A Nostalgic Audience

            Since my bicycle was finally built, this last Saturday was the first one in three weeks when I didn’t have to go to Bike Pirates to work on it. I had time to put my food bank groceries away and to heat up the frozen pizza, of which I ate half. Then, because this was the first Saturday of the month it was time again for Linda Stitt’s Words and Music Salon. I definitely felt obligated to go this time because I would be a guest poet there next month. I also wanted to check out the layout of the stage to figure out how to fit it in with the performance I’d been rehearsing.

            I rode to the Smiling Buddha at 961 College Street on my new bike. So far, even though it’s lighter it doesn’t seem to be as fast as my old hybrid. The Phoenix had a lot more speeds and this one only has ten.

            When I arrived in the bar I had a choice of almost every table in the place. Linda saw me and waved, and then when she was finished her conversation she came over and gave me a hug. I asked her to confirm that we were there next month but she thought that I meant if I was booked for next month. I clarified that I meant to ask if her salon would be at the Smiling Buddha again next month and she said that it would be, as far as she knew, which meant yes. I was pretty sure that I would be getting ten minutes on stage but wanted to make sure, so I told her that I’d been rehearsing a ten-minute set. She exclaimed “Wonderful! I’m looking forward to hearing it!”

            The Velvet Underground was being played over the sound system, but the co-host, Peter Solmes wanted to do a sound check with the other musicians on stage and so he asked them to turn it off. This didn’t strike me as a Velvets crowd, even though most of the audience were the same age as those that would have been Underground fans when the band was together. The only people in the joint that were under fifty were behind the bar and ironically it was the under thirty staff that probably appreciated hearing the Velvet Underground more than the elderly attendees of the salon who would probably be more inclined to enjoy nodding to the beat of Jimmy Buffet and his ilk.

            I decided that I would do something that I hadn’t done in a long time. I went to the bar with the intention of splurging on a beer. I asked for a pint of the blonde lager but was shocked when the bartender/soundperson told me that would be $7.00. I exclaimed, “Holy crap!” She nodded in agreement but said that she didn’t make the rules. Upon writing this and looking up the average price of a pint of draft in Toronto, I see now that it’s around $6.50, so I guess I’m just out of touch.

            I went down to the basement to use the toilet and was amused to see that the sign on the door of the loo says “Bath Room”. I should have brought my rubber duck.

            When I came back, Linda approached me to ask if I could do September 2^nd instead. I firmly but gently told her, “No!” She nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll switch you with somebody else.” I guess she must have overbooked for June 3^rd. I assume that a lot of the people on the bill have more than one gig happening and so switching around for them is probably not that big a deal. My guest spot on June 3rd is the only invitation to perform that I’ve had in a few years. Linda had originally invited me to do my spot last September but I had told her that I wanted June or July because I’d be in school in September.

            Kate Marshall Flaherty, one of the afternoon’s guest poets, arrived and said hi to me.

            The event began with some songs from Linda’s co-host, Peter Solmes, who informed us that he has a new album out that is entitled “Train Songs”. He asked us to guess what it’s about. Peter was playing the electric piano and he was accompanied by Tom Hamilton on violin. Tom was the only person in the room wearing a suit and tie, though it did look like it had been tailored by Sally Ann.

            Peter’s first song was “The Conductor’s Lament” – “ … The golden days are no more … We take the train to grandma’s town … Where’s the sense of our history / Where’s the sense of the mystery …”

            His next song was also from his train themed CD – “In the morning I hear the long train calling me … If you don’t see me by morning, well you know that I have gone …” I went to the washroom and the song was just ending when I got back.

            Peter then did a cover of Claude “Curly” Putnam’s “Green, Green Grass of Home”, which has been recorded by just about everybody, but was the biggest hit for Tom Jones. Tom sang high harmony on the chorus.

            A woman came up to my table and asked, “Are you Christian?” I confirmed that I am. She wanted to know if I was sitting alone and informed her that I was alone but not exclusively and that she was welcome to join me. She thanked me and pulled up a chair. She spent most of the show reading a magazine and doing a newspaper puzzle.

            In between songs a well dressed elderly woman with a cane, who looked like she was in her 80s but whom I’d also say was the best looking person in the room, approached Peter from the side of the stage and made a request. Her appeal was for Peter to play a certain one of his own songs and so for his last song he honoured her entreaty – “Jenny works at the World Trade Centre … Went to work that Tuesday morning … Came from a farm out there in Wisconsin / Her folks there worked on a dairy farm … She became a fine New Yorker / Shared an apartment there in Queens …”

            Some of Peter Solmes’s piano arrangements are catchy but his melodies are middle of the road and his lyrics are clichéd and uncreative.

            When Peter was finished I could see that they’d found a better solution for Linda introducing the performers than her having to climb up onto the stage every time. Someone just passes the microphone down to her. She introduced the first guest poet, Kate Marshall Flaherty.

            Kate’s first poem was inspired by a dream that she’d had in which she was a salmon, after watching the salmon climb a falls on Manitoulin Island – “ … I flick my gills wide for breath … I go against the grain … I can do this … resist time and gravity … weave my golden roe …”

            From “Ode to My Breath” – “Oh breath, you are with me even as I sleep … you were the first thing out of my mouth at birth … You always leave me empty … A birthday balloon … Each breath the only moment that is …”

            Of her next poem, she told us that it won first place in a Scugog poetry competition, but she had forgotten to bring the winning version with her. Instead she read the old version of her poem about the real life women who died of radiation poisoning as a result of their job of painting watch dials with radioactive paint. They were told it was harmless by people that knew it wasn’t and encouraged to lick the brushes in order to give them a fine point.

            From “Ode to the Radium Girls” – “You gals have the good job … What did the fine points taste like … What of the secret studies they hid from you till all you could swallow were small strokes of fear … Do you gals even know you were called the living dead?”

            Kate’s final poem is one that I’ve heard her read on a few occasions. It has a sugary music box soundtrack that she plays over her phone while she reads the Disneyesque “A Mouse’s Prayer” – “ … You illuminate my tracks across this thin blanket of  ice crusted snow … Send a beam slantwise into the far window where my warm lima beans nestle together … One big mouse dream of nut butters … My blessings on all cracks and cubby holes … Oh moon …you reflect for me my own great smallness in your immensely dark and speckled sky.”

            I feel almost guilty criticizing Kate Marshall Flaherty’s deeply sentimental and childlike poetry because my judgements of her mediocre efforts have to swim upstream against the urge to pat her on the head like a kitty cat and then let her go to sleep in my pocket. Every now and then one can find by sifting through the poetic fluff of her work a good line, but her style is limited and she doesn’t seem to have the urge to adventure very far beyond it.

            Linda next introduced featured musician, Michael Laderoute, who after stepping up with his guitar commented, “I haven’t been on a stage this high for a while!”

            From his first song – “People like to tell you this old world is cold … I get the fever and come looking for you … As the days go by, kind of lazy like …”

            Michael told us that he’d sat down that morning and designed a special set list, but then he left it at the bar.

            Of his next song he disclosed that he wrote it about a southbound train on a northbound track – “There’s a cold wind that’s blowing round my back door … There’s a devil with my name in her right hand … There’s angels I hear screaming for salvation … There’s a harlot now on every dark street corner … Like a soldier of fortune I’ve got no fight left to win …”

            Michael remarked that inspiration comes in all kinds of surprising ways and that his next sang resulted from a visit to the butcher shop. He said it was a song about the three food groups: beef brisket, pulled pork and chicken.

            From “Barbecue” – “ … Well a big old burger, that might taste fine … Texas chilli set your soul on fire … Take a little home to a boy named Sue / Aint nothing better than eating barbecue.

            Michael reported that he’d spent a lot of the winter in Mexico and he observed that they have a long weekend there for just about everything. Of those, the most bizarre is the butchers long weekend when you can find guys with knives, wearing white aprons, drinking on the beach.

            Of his next song he opined that one has got to be either a barber or a bootlegger to make money in a small town. From “Bootlegger” – “ … I feel like doing some driving … The road is long and wet and slick … Chasing the shadows and the headlights … The neon light’s they’re alive tonight … The edge of this night is drawing near… A wolf howls down by the river … The tires they are humming like some lost, lonely soul … I can’t quit man, I can’t give it up …”

            Michael asked if anyone of us knew what a “goo goo cluster” is. He explained that it’s a type of candy very similar to what we call “Turtles” and it used to be the official candy of the Grand Old Opry. He shared that he once appeared on a radio show that had a call-in contest for the best song title and the prize was a six-pack of goo goo clusters. Somebody won but they forgot to take down his name and address and Michael is still carrying around the prize twenty years later just in case the winner finally catches up with him. He wrote this next song after eating a six-pack of goo goo clusters.

From “Deck of Dreams” – “There was three men sitting on a bridge over a minnow stream … Slipped the quarters from a laundry machine … One was a lawyer, one was a cook, the other never had a job … Holy Mary mother of god tell me whose side are you on …”

            Before his last song, Michael advised us that if we ever need a capo, go to a club that has an upright piano and look on top of it. He declared that, “I have seven that I didn’t pay for!”

            From “Old Photographs” – “This old photograph, it’s the folks I used to know back in 1963 … This old guitar I got, I remember it some / I used to play it now and then and not always for fun … Here’s to this old life! It fits me fine … All those other people in the picture, they’re all friends of mine / We were called young and foolish once, now we’re just crazy and old … On hearing that last line a handsome white haired lady sitting in front of me turned to the dapper white haired man with the cane next to her, then nodded and smiled. He nodded back.
            Michael Laderoute is certainly a good performer and musician and he commands the audience well. Hi music and style of singing sounds a lot like that of John Prine, though he doesn’t have the same quality of lyrical magic that Prine has. Some of his lyrics, especially on “Bootlegger” show that he has the ability to use words to create an atmosphere, though the musical and lyrical style of that song seems to have been lifted directly from Bruce Springsteen.

            Linda next introduced James Phelan, a storyteller from Dublin who has been here since 1969. The bio that he gave for Linda to read simply stated that he has two sons and five grandchildren. When he came up to the mic he explained that he thought that said it all.

James did not give us a story of his own but rather recited “Guests of the Nation” by Frank O’Connor. I found the seven page story online and have condensed it to one page – “At dusk the big Englishman would shift legs and ask, 'Well, chums, what about it?' and the little Englishman would light the lamp and produce the cards. I couldn't see the point of us being with Belcher and 'Awkins at all.

They were handed to us by the 2nd Battalion. After the first evening we gave up keeping a close eye on them. Awkins talked enough for a platoon. Belcher’s only passion was cards.

One evening we all sat to cards. Donovan came in, sat down and watched us for a while. A dispute blew up between 'Awkins and Noble, about capitalists and priests. 'The capitalists,' says 'Awkins, pays the priests to tell you all about the next world, so you won't notice what they do in this!' Seeing that Donovan was going, I went out with him. He said I ought to be behind keeping guard on the prisoners.  I asked what the hell he wanted a guard on the prisoners for. He said they were hostages.' 'Hostages?' says I. 'The enemy have prisoners belong to us, and they talk of shooting them. If they shoot ours we'll shoot theirs, 'Shoot them?' said I, ' I went back to the cottage, miserable.

It was after midnight when we locked up the Englishmen and went to bed. I told Noble what Donovan had told me. He asked did I think we ought to tell the Englishmen. I said no, because it was more than likely the English wouldn't shoot our men. Next morning we found it hard to face them.

I don't know how we got over that day, a great relief it was when Belcher said, 'Well, chums, what about it?' and 'Awkins produced the cards, I heard Donovan's footsteps. He said ‘There were four of our lads went west this morning. I want you and Noble to bring them out. You and Feeney dig a hole by the bog.

He told them they were to go back to the Second. The two Englishmen said good-bye to the woman of the house. We go round to the back of the house and towards the bog. Donovan tells them 'There were four of our lads shot by your fellows this morning so now you're to be bumped off.' 'Cut that out,' says 'Awkins. It's true,' says Donovan, Why the 'ell sh'd you want to shoot me? Weren't we chums?’ By this time I began to perceive in the dusk the edges of the bog and a sadness overtook my mind. I was in despair that nothing but the open grave would convince him we meant it. ‘We've had enough of this,' says Donovan, cocking his revolver. 'Is there any message you want to send?' 'No, there isn't, but . . . listen to me, Noble,' he said. 'You and me are chums. 'For the last time have you any messages to send?' says Donovan in a cold and excited voice. I saw Donovan raise his Webley to the back of 'Awkins's neck, 'Awkins had begun to say something else when Donovan let fly, and as I opened my eyes at the bang, I saw him stagger at the knees and lie out flat as quiet as a child.

Then Belcher quietly takes out a handkerchief, and begins to tie it about his own eyes and, seeing it is not big enough, asks for a loan of mine. I give it to him. Belcher fumbles awkwardly with the handkerchiefs and comes out with a laugh. It is the first time I have heard him laugh, and it sends a shiver down my spine, coming upon the death of his friend. 'Poor blighter,' he says quietly, 'and last night he was so curious about it all. Donovan helps him tie the handkerchiefs. 'Thanks, chum,' he says. Donovan asks if there are any messages he would like to send. 'No, chum,' he says. Then Donovan raises his Webley again and Belcher laughs his queer nervous laugh again. You don't want to say a prayer?' asks Donovan. 'No, chum,' he replies, 'I don't think that'd 'elp. I'm ready if you want to get it over, but I think you're all good lads. I'm not complaining.' In a flash Donovan raises his gun and fires.”

James gave an emotional oration of the story, mostly by heart, but with the help of some crib sheets every now and then.

During the story I noticed that Peter Solmes and Tom Hamilton were sitting at the back of the stage. That seemed odd and inappropriate to me and I hoped they wouldn’t be up there on the stage with my when I was performing next month.

When James was finished, Linda announced that Peter and Tom would play us up to a short intermission.

After sitting at his piano, Peter announced that in the 250 years that his family has been in Canada nobody has gotten past the age of 65, but that he’d just made it to 66.

His first pre-intermission song was one of his own called “Back to Bermuda” with a melody that imitated the style that one might associate with the island and with a little too much schmaltz added on – “ … Haven’t been there in a long, long time / I remember when I was a boy / the beach was my only toy … It’s still paradise, that island I love  …”

Peter told as after he’d finished that down in Bermuda it’s all soca and reggae there now and that his song wouldn’t go over. He related that the speed limit is 50 km an hour there and that it reminds him of Victoria, British Columbia in that nobody honks at each other there except as a greeting.

Peter then did a gender switched cover of Bobbie Gentry’s “Ode to Billie Joe”. I think it’s funny when people take pains to switch the gender on songs when it doesn’t fit to do so. I have always liked that song, but I don’t think Peter did it justice. The elderly audience clearly disagreed though and it seemed to be the head bopping highlight of the day.

During Peter’s rendition I went to the washroom and on the way I ran into Linda. I leaned down to speak with her and a combination of the fact that she is a very affectionate person and the reality of her being hard of hearing makes talking to her in a bar seem like an extremely intimate experience. She put her ear right up against my mouth when I asked her if I could offer a criticism and when she said I could I told her that I think that her co-host sitting on the stage during performances looked very strange. Linda explained to me that Peter has trouble moving. I had heard him say earlier that he would not be at the salon in June, so because of his inability to leave the stage when he was here, I expressed my relief about the fact that he would be absent during my gig.

Peter’s last song before the break was his own “Train Ride to Heaven”, which is about taking a train ride to heaven.

At the beginning of the break it became obvious why Peter didn’t leave the stage during the performances. He is not only obese, but he also can’t walk without a cane. He had to back down from the stage with Tom supporting him in front until he could support himself with his hands on the stage floor while someone else held onto him from the back.

During the break the Velvet Underground was once again played over the sound system.

The guest poet at the beginning of the second set was Diana Manole, who I had recently heard when she featured at the end of April at he Shab-e She’r reading series. Like she did then, this time she also handed out her questionnaires about second language speaking to the audience. I think the info is going into a paper she’s writing, perhaps in her capacity as a professor at Trent University. She tried to pass me one but I told her I didn’t want to fill it out. She seemed okay with that and put her hand warmly on m shoulder as she continued on. Linda had finished reading her introduction and we were all waiting for her to take the stage while she was still handing everybody homework.

Of Diana’s first poem she imparted that she had written it in a dream.

From “Dreaming of an Old Couple” – “Silence slicing thin slices of each of them … Exactly on meter between them on the couch … When they talk, words float through the air like dandelion puffs on a summers day.”

From “Shopping Bags” – “I wrap my hands in Loblaws shopping bags / whispering lord’s prayer / kids version … Too drunk to open your eyes … bipolar, bilingual, blousy, big biped in search of your grandmother’s freedom … You have no idea that what happens in a vagina never stays there … The salt on my fingers peppers your forehead as if pain could leave footprints for men who fuck and go …”

From “Sixth Kiss” which was the first poem that she wrote in English – “You kiss me on a frigid Saturday night … Arms covered in tattoos … Rushed blowjobs washed out with vodka … Women with thick accents and rubber gloves, bored every day … Who else would kiss at minus 28 degrees in the snow … You kiss me with the Marco Polo silk … You envelope me in royal blue … A sigh oozes out of me, you pull my hair … You hug me, waiting to break into pieces at the first sign of disapproval … To love you all I need to do is breathe.”

From “Teaching Can Lit” – “Explain in your cover letter how you can do it even though you think you can’t … Settle for the cheapest ontology … Halifax implodes in Barometer Rising … The ontology of Canadian literature in English … A student leaves the classroom, slamming the door … returns with tissues … You finally notice your damp cheeks and runny nose … Course evaluations weren’t that bad.”

From her last poem – “You stare into my eyes, half seeking to reinvent yourself … You take off my clothes and I dissolve powerless into water …”

Diana Manole has some good imagery in her poetry, especially in her erotic pieces and she writes intelligently. It’s also refreshing that she her work is a study of her own experiences rather than escaping into the lives of others like so many other poets.

The second featured musician of the afternoon was Kirk Felix, who I knew is from the United States but I was surprised when Linda announced that he is leaving Canada to return to his home state of Arizona. Linda suggested that he was going back to join the underground.

He got up on stage and plugged in but his guitar sounded fuzzy, so the soundperson was asked to bring another cord. Meanwhile he announced that he was selling a remake of his first album, which he recorded in 1972. The attractive woman in her 80s shouted a question, “Did you vote for Trump?” He responded that he hadn’t voted in the US election. “I’m Canadian!” he declared and added, “I voted for … somebody!”

Accompanied by Brian Jantzie on electric guitar and Tom Hamilton on violin, his first song was one I’d heard him do several times at Fat Albert’s. From “I’ll Be Home in 27 Days” – “ … The mountains are rising … A chess game and a checkmate …” It was clear that the cord hadn’t worked since his guitar was still distorted. When his song was finished I shouted, “Your guitar sounds horrible!” He finally decided to mic it rather than use his pickup. Miking a guitar always sounds better than a pickup anyway.

His next song was about camping Memorial Day and it was called “Melody for a Friend” – “ … By the fire we rest after many a mile … History being recorded in the tapestry she’s weaving …”

Of his last piece, “The Traveling Song”, Kirk told us that it was his second ever composition and he wanted to engage us in a singalong part which went “So be yourself, I say be a friend to me, cause I’ve done everything I can to be a friend to thee. Be yourself. Be a friend to everyone and just be free.”

Kirk Felix’s songwriting has not changed since the 60s when he first began writing songs. His lyrics continue to convey the same positive message that was prevalent in that era and his melodies tend to follow the same snoring folk formula that has been plodding on for decades. It goes over well with an older crowd that is contented with the evocation of memories as opposed to being artistically challenged.

Linda declared, “Arizona’s gain is our loss!” and then she introduced the final guest musician, Brian Blain. It’s a strange way to organize a show when the final featured performer plays before the final guest musician. One would expect there to be a build-up leading from guests to features, since features are supposed to be the headliners.

Brian began by notifying us that he’d celebrated his 70^th birthday recently at the Old Mill. He let us know that when he’d turned 65 he thought, “I’m retired now so I won’t be chasing gigs anymore.” But he does come out when invited, so that was why he was here this time.

His first song was inspired by a fire that happened in his son’s house at Greenwood and Gerrard. From “The Big Fire” – “The big fire comes along once in a while … Quiet and then it’s wild … Smouldering through the night … Un changement profound dans la vie, après le feu (A profound change of life after the fire) … and just when you thought you were over the shock then a spark appears …”

Brian related that when he lived in Sutton (I think he said the one in Quebec), his wife had a t-shirt shop in the back of which he had a recording studio. Dawn Duval came to the store and he played her a song. When he came to Toronto he looked her up and went to a club where he heard her band, Blue Willow play his song.

From “Dump That Lump”, accompanied by Tom Hamilton – “Why don’t you dump that lump? / You know he’s bad for your heart … He’s only going blind and getting fat …”

Brian reminded us that it’s almost Mothers Day and then added that he used to play with an all girl band known as the Blainettes. I think he announced that he would be reuniting with some of them on May 13^th for a show at the Old Mill.

His last song was called “Don’t Forget Your Mother” and he first recorded it in the 1970s in Quebec. Three members of the Mothers of Invention (not including Frank Zappa) sat in on the session. From the song – “ … You got to be thirteen and you thought that you were smart … She knew that she’d be losing you in a little while … She’s the one that tells you when you’re being unfair …”

Brian Blain is a good professional musician and his guitar playing is tasteful but not earth shaking. His songs are conventional blues and folk style compositions with uninteresting lyrics.

It was time for Peter Solmes to play us out and so he made his way to the stage. He had such difficulty getting up the steps it was like watching someone try to scale a mountain that has never been climbed. When he finally stood up, Tom passed him his cane. He secured himself and stepped forward, then tripped and fell flat on his face with a thunderous “wump!” and a loud exclamation of “Jesus!” Three people helped him gradually return to his feet. He gained control of his cane and carefully made the trip to sit down at the piano. The first thing he said was, “Did you like my imitation of Chevy Chase?”

Tom Hamilton walked around shaking hands with people in the audience like a minister at a picnic.

Brian’s first song was a cover of “Stormy Weather” by Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler, of course with the help of Tom Hamilton on violin.

Then he invited Michael Laderoute back to the stage to play another one of his songs. From “The Chicken Song” – “Call chickens in the backyard/ What they do is scratch and peck … Going out at supper time, gonna pick one out and ring its neck … Aint meanness yall, just hungry is what I am / Aint nothing in this world that’s better than fried chicken, yes ma’am …”

Mike was about to leave the stage so that Brian Jantzie could come up and play on the last song, but they discovered that there was another DI for Brian to plug into and so both of them stayed.

The last song of the afternoon was the African American traditional spiritual song, “Sinnerman” – “Oh sinnerman where you gonna run to … Well I run to the hills … Hills they gonna hide me …” Everyone on stage got a couple of solos before the song was over.

It’s interesting that the youngest performers that day were the two poets, though they weren’t spring chickens either.

Before I left I hugged Linda and asked her to confirm that she knew I was going to be performing at the salon on June 3^rd. I was worried because of her question about September 2^nd and also she had said something about July. She clarified that I was definitely booked for June 3^rd. I told her that was good because I had already invited quite a few people.

On her way out, the handsome white haired woman who’d been sitting in front of me asked if I’d had a good time. I told her that I’d rather be interested than enjoy myself. She inquired then if I’d had an interesting time and I assured her that I had. Her and her dapper husband with the cane were exiting the club just as I was unlocking my bicycle. She asked him as they passed me if he wanted a bike.

On the journey home I stopped at Freshco where in addition to various other provisions I bought a couple of small steaks that were on sale and also finally remembered to replenish my supply of black tea.