Positive identification

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, I arrive at the coffee shop early, before it get really busy, which means it's quiet enough to hear the music on the tannoy.

While waiting for my order, I strolled over the speaker in the southwest corner, holding up my phone to ask quietly:  "Hey Siri, what is that song?"

"Naming that tune," came the answer, followed by "Sorry, I don't seem to recognise that song."  I tried again. No dice.

I returned to the pick-up counter to claim my mocha, and ask the barista, but an older fella (well, older than me, anyway), was picking up a complicated order, then requesting a spoon, and the song ended.

Back at my table, I heard the song again, which rarely happens, and made a beeline back, where my Birthday Buddy Barista was now busy steaming milk.

"I like this song, and Siri can't tell me what it is."

"Mac DeMarco," he replied, without a beat of hesitation.  "It's called 'Nobody'."

"Matt?"

"Mac. M-A-C."

"No one?"

"Nobody."

"Wait a minute," I cried.  "It's printed on your shirt!"

"It's my favourite teeshirt."

"You could have just pointed!  You had visuals!"

Back at my table, I entered the song into my "Liked" playlist on Spotify, and looked up Mac DeMarco.  Born in Duncan (60 kilometres north of Victoria) in 1990; grew up in Edmonton, where I spent my early childhood.  A Taurus -- just like the Birthday Buddy Barista and me.

Needing a lullaby - let's make it Canadian

Stayed up all night in Windsor station

My last hope for salvation

Was a girl with a North Star in her eyes

Slept under the band-shell stage

Every morning, under age

Waiting for the girl with a North Star in her eyes

She sends me where I want to go

Sleeping giants, and waves of snow

Looking for a girl with a North Star in her eyes

With the change, Lord, I stayed the same

No time to lose, no year to blame

Just lost for the girl with a North Star in her eyes

Wake up and watch her disappear

In the ways that you got here

Can't hold down that memory

Can't get back home

Every night I go to see her show

Dreams and diamonds, rodeos

Chase the girl with a North Star in her eyes

She was all I knew, I guess

Northern lights and a cotton dress

Sixteen years of restlessness and hungry for love

My whole life came down to this

Find a world inside a kiss

Go find the girl with a North Star in her eyes.

- Composers/Lyricists:  Colin Linden, Stephen Fearing, and Tom Wilson

Got distracted

Now I gotta get to bed.

And if you saw him now

It's not like I didn't see this coming.

But on this spring evening, after stumbling across the news, I head towards bed sadly, remembering so many songs.  Many will have their own favourites.  

This one happens to be mine.

 

The old man has come home from the forest.

In the faces of our children

I stumbled across this video this afternoon, and curious, decided to view it. To my astonishment, I found myself in tears.



I don't weep that easily. Mothers can't.

Maybe it's because this is sung by mothers, who also happen to be doctors, and they're in danger, trying to help others in danger.

Anyway, I sat transfixed, while the Resident Fan Boy, who does cry easily, sniffled behind me.

(The song "Rise Again" was written by Nova Scotian Leon Dubinsky, who, coincidentally, appeared in Life Classes, one of my favourite films. The Rankin Family recorded it in 1993, and since then, it's been a Canadian standard.)

Paying attention

 It's my habit to have CBC Mornings on Radio Two playing while I rise and dress. Earlier this week, I was half-listening as I went through my waking rituals, when I found myself tuning in to a particular song, which was neither familiar nor unfamiliar.  This time, I was noticing the voice and its easy gentleness, so I reached for my phone which has the Mornings playlist bookmarked.

William Prince is based in Winnipeg and belongs to the Peguis First Nation, whose members are of Cree and Salteaux/Objiwe descent.  I plan to pay attention to him.

Did I dream this?

In one of the more surreal videos from the eighties, here's Breeding Ground in Toronto from about 1986. Molly Johnson was guest-singing with them, and this was, I think, my first exposure to her.

You'll have to excuse me

Word came down that John Mann has died. This was not unexpected; he was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's not long after the Resident Fan Boy, younger daughter and I saw him perform with the Art of Time's interpretation of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in 2013, almost exactly six years ago. The lead singer for the group "Spirit of the West", he was only 57.

The CBC and other media have been posting tributes all day. I've posted SOTW videos in this blog before, but not this one, which seem to perfectly capture my antagonism for certain places and people:

All packed up, the people gone.
All tucked in, the TV on.
Tonight, a bedroom for myself.
I'm gonna keep my mental health.

I could burn this country down
With the end of a cigarette.
Why do you put up with me?
Why do I put up with this when

I'm not happy to be here.
I'm not happy to meet you.
I couldn't care about your relatives.
No I couldn't give a damn.

I need five free minutes for myself.

All strung out, the reasons gone.
All bent in, and leaned upon/
I give myself a talking to,
Before I turn my tongue on you.

Given time, I've wasted it all.
Smashed my clock against your wall.
Talk is not what makes me tick.
The second hand's the first to stick when

I'm not happy to be here.

The video is filmed at various spots very familiar to Vancouverites. John Mann gave his last official concert in Vancouver in April 2016, but the following video was recorded almost exactly two years ago, on November 19th, 2107 at the legendary Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver. It features some of Canada's best known singers and musicians (listed at the end), and you can see John Mann leading the cavorting in a white shirt in this performance of what is Spirit of the West's most famous song.

I've seen it before, but watching it tonight, I found myself in tears at the end.


You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best
I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left
These so-called vacations will soon be my death
I'm so sick from the drink I need home for a rest

We arrived in December and London was cold
We stayed in the bars along Charing Cross Road
We never saw nothing but brass taps and oak
Kept a shine on the bar with the sleeves of our coats


You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best
I've been gone for a week
I've been drunk since I left
And these so-called vacations
Will soon be my death
I'm so sick from the drink
I need home for a rest

TAKE ME HOME!!!

Euston Station the train journey North
In the buffet car we lurched back and forth
Past old crooked dykes through Yorkshire's green fields
We were flung into dance as the train jigged and reeled

By the light of the moon, she'd drift through the streets
A rare old perfume, so seductive and sweet
She'd tease us and flirt, as the pubs all closed down
Then walk us on home and deny us a round

The gas heater's empty, it's damp as a tomb
The spirits we drank now ghosts in the room
I'm knackered again, come on sleep take me soon
And don't lift up my head 'till the twelve bells at noon

Back in the dark ages

As I continue to build my playlists at Spotify, I must say that I can find almost any song or artist that comes to mind.

There are a few exceptions, though, and so far, they've all been Canadian.

Here is a song I rather liked in the late eighties, although I was a little squeamish contemplating the concept of human flesh under human skin. It's an example of Canadian goth music, I guess, although I suspect people who are into goth music are likely to debate this. Not with me, please.

National Velvet were from Toronto, and flourished between 1985 and 1995.

Writing a letter to myself

In the early days of the new summer, I find myself remembering this delightfully offbeat and aestival video from 1988, all shot in primary colours with people wandering and scampering in the fields in their socks.

Just write a letter and mail it to yourself
Read it out loud but to no one else
Pick your pocket a measure of time
And never leave these memories behind

 

You'll sing 'til tomorrow
And the days that will follow
But it's never the same
When you feel you're insane
On the bed where you lay
There's a plan that was made
But it's never the same
When your hopes go astray

 

Just write a memo, and hang it on your wall
A small reminder of why you're here at all
So look around, and groove to the sound
Let's see those feet rise up from the ground

Now the princess washes dishes
She's done more harm than any good
I am a witness of hugs and kisses
Loneliness is never understood

 

So paint a picture of things that aren't real
Remember shame when it's time to kneel
And don't forget the things that you say
Could all come back to you some other day

I'm not sorry I met you

Last weekend, CBC Music hosted its annual music festival at Echo Beach, Toronto - a place that will have echoes for anyone remembering Martha and the Muffins in 1980.

This year, one of the attractions was Stars, who would be performing their 2004 album Set Yourself on Fire live, from beginning to finish.

I got social media notifications throughout the day, hearing that the weather had turned rather nasty, and rained out a couple of the acts.

However, I got back from whatever I was doing, and tuned into the livestream, because Stars was (were?) on stage.  I'm not that familiar with the order of Set Yourself on Fire, so it took me a few minutes to realize that I'd missed the first song, which was, of course, the very song I wanted to hear.

I enjoyed the set, though.  The musicians moved through a haze that was, I think, a residue of the sudden storm.  Atmospheric, to say the least.

It was clear that there was also a haze of nostalgia.  The audience appeared to be in the 30's to 40s' age range, some hoisting small children onto their shoulders.  The expressions were of joy, and intense longing, these fans hearing songs that had meant so very much to them as teenagers and twenty-somethings.



When this single was released in early December 2005, I wasn't particularly aware of it, although I'm sure I must have heard it, on the periphery of my misery.  It was the end of a stressful and heartbreaking year,  when I had young children of my own, so this song doesn't have the stamp of a particular time and place for me, as it so clearly has for those young-ish adults in the audience at Echo Beach.

I do love the official video for the song.  It is so quintessentially central Canadian, appropriate for a band that has roots in Montreal, though its band members grew up in Toronto.  At the time, I was living five hours from Toronto and two hours from Montreal, so trust me: if you're going to lie down on the ice on a winter's night in central Canada, you'd better be more warmly dressed than Stars are.

Incidentally, the actor who points at us and declares, "When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire" (which, of course, is the title of the album), is the late Douglas Campbell, a venerated stage actor in Canada, who is also the father of lead singer Torquil Campbell (an actor himself).

God, that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said, "Yes I think we've met before."
In that instant, it started to pour.
Captured a taxi despite all the rain.
We drove in silence across Pont Champlain,
And all of that time you thought I was sad,
I was trying to remember your name.

 

This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin.
Tried to reach deep, but you couldn't get in.
Now you're outside me,
You see all the beauty,
Repent all your sin.

It's nothing but time and a face that you lose.
I chose to feel it, and you couldn't choose.
I'll write you a postcard;
I'll send you the news
From a house down the road from real love.

 

Live through this, and you won't look back.

 

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave.
You were what I wanted,
I gave what I gave.
I'm not sorry I met you;
I'm not sorry it's over;
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save

But I can stand a little pain

 CBC Radio "Mornings" has introduced a "Question of the Week".  This week, because everyone is pushing for summer (but how loud will they complain when it gets here?), they're after candidates for the quintessential Canadian summer song.

Their two top contenders are "Summer of '69" and "Call Me Maybe".

Here's my choice:

Well it's hot and it's sticky, 
Think I'll get myself a micky
I'm so parched and dry...

Yep.  I can wait for summer...

It's not your birthday, baby

My birthday, and that of eldest daughter, find themselves on a collision course with Easter every few years. Sometimes it's a direct hit; my birthday has fallen on Easter Sunday three times during my lifetime thus far. Elder daughter had her eighth birthday on Easter Sunday and won't have it again until she's 87. I'll only get another Easter Sunday birthday if I manage to become a centenarian.

However, my birthday this year fell on Easter Monday. The last time it did that was on the day I was born. That made it rather special, and I had a lovely time, thank you very much.

It's not my birthday today, which is one of the reasons I like this song, which has been playing rather a lot on weekday mornings on CBC Radio. When I first encountered it, I heard: "You're gonna hurt yourself; it's not your birthday, baby. If there is nothing wrong, why am I gone so long?"

The correct lyrics are supplied in the following video, and frankly, I don't think they make much more sense. However, I do like the song and the singer - especially the fact that she has a gently self-deprecatory air, which tells me, without checking, that she's Canadian.

If you do check, you'll find she's from Winnipeg.

Ambushed by 2019

Woke up this morning with a start. The Resident Fan Boy had gone to work - back after more than two weeks off, and I realized that it was January 3rd, and the things that seemed so far off during Christmas - aren't.

I bolted out of bed and turned on the radio.

This song, which has been getting a fair bit of airplay on CBC Radio for the past month or so, is about other things that are far off. Hawksley Workman is singing about the towns of Battleford and North Battleford in Saskatchewan, but he grew up in Huntsville, another small town in Ontario, during the 1980s.

Most Canadians growing up in any Canadian town or even city in the latter half of the 20th century, though, will recognize elements of this song.



I feel less panicky this evening. I got a few things done.

Lucky one

Perhaps one of the best Christmas gifts I got this Christmas was an accidental one. Elder daughter introduced me to an app called "Shazam". No doubt you've heard of it -- I certainly hadn't. It's the thing that has been missing all my life. When a song is playing in a coffee shop and I want to know what it is, I just bring up "Shazam" on my phone, and have it "listen". Then, eight times out of ten - it's not perfect - it will not only tell me the song, but it will identify the artist, even if it's a cover version.

No more planting myself as close to the speakers as possible, making notes of what lyrics I can decipher, then waiting until I can get somewhere where I can Google them.

So far there is one song I've "Shazam"ed twice, mainly because I don't watch those "find the next pop star" sort of television competitions. This one is by a fellow named Logan Staats. He's from Brantford, Ontario (the Six Nations, actually), and he was on something on CTV called the Launch. This song keeps coming up on CBC Radio, and makes me say "Who on earth is that?" Now I have an app for that.

Why do they call it the past when it's never past?

I wish the original was available online; it's got a killer clarinet, but this'll do for now.

One star at a time

On the eve of the 150th anniversary of Confederation, Canadians are taking to social media to argue about "the most Canadian song". Well, I've answered this question on the blog, and naturally it's a Tragically Hip song.

But CBC Music decided to ask which was most Canadian: "A Case of You" by Joni Mitchell, or "Bobcaygeon" by the Hip.

I happen to think that "Bobcaygeon" is an Ontarian song; to me, it's all about cottage country, and that's always been out of my reach. Ontarians, bless 'em, think that Ontario is Canada. Some Hip fan told me to "STFU", and a Joni Mitchell fan remonstrated gently with him, saying his response "wasn't very Canadian".

Well, you don't tangle with Hip fans, to whom "Bobcaygeon" is practically a hymn, and I know that the song speaks to a lot of people, some of whom may not even be from Ontario.

Here's a current Canadian song. I don't think it's the most Canadian song ever, but when I hear it, I will think of the spring of 2017. I probably like it because the band is British Columbian, so their music speaks to me.

It's certainly not a hymn either; I apologize in advance for the "F" and "S" bombs - which, come to think of it, is rather Canadian of me.

Beautiful Scars

It is my habit to listen to the CBC Radio Two Morning show as I get up, and during this October, this song is the one that makes me stop what I'm doing.

I've posted about Blackie and the Rodeo Kings before and have explained that they're a kind of super-group, comprised of three highly-respected Canadian singer/songwriters:  Stephen Fearing, Tom Wilson, and Colin Lindon.  This is from a compilation of collaborations with male artists (hence the Kings and Kings - they did a Kings and Queens a few years back), and the collaborator in this case is Dallas Green aka City and Colour, joining in on Tom Wilson's haunting song based on a 2014 novel by Miriam Toews called All My Puny Sorrows,  loosely based on what led up to her sister's suicide.

(Coincidentally, Toews got a degree in journalism at University of King's College -- like elder daughter, though obviously about a quarter of a century earlier.)

About a year and a half ago, Wilson premiered the song on the CBC Radio show "q", with Toews listening.  You should listen, too.  It sounds like a completely different song. Wilson starts performing about four minutes in: 

There she go-oh

Ran out of day again.

When this song comes up on my iPod, I never press the "skip" button.  Jeremy Fisher recorded this in 2007, but I probably heard it a year or so later.

Always late to the party

A couple of weeks ago, Tom Power left his post as host of the CBC Radio Two Morning show to take over "Q", the show formerly hosted by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. This meant, among other things, that the music during Power's final week was particularly arresting.

I was standing in front of the bathroom window when this came on, and I was transfixed. Although it's at least four years old, I don't remember hearing it before.

Maybe it was just my time to hear it.
Not sure why the back-up singers are done up in Sixties mode.

As far as I can tell, there are usually two back-up singers, but the song can work just as well with one back-up singer - if the singer is k.d. Lang, who can sound like a choir on her own.
Of course, the irony is that this performance took place on "Q" - when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was still in charge.