from the ears, heart rate shoots up 20 bpm, throat tight, stomach in knots... even though I knew it was coming, every time I got that question, it still bugged be incredibly.

"Oh, I dunno", I'd say, not without a touch of malice in my voice/demeanor. "I write songs and sing 'em. What kind of music it is, that's up to you to decide."

At which point, the convo would fizzle and the stranger would leave, bewildered.

Don't ask what kind of music I'm gonna play tonight
Just stay a while, hear for yourself a while
And if you must put me in a box, make sure it's a big box
With lots of windows and a door to walk through
And a nice high chimney...

Dan Bern said that in his song "Jerusalem", and I felt like he was singing about me. I felt that if I put some kinda label on what I did, it would falsify the music. I used to think that if some band put themselves into a genre (a box?) when describing their music, they weren't real artists, they were just trying to sell some product. Real artists are not bound by categories that the "industry" has made up so it is easier to force-feed the idiotic public. "I will not be beholden to the whims of marketers, who seek to dilute the pure, unadulterated expression that emanates from my mind. heart, and soul!"

Wow. Pretentious? Just a bit...

My friend Ken Beattie, who is a pretty damn fine songwriter himself, witnessed one of my tirades on a poor, unsuspecting woman who was genuinely interested in my music. After she left awkwardly (and I was still hot under the collar), Ken said to me, "Y'know, she wasn't trying to belittle you, and she wasn't an idiot, either. She just wanted to know what kind of music you play. Make something up. Describe it in a way that is understandable to regular people. Not everyone is a snob like you. Some people just like music."

Ken makes a living getting people to hear music, and a couple days after that (it usually takes a while for good advice to sink into my thick head), I realized the wisdom in his statement. I was being a snob. I should try and turn people on to my stuff, instead of having them walk away muttering "What an asshole" under their breath.

So, I tried a new response to the question - "People tell me I sound like Elvis Costello."

Which is true. People tell me ALL THE TIME that I sound like E.C. Now, to set the record straight, I don't think I do. I love Elvis, don't get me wrong (even though he's turned into a bit of a ponce lately, but that's another day, another blog), but I've never tried to emulate him, or write songs like him, or rip him off in any way. There's plenty of people I have ripped off, but Elvis ain't one of 'em. It is actually a mystery to me (I once thought maybe it was the glasses, but specs don't usually sound like anything), but whatevski. I know in my heart of hearts that I must sound like him, for 2 reasons:

1) I gave the aforementioned Lee Shedden (another great songwriter and E.C. afficionado) a pre-release copy of "A Dime At A Time", and he was listening to it in his car with his daughter Cleo, who would have been around 3, maybe 4 years old at the time. "Is this Elvis?", she asked her dad innocently. What kind of agenda does a 3-year old have re: musical categorization? None.

2) I met the former drummer for the Buzzcocks once, and when I gave him my now-standard response to the always-standard question, he remarked, "Now that you mention it, your speaking voice is remarkably close to Elvis'. In fact, if Elvis had a Canadian accent, you'd be dead ringers for each other."

Hmmm. I guess I sound like Elvis Costello. And you know what? I don't get mad at people for asking the question anymore, and they are happy and satisfied with my response. Win-win, I'd say, even though I don't believe it...

Joe Jackson is a guy who has never belonged in any genre. Listen to "Look Sharp", his first album, and then "Beat Crazy" and then "Body and Soul" and then "Will Power" (and then, and then, and then, and then...), and tell me what kind of music he plays. There's only one constant - brilliant songs. Lyrics, melody, chord structure, arrangement - all top-drawer, all amongst the best music of any genre has to offer. He's always been a bit of an outsider, though, which is probably why I dig him so much. He's never quite fit in anywhere, even though he's had tons of hits and massive critical acclaim, and he's always seemed to be pushing himself artistically without fear of failure.

I love him.

One of my biggest musical influences was Marlow Esau, who was my school bus driver for most of my school days. He put a radio in the bus, and that long 1.5 hour bus trip into town every morning was made a lot more bearable. He would sing along, drumming on the steering wheel every morning, and I soon took up the seat right behind him so we could talk music during commercial breaks. I eventually wound up going over to his place at lunch or during spares to rummage through his record collection. We'd listen to stuff I had no idea about - Strawberry Alarm Clock, the Siegel-Schwall Band, 13th Floor Elevators, et al. - and he would let me borrow stacks of albums on a weekly basis, which drove my mom nuts. He wasn't content with living in the past, either (he was in grade 11 when Neil Young's "Harvest" came out, and a full-on hippie), he bought records non-stop for as long as I knew him, always looking for the next great sound. "You never know when the next record that's gonna change your life will come out", he told me. "Don't listen to any one "kind" of record. The craziest thing you ever heard could be a jazz record, or a gospel record, or a heavy metal record. You just gotta have your ears and mind open - they are all "just" songs, "just" music."

One of those records I borrowed from Marlow was "I'm the Man" by Joe Jackson. On it (track 4, Side 1) was the song, "It's Different For Girls".

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 7:56 PM

Wagbeard - TNT

(I wrote this last night, but due to tech trauma, was unable to post until this morning - good thing SOMEONE in this household knows a thing or 2 about a thing or 2)

This past weekend, our campus/community radio station, CJSW, celebrated 25 years on the FM dial. To mark the occasion, they invited all kinds of local bands past and present to come and play a massive music fest in MacEwan Hall on campus. 25 bands, 25 bucks, 4 stages. One of my old bands was asked to perform, but sadly, we couldn't make it happen as James is busy making a new record with his current band out in Vancouver.

There was a fairly sizable part of me that was sad that I was gonna miss playing the party at Mac Hall. I have never known our city without CJSW in it, and as a local musician, the station has been a huge source of inspiration, resources and support. I remember distinctly the first time they played Fire Engine Red - we pulled over to the side of the road and listened to the whole song, grinning from ear to ear, excited as little kids on Christmas. Our song was on the radio!! An unbelievable feeling, lemme tellya.

The best thing, though, about CJSW was the community it reared and fostered over the last quarter century. There are so many dear friends and memories I have that I can directly trace back to being a part of our scene, I could write a book. Bands break up, people move on, new bands form, the circle is endless - but I can safely say I would not be who I am today without the amazing music in our city and the personal relationships it has given me.

One band that means a great deal to me is Wagbeard, a loud, visceral punk rock combo that raised the bar for rock bands in Calgary. Smart, hooky and tight - they were the band that dudes loved 'cuz their music would kick you in the face and make your ears bleed, and chicks loved 'cuz you could dance all night and sing along to the choruses. I still don't think Chris Temple, Steve Elaschuk, Pat Andrews and Trevor MacGregor (and Chris Faulkner before Trevor) know what kind of influence they had on the kids who went to their shows and on the bands that shared the stage with them. There was time when if you were on 17th Ave and had to make a right turn every time you saw a kid wearing a Wagbeard "77" t-shirt, you'd spend all day walking in a very tight circle. I got to know those guys pretty well over the years and I gotta say, you will never find a more stand-up bunch than them. Really, truly great human beings, all of 'em - which is why I was humbled when Chris Temple asked me a while back if I would get up and sing "TNT" with them at the CJSW party. I was floored. Wagbeard's gonna play! Unbelievable! "Too Easy" and "Worth" and "Darwin Bonaparte" - live, one more time, and on top of that, Temple wanted me to get up and sing a tune. Of course I would, I said. Of course...

Except I wasn't gonna be there. I had a gig as a sideman, helping to release John Rutherford's album, one that I produced, and one that I am very proud of. As I do with terrible regularity, I neglected to check a calendar. Turns out John's record release shows (Friday in Edmonton, Saturday in Calgary) were on the same weekend. In a way, it was serendipitous that FER was unable to get back together and I could do the right thing and play the gigs that I had committed to with John.

I can't lie. As the date grew closer and the hype about the big show at UofC grew, I was pretty bummed about missing out. Not only would I miss the festivities, but I would miss my chance to sing a tune with one of my all-time favorite bands. This was on my mind all week, and on Wednesday as I was thinking of what tune to do for the Covers Project I thought it natural to pay tribute to the 'Beard. "TNT" was a natural pick, not only because Chris had asked me to perform it with them, but because of the line in the chorus, "All I wanted was a friend to guide me through these turbulent times". The '90s were a very turbulent time for me, and Wagbeard as a musical force and as a group of friends most definitely helped me through it, although they never knew it, I don't imagine.

The one aspect of the band that never got enough respect, I think, was Chris' lyrics. They were always intelligent (if sometimes unintelligible), poetic, occasionally really funny and always thoughtful. There was never a throwaway line. Not to me, anyway, and his way of putting things was unlike any other's. It still is today - check out this lyric from his new band, The Great Evil, as quoted in this month's Beatroute-

"Well lately I'm so downhearted. These changes really changed me up, they nearly did me in, I nearly bought the drugs. Who would have thought my body would be so kind to her and so mean to me... "

And so, last Wednesday night (or early Thursday morning), I made a recording of "TNT", a great song with a great lyric.

Anyway, this past Friday night, I was gigging in Edmonton with John, and when we arrived, I found out through a friend of mine up there that Wagbeard was playing a show at a local bar, a tune-up for the show in Calgary the following night. As it happened, my gig was done early, and I was able to race across town to catch what turned out to be the last 5 songs of their set. Pat saw me in the crowd and said "Hey Lorrie - you know this one... get up here!", and so I got up and sang "TNT" with the boys. It probably wasn't very good (Wagbeard songs are hard to sing, believe me), but whatever. I got to do it after all. It felt so good, i can't describe it. After the show, it was great fun to hang out and have a few drinks and catch up with everyone, and then head to a pizza by the slice joint to fill up on doughy late-night goodness, and to act like a bunch of idiots like it was 1994 again. It really meant a lot to me, and I am not ashamed to say that I shed a couple tears of joy before going to sleep, re-hashing the night's events in my mind.

The last thing Pat and Chris said to me before parting ways on the snowy street at 3 AM in Edmonton was this, "After your gig tomorrow night, get in a cab and get up to the University. We'll save "TNT" for the end, and if you make it, we'll get you up."

The gig with John last night was awesome. The crowd was great, the rest of the band was great, and I didn't embarrass myself too badly (I'm new at this sideman thing). It was done at midnight, and Wagbeard was scheduled to go onstage at the Mac Hall Ballroom at 12:30. I raced up there, and caught the whole set, which sounded like they hadn't missed a beat in the intervening 12 years. Again, Pat saw me in the crowd and I was asked up to sing. I think I did a marginally better job the 2nd time around, but really, it doesn't matter. I got off the stage and they cranked into "Helluva Way to Die". If I had died right then (and believe me, I almost killed myself screaming the words to "TNT"), it would have been a hell of a way to die, for sure.

In the version here, of course, I screwed the lyrics up - those of you that are Wagbeard freaks, I know the acronym in the first verse is "RPG" and not "RGB", but I sang it wrong. So there... (another reason why Chris' lyrics are so great - "RPG" could mean "rocket-propelled grenade" or "role-playing game", both of which would make sense in the context of the tune. I have it on fairly good authority that it is the former, but who knows for sure - Temple ain't talking).

There's no way I could replicate the awesome power of the band, so I thought I'd strip it down to a bare-bones acoustic version. I listen to it now, 4 nights later, and it sounds more melancholic than necessary, but considering my mood at the time, I hope it's understandable. I realize that I may sound like a bit of a sentimental fool in this post, but if that's the case, I'm 100% OK with that.

Wagbeard's TNT

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 10:44 AM

Vic Chesnutt - The Gravity of the Situation

For those of you who don't know, when I am not playing shows or making records or screwing around on the Internet, I book bands at a club in Calgary called the Marquee Room. It is a small place, not very fancy, but with a really cool vibe, on the 2nd floor of the Uptown, along with 2 arthouse cinemas. The building is an old art-deco hi-rise that I would categorize as in a state of disrepair, with a landlord that doesn't seem to care too much about it or it's only tenants - the club and the theatre.

There's not a lot of money (in case you were wondering) in playing or promoting original live music, but I do the best I can. Most nights you will find a local act or 2 or 3, and the odd band from out East or the West Coast on their way across the country. Chances of more than a handful of people knowing about any of these artists are slim, and with all the options for the entertainment-seeker in our fair city, it is a rough go to even get those in the know out to see the show sometimes.

Some of the bands are not all that great. Most of them are really good, and a select few are unbelievably awesome. What I have found watching as many bands and singers and songwriters as I have from my perch beside the soundboard is this: all of these people believe wholeheartedly in what they are doing, and they always give their best show, the best they can. No-one mails it in. No matter how crappy their day was, or how many (or few) came to hear them, or how in the red they are because of their drive to make their voice heard and to give some songs to whoever will listen, the one thing all of them have in common is their sincerity, whatever form it comes in, and I am grateful to be able to give every one of them a venue for their art.

Once in a blue, blue moon, an artist who (in my mind, at least) should be a household name across the land with their records in every collection coast to coast finds their way onto the Marquee Room stage.

On October 20 of '09, such an artist came and played. His name is Vic Chesnutt. I was really worried about the show, not from an artistic standpoint (I was giddy like a schooolgirl at the prospect), but from a logistics point of view. See, Vic was in a wheelchair, and our elevator was broken (it still is - one of many reasons why I suspect the landlord doesn't really give a damn), and the only way we could get him up to the club on the 2nd floor would be to carry him up the main staircase.

How would he take it? Would he be offended? Would be so put off that he'd treat the show as a throwaway (after all, he has played thousands of shows all over the word. Big deal if these idiots can't treat an artist with respect...)? I had no idea. All I know is that I desperately wanted this show to go off without a hitch - one of the greats was coming!

Well, I shouldn't have worried. Vic and his band arrived, I welcomed them at the front door and explained the situation. He grinned at me and said, "Well, I ain't that heavy. Let's go." A man who I admired the work of for so many records was so gracious. And humble.

That night, I saw the best show of 2009, hands down. In the running for best show of the decade, even. I've seen very few that hold the conviction that I saw displayed on Vic's face, in his voice, hands, and songs. The band was in top form, and Vic was at what I imagine to be the height of his powers. It was absolutely perfect. Leading up to the show, I revisited all of his albums, and was amazed again at the body of work he had amassed over the years, and stunned that a man of such immense talent had to play our little club. I mean, I was excited that he was playing our little club, but I couldn't fathom the idea. He should have been playing to thousands.

On Christmas day, 2 months after I saw him play that show - that mind-blowing show - I heard the news that he was gone. I still don't really know what to say or even think/feel about all that.

This is the first song I ever heard by Vic Chesnutt, which why it is one of my favorites. Humble and gracious, The Gravity of the Situation.

(Click on the Play button beside the song title to launch the music player
or right-click on the link to download it to your computer.)

Labels: 2010 Covers Project

Posted @ 10:28 PM