More Jam Sessions

The Black Swan. It was nice to walk into a place and know a few people – and now I’m starting to be introduced to a few more. This time I was invited to jam (even though it’s a bit of an all-star jam) the guests were Carlos Del Junco and Gordie Johnson – the latter is bound to be a big star. He has got more talent than any one person could ever be born with. Anyway, they found a guitar for me (I don’t bring my guitar to these jams – I'm happy just to listen) but this time I played and as usual, it was less than ideal – but I had fun anyway. The guitar was plugged into some little stomp box and I didn’t even realize so there was this weird echo for the first couple of songs. I couldn’t begin to list the credentials of all the players – the bass was some kind of local legend and the piano player, John Cleveland Hughes, had been working with B.B. King.

Playing with Gene Taylor

Blue Willow got a return engagement at The Ploughman but I had to sub for them because Dawn had a family emergency. This time I called Mike Fitzpatrick and he suggested Clint or Gary Kendall but when I said it would be nice to have a piano – he suggested Gene Taylor. I said “Whey not start at the top?” and sure enough, we got him. What an evening. He gets a little surly towards the end of the night, but we had some great moments. Gene had used up both his and my complimentary beer tickets by the second set and spent a good chunk of his pay running up a tab for the rest of the evening. I've heard that at Fabulous Thunderbird gigs there was a rider in the contract for a cooler of beer to be placed next to the piano.

“Some Drinkin’ Song" was great and Gene carried most of the show. I asked him if he knew Chicken Cordon Blues by Steve Goodman and he said “No, I never heard of no Steve Goodman. Benny Goodman! And I know everything Jimmy Reed ever wrote”. We stepped out for the last set, and I must have been in a pretty “improvisational” mood because as he sang a tune about a “mean mistreater” I was reminded of a similar tune I used to do and when he signaled me for a guitar break I just started singing my song. I told him how sorry I was, that I didn’t know what got into me but he didn’t mind – he said “You were on it, man. You had it”. As the third set ended there was a table right in front that were really getting into the music – they were really blown away that they just walked into this bar and heard such a phenomenal blues piano player. I start saying “Well, stick around for the next set and you’ll hear more of the same” – I saw Gene sort of waving but I kept up the rapport with this couple at the table, taking there requests for the next set, not noticing the dirty looks from Gene. Finally the girl behind the bar rings this huge bell and shouts out “Last Call!” I’m thinking “Last call, already???” then I look over at Gene and he’s saying “It’s Over, Man. That’s it!” I guess I could have played all night. This is what I have to strive for – more playing situations like this one. This one was positively blissful.

Jay McShann

Montreal Bistro. Saw Jay McShann, the Kansas City piano pioneer – now in his 70’s playing in the Montreal Bistro with Jim Galloway and bassist Neil Swainson. Jay would be playing along and right in the middle of something he would just stop and listen to the bass – and the bass always found something interesting to say. At one point, a small sheet of music kept flying off as he played some barrelhouse boogie woogie and he would always catch it with his left hand and you never heard the slightest difference because he incorporated the lack of a left hand into what he was playing on his right hand so transparently and instinctively – it all seemed like part of the song – one time the sheet just wouldn’t stay put so he had to replace it two or three times and did it with a slightly comedic effect (although it was more like he saw the humour in the whole thing but he wasn’t about to let on). I was standing at the back of the club talking to Rosemary Galloway and he came up and said hello to her – she knew to talk loud into his left ear.

Dance Hall Girls

The Black Swan. Dropped in to the Wednesday Night Jam after catching an early set of Michael Katz at a yuppie bar with a ceiling covered with stained glass lamps. They were hanging so close together that they had to be staggered so they wouldn’t knock each other. Imagine sitting there and listening to some stranger singing “Dance Hall Girls”. I can remember the day I came home from work and Allan played me the song “Look what I just wrote” and when was that? 1968? Anyway, they played the song on Gzowski and Allan got two calls to turn it on. Now I’ve got a tape to send him because the song is on Katz’s independent cassette (which he kept trying to sell me – he says it cost him $25,000 – but he finally gave me one to send to Allan. I just listened – he’s got “If I Were a Carpenter” on there too. Folk music lives. While in that club I approached John Punter, a producer friend of Michael’s who lived in England and produced Roxy Music and others. I mentioned that I knew this organization called Operation Go Home that helps runaways get back home – and that I had a perfect song that could be recorded by the group we had heard the week before at the Horseshoe – they were called “The Blame” and I’m sure they could cover my tune “Runaway”. So I’ve got to get him a tape.

The Ultrasound

Ultrasound was a real showcase room on Queen Street West. It was owned by the group that included Marcus O'Hara and Dan Aykroyd. Sandra Tooze took some time out from working on her biography of Muddy Waters to take me out to see Chris Duarte, the next “Stevie Ray” direct from Austin, Texas. He was a great guitar player, but somehow there was something missing. I guess his original material wasn’t strong enough – but he might just end up being the next “Jimi”. He sure had the girls swooning.

The Zydeco

Another choice gig at a happening venue, and once again I sensed the presence of lots of guitar players. Teddy Leonard, my favorite, was having dinner with friends and was there most of the night (I saw him at Chicago’s a week later and he did mention that he enjoyed the music). Before the last set I stepped out for a little air, and came back to enjoy the set doubly. Driving home with Dawn, she mentioned that she had fun on the last set – I said I really had fun and she knew why but she wasn’t critical except to say that some of the songs got counted in fast. The next night, we did the same thing and I attempted to do “Girlfriend Blues” at about twice the speed I normally had – In fact, I completely changed the arrangement. Lorraine was still trying to fit in a lick that would never work at that speed and at the end of the night she confronted me and said she didn’t “appreciate what I had done” and that the whole last set was a “train wreck”. She even thought the previous night was bad, but she didn’t say anything. I told her she should have said something then. And I said if my performance was going to suffer, I wouldn’t do it any more.

Albert’s Hall

This was a great way to start the New Year. A gig at Albert’s “It’s not a bar, it’s a legend” Hall. It was the first time we’ve played five nights in a row and you would think that I would just keep getting better but I realized, especially after hearing the tapes, that I was getting a little stale. Still, if you play it with conviction and don’t get sloppy, you’re the only one that knows it’s stale. The first couple of nights there were lots of musicians in the crowd – slightly intimidating. Then on the first night I broke two strings in the first set. There was a columnist from the Sun at the gig and she took some pictures and interviewed Dawn and Lorraine. When the picture appeared in the Saturday Star, it was of Dawn alone and she was disappointed that Lorraine didn’t appear in the picture or get mentioned in the article. When I saw the reporter a week later she said she couldn’t get a decent picture of Lorraine (she was in the dark) but that she had almost used a picture of me. I said it’s a very good thing that she didn’t.

Pastificio’s

Dawn is still not back, so Lorraine and I got Mark “Bird” Stafford to sit in, and he did a great job too. This is the same room I had played the day the Blue Jays won their pennant and the streets were packed with people (the club wasn’t, though). This time it was packed, they are next door to Phantom of the Opera so they get the crowd as they leave the theatre.

El Mocombo

Benefit for Sick Kids organized by Dave Glover of Sizzling Productions (he produces instructional guitar videos). This was not what you would call running smooth. First of all it was poorly attended. The Casby Awards were the same night, but that’s not exactly the blues crowd. Anyway, I went to check out some of the local blues guitarists that I hadn’t heard yet. Tony D. was set to open the show (which was set to start at 8 p.m.). At 9:30 Tony D. walks on stage. We get ready for some music. Then Tony D. gets his coat from behind the amp, puts it on, and leaves the stage. The club was not full, but there were a lot of people who had been waiting a long time. Ten minutes later he appears with his guitar, plugs in, sets up – then leaves the stage. Finally, he takes the stage and his female bassist/singer launches into some rocking (sizzling) blues. Donny Walsh of Downchild sat in and sang a song that should have been called “How many times can I sing ‘been so long’”? All the sizzling guitar playing seemed to melt together at a certain point and by the time Jack deKeyzer took the stage, I had reached telecaster overdose. I was glad to stick it out to the end of deKeyzer’s set because it was something to see him blaze through his finale undeterred by not one but two broken strings.

The Ploughman

Last night Dawn got a call that her father had a heart attack and she raced back to Quebec in the middle of the night. Lorraine called me at 3 a.m. to tell me that we’d have to find a sub for our gig the next night. After going through a lot of options, it finally occurred to me that I needed the money and I had some sort of priority. Lorraine didn’t want to do it because she was still sick with the flu, but I volunteered that I could do it with Steve, the piano player I used at Chicago’s. I told Rosemary, the agent, that I could do it with Steve but he bowed out (didn’t want to move his piano, he had a dinner planned with his girlfriend). She was a little miffed when I called her back to say I wouldn’t be doing it, but then she called in another group – but they couldn’t find the drummer and the leader of that group said he’d do it with me as a duo. We actually met at the stage and did a first set which was fine through on song before I realized I was reading the wrong chart – and at about that moment he launched into a single string solo leaving me to play the chords, which I had not figured out at all. Then I couldn’t pronounce his name, Peter Ochipinti (“Just Peter” he finally said). He had a huge repertoire and the only request he didn’t fill was “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”.

Robert Cray at Massey Hall

Massey Hall. Just when you thought nothing new could be done with an electric guitar, along comes Sonny Landreth, a young guitar wizard from Louisiana whose style involves weird tunings, hammering on both sides of his slide and a barrage of effects that provide a sound that is bordering on feedback but always perfectly in control. He opened for Robert Cray at Massey Hall on October 14th providing a stark contrast with Cray’s studied sweet sound. A couple of days later, Tom Principato was in town playing the highest notes you’ll ever hear at the Horseshoe. He follows in the footsteps of fellow D.C.-area guitar players Roy Buchanan and Danny Gatton as heir-apparent to the title ‘world’s greatest unknown guitarist’, partly because of his association with Gatton (they recorded an album called “Blazing Telecasters” together). The real surprise for those lucky enough to catch Daisy DeBolt at the Free Times Café, was her guitarist Fred Guignon, a lanky Lyle Lovett lookalike with a sense of dynamics that matches her soaring vocals. He is a mainstay of the Ottawa Music scene and one of the most inventive guitarists to come out of that part of the country. It was a great week for guitar groupies, four days in a row of fine blues guitar. Sonny Landreth has carved his place in guitar history by finding yet another entirely new way to play the electric guitar.

I last saw Cray at Ontario Place on a night when he was breaking strings, out of tune and not having a good time. Well this time he still seemed to be a little out of sorts, although he wasn’t having a technical problems. He seemed to resent people shouting requests and when one fan rushed up between songs and laid out a T-Shirt on the stage in front of him, he just scooped it out of the way without acknowledgement. Cray must worry that his songs are starting to sound the same (the lyrics all seem to be telling a variation on the same story) because he is going out of his way to create chords and voicing which sound very different and occasionally right over the edge. His guitar sound was not processed much except for a cluster of vintage Fender black-face amps. The most inventive of the lot was probably Ottawa guitarist Fred Guigon. He used his basic set-up (compressor-to-distortion-to-delays-to-chorus-wah-volume pedal) to create dynamics that accented Daisy’s soaring vocals. On Sunday, Tom Principato was appearing for a free show at the Horseshoe on World Series Sunday Night. His playing isn’t at all like Gatton, using lots of sustain and he seems quite comfortable when the sound is bordering on feedback. Despite a small crowd, he played some screaming guitar and had a sound and a style of his own.

Harbourfront Soul & Blues Festival

The Soul ‘n Blues Festival was a great success despite a few scares. Sue Foley didn’t call when she was delayed for her Sunday afternoon performance and Derek Andrews had already lined up Morgan Davis to take her place but she showed up in the nick of time and played a perfunctory set (how bluesy can you get in the midday sun?) The headliner was Etta James who arrived in the midst of a storm of controversy because she refused to play at a gospel festival in Halifax because the payment was presented as a certified cheque and not U.S. cash as stipulated in the contract. The front of her tour bus said it all – “SHOVE IT”, and she gave the most lewd and rude performance that the new stage at Harbourfront will ever see. Etta, who is very large, was tugging at her waistband and putting out more bumps and grinds than you would see at a girlie show. The band’s opening tune was spectacular with a flashy performance by the Hammond Organ – pretending he had a stuck note and whacking the keyboard with his towel. He bore a striking resemblance to Michael Fonfara, a local organist who did a great job leading the band that backed up Solomon Burke. (Fonfara plays in the Gold Tops with my favorite drummer, Mike Fitzpatrick, and I recalled my first meeting with him when he was rehearsing a band called Blackstone at a place I was living 20 years ago on Richmond Street. Also featured at the bluesfest was Montreal legend Penny Lang, whom I had just spent a very pleasant evening with as Allan Fraser’s place on Covey Hill in Quebec. She did two great sets – hypnotizing the crowd into a blissful state that was so subtle that no one realized it until the PA cut out in the middle of a song and we all crashed down to earth. Penny just kept playing and the sound was soon restored. Lorraine played a solo set in the boogie-woogie piano workshop and did a great job – she rehearsed continuously for weeks before.

Montreal Jazz Festival

A couple of days after trying to catch a couple of tunes by Danny Gatton at the “Shoe” (without paying the $18. cover) I find myself walking down de Maisoneuve Street in Montreal as the sound of his signature tune “Elmira Street” is wafting in the air. Danny is know as the world’s greatest unknown guitarist (a title formerly held by Roy Buchanan). Before Danny, I had the opportunity to see a Montreal guitar legend, Jorn Reisner but he was a bit of a disappointment. He was quite cantankerous with the audience, stopping a song in the middle because he was tired of singing it, and then subjecting the blues audience to a series of Dylanesque depressing songs about being a “railroad bum” and living at “the bottom where the sun don’t ever shine”. I turned to the person next to me and said “I think we’re about to see a living legend self-destruct right before our eyes”. He didn’t, but halfway through the set his old Fender amp began screeching. It segued nicely into the deliberate screeching of Gatton’s guitar an hour or two later. Gatton was phenomenal, and his horn/keyboard player was the ultimate utility man. An incredible showman in his own right. I also saw Wild Child Butler performing with a bunch of white kids struggling to keep up with this old black guy.

Chicago's

Now here I am playing Chicago’s with Blue Willow – and a guarantee. I parked illegally on the street and went in to ask if there was a parking area behind the club and the waiter said just to park in the lot next to the building. “The hot dog vendor will try to get you to pay him, but just ignore him” he said. Well I pulled right in past his cart and parked the car and, sure enough, he was walking towards me saying “Four Dollars”. I said I was playing at Chicago’s and he launched into a tirade about how he was paying rent for the whole area but I just walked by him with my camera because there was a concert going on down the street and I wanted to get some pictures. Now he was really puzzled. . . “You’re not in the band!!!” he’s screaming at me but I just nodded and kept on walking. I came back a few minutes later and blamed him for delaying me so long that I missed my photo opportunity. Then I unloaded my equipment and he didn’t say another word. I’m learning how to turn the tables on these Toronto hot-dog vendors. Mike Fitzpatrick was playing drums with us and since he was doing a gig with L.A. guitarist “Guitar Shorty”, Shorty came by the club with Doran Katz to meet him. Shorty is known as the guitarist who can do flips while he plays a solo, and when I saw his performance, I was sitting too far back to see the actual summersault – I’m told he didn’t quite make it.

KD's Blues Bar, Markham

Our last gig at KD’s. It seems they will be changing their policy and judging from the heavy looking guys that were lurking in the back stairs, it may be an offer they can’t refuse. . . Jonathan came by with a couple of his upwardly mobile friends and they were getting loaded and full of wisecracks. Next day Jonathan shows up at my house with a framed picture under his arm. It seems that one of his friends had ripped it off the wall and walked out with it. Jonathan said he got into a fight with the guy about it. Anyway, I was too embarrassed to take it back to the club – and in any case the new owner probably couldn’t care less for the picture. I just held onto it thinking sometime I might run into the rightful owner.

A message from the grave

It’s Wednesday night and I’m listening to Dr. Feelgood’s Blues Emporium, a radio show on CKLN with David Barnard, whom I met at the “Blues With A Feeling” event, and he’s interviewing Mark “Bird” Stafford. Bird is a real friendly fellow, and he booked Blue Willow into Chicago’s – the first blues bar I ever played at in Toronto. That was when I came through town five or six years ago. At that time I was hired by a guy called Robin Harp, who is considered a bit of a flake around town these days, but I went in on a Monday Night in the middle of a beer strike and played to an almost empty house. That was the first and only time I played in Toronto with my “one-man-blues-band” set-up and it came off OK even though I realized then that I was still not ready for prime time. That was the background for a truly “mystical” experience.
It seems that in the few days that transpired from the time I got the gig to the day I appeared, Robin had asked a girl that worked behind the bar to make a poster. I hadn’t left a picture and I don’t imagine he had given her a description of me because when I arrived for the gig there was a hand-drawn poster of a “Colorblind” that looked nothing like me, but looked exactly like my recently deceased father. The same chin, moustache wearing a cap just like he always wore. I was floored. I could only assume it was my father sending me a message from the grave that it was OK for my to play music (he never approved while he was living).

Southern Comfort Discover the Blues Festival

An unprecedented publicity blitz for a blues event and great media coverage seemed to generate the self-fulfilling prophecy that the blues was undergoing another revival. Unfortunately, it was happening on the same weekend as Daisy DeBolt’s gig at the Free Times and I had promised to be her roadie/soundman. I wasn’t planning to go to the big-ticket concerts (little did I know that the Blues Society had put me on the list for a special pass). On Friday night I set up Daisy at the club and listened to her first set (which she belted out with reckless abandon – and paid for with a hoarse voice on the Saturday night). Then I made a run over to the El Mocambo which was just around the corner because I wanted to hear Jimmy Rodgers, the legendary guitarist that worked with Muddy for many years. At the gate I asked if I was on the guest list and I wasn’t, but I talked my way in and the band was already on stage. Unfortunately, Jimmy was not and it was one of those scenes where the band plays an interminable opening set before the “star” appears. After the third song (and still no Jimmy) I figured I better check on Daisy, and was it lucky that I did! Just as I walked into the Free Times I heard my name being called from the stage. They were having trouble with the amp and Daisy was calling “Brian, Brian!” I fixed it and listened to another great set by Daisy. Then I went back to catch Jimmy’s last set and heard some terrific tunes even though Jimmy himself didn’t play enough guitar to suit me. He’s not a young man and as he walked by me to take the stage he chugged half a snifter of cognac and on the way off joined some hyperactive groupies in a little two-step. My friend Sandra who is working on an autobiography of Muddy Waters wanted to be sure he would live long enough to give her interview. I reckon he will. On the Saturday night, I slipped away and hear the remarkable Solomon Burke. They call him the King of Rock ‘n Soul and you can see why. He sang his own hits (”If You Want Me, Call Me. . .”) and did entirely authentic versions of songs by Otis Redding and Sam Cooke. He had his 19-year old son at his side throughout the performance, wiping his brow and handing him roses to throw into the audience. The band that had been assembled here in Toronto was the cream of white Canadian kids who came up on R&B (Michael Fonfara on piano trading off with a terrific organist). The horns were great, and Solomon obviously enjoyed their playing, pulling them out to the front of the stage and sticking his vocal mike into the bell. When he asked the guitar player to step forward in the middle of his solo, he began tugging at this left sleeve until he had pulled of the guy’s jacket. It’s incredible that the kid was able to keep playing, but he kept up a good sense of humour about it.

Albert’s Hall

When I left off in last year’s blues diary, I was waiting to hear if I would appear on the Stormy Monday TV Show. Well I can report now that I didn’t make the cut. I ran into the producer, David Bailey, at a party and he was the one who broke it to me. “Sorry we couldn’t use your song. It sort of fell apart in the middle.” But to speed things forward to the end of February, 1992, I find myself at the Toronto Blues Society’s annual Guitar Workshop at Albert’s Hall and it feels a little different this time around. For one thing, I know a few people. I have been working on the Blues Society Newsletter for the last few months and this time I am arriving with the draft of the new issue of the newsletter so I now find myself in the company of the movers and shakers of the Blues Society, busily chatting with people.

Long John in Toronto

Many years after meeting the legendary Long John Baldry I was invited to play guitar for him at a club gig outside Toronto, subbing for Papa John King and Butch Coulter was on harp. There was no rehearsal – when you play with a legend you're expected to be familiar with their repertoire – but the gig went fine. I remember after the first tune, he leaned over and said "you'll have to turn down that amp, young man" which I did, of course. When it was time to be paid he gave me more than we had agreed but made me sign numerous receipts and documents (with carbon copies!)



Superstars Nightclub, 1992. At some point during the winter I had gone to see Butch Coulter playing with Long John Baldry at some cavernous club called Superstars. The sound was atrocious and from what the boys in the band said, it was even worse on stage. I was chatting with Butch and Kathi Macdonald in the corridor which ran under the stage because Baldry was “schmoozing” with the folks from Southern Comfort about being their spokesman or something. Well, that didn’t quite materialize, but six months later, Southern Comfort was sponsoring a week-end blues festival in Toronto and Baldry was playing the Horseshoe on their “Blues Roadhouse” night. One blues traditionalist who caught the first set said the band was “awful” and there was no Papa John King and no Butch – not even Kathi, the only familiar face was Rick Morrison on sax, and I suppose he put together the band in Toronto because their wasn’t enough of a budget to fly in everybody for a one-niter.

Meeting Kathi McDonald

Here's a photo taken 15 years after I met Kathi McDonald - I'm with Kathi and Butch Coulter backstage during our concert tour of Germany (2007). Photo by Otto Tymer

I'm in Montreal in a little hole-in-the-wall blues bar on "The Main" (Boul. St. Laurent) called the “G-Sharp". A couple of days ago I had been sitting with Kathi Mcdonald and her guitarist John King at the Horseshoe watching Amos and now I was in Montreal and had a chance to see them play with my old buddy Butch Coulter. I went by the club but found Kathi in not-so-great-shape and as soon as Butch saw me he asked if I wanted to play a few tunes (to take some of the load off of Kathi). Well, I did a couple of tunes and I guess we pulled it off, but I always have a little trouble with Butch’s Telecaster (I know it was Tom Lavin’s Tele but I still have a little trouble feeling comfortable with it). Fresh from my shot on the bandstand in Montreal, I was back in the Eastern Townships and sat in with a bunch of boys that were still in grammar school when I was playing around there. Both guitar players, Kevin Groves and Jeff Coates played great and now they look pretty old and grizzled themselves – you can imagine how old that made me feel. . .

The Horseshoe

Speaking of legendary guitar players, I had the opportunity to see Amos Garrett with Maria Muldaur at the Horseshoe. He played exquisitely, but even Amos had a little glitch with the solo on “Midnight at the Oasis”. That’s forgivable considering there’s hardly a guitar player who would even attempt it. But poor Amos was positively cringing as Maria gushed on about how lucky we were to have Amos as a Canadian and that wherever she went around the world people would always ask “Who played that guitar solo?”, etc., etc. And as she was going on and on, Amos was chain-smoking at the back of the stage till he had practically disappeared into the cloud.

The Bermuda Onion

The Toronto Blue’s Society’s “Blues with a Feeling” Award dinner and show at the Bermuda Onion, one of the classiest blues venues in town. It’s in a fancy complex call the “Colonade” and serves pricey meals and weak cocktails but presents some world-class artists one would not see otherwise. This evening the Toronto Blues Society was honoring Jodie Drake (with a heartfelt tribute by Jani Lauzon) and they tied it in with the appearance of Otis Rush. Jodie played a few tunes backed up by Gordie Johnson and Big Sugar followed by a slightly disappointing show by the “Legendary Otis Rush”. You know he’s legendary because all the members of his band wear satin jackets imprinted with “The Legendary Otis Rush Blues Band”. And if his legend is to let his band play most of the show, play a few great leads and even fewer vocals, then he lived up to it. The trouble with these “legends” is that they think all they have to do is show up. But there were some great moments. The drummer was all over his kit, but oh so musical, with the hi-hat almost ripping over and sticks flying. And when Otis was bending those strings in a way that is hard to duplicate unless you play a normally strung guitar left-handed like he does, I couldn’t help but notice Big Sugar guitarist Gordie Johnson watching oh-so-carefully and trying to figure how to re-create those bends.

Those lights don’t make me nervous

Back at Albert’s Hall, Danny Marks had invited me to do some of my own tunes on Stormy Monday. But when he came around to my table he said there were a lot of people waiting to go on and since I had already been on the show with Blue Willow, it wasn’t fair to put me on again. But he put my name at the bottom of the list and even though it was my inclination to leave right then and there, I stuck around till the bitter end, and was rewarded for my persistence. He called me up to the stage saying I would nag him to death if he didn’t. I played my “TV Blues” and he got a kick out of it and invited me to come back for the taping.

The next Monday, I came back to play. As the song goes “Those lights don’t make me nervous, I can really take the heat. . .”, but I was getting a little anxious by the time Danny called me to the stage. The talent that night was pretty hot, even the harp player (and I don’t mean harmonica, or even a Celtic Harp. This was a lady playing the blues on an orchestral harp). Anyway, I had this bright idea that I would get some audience participation at the end of my song. Ever try to get participation from a blues-jam audience? I saw the TV director for Rogers at a party a few weeks later and he said “Sorry, we weren’t able to use your song. . . it sort of fell apart in the middle”. Oh well. I saw my appearance with Blue Willow from the previous week and the production values are fine. Interesting to note that the night we were on TV was the first Friday night we didn’t have a gig. We got fired because some regular at the club (probably one with a big tab) complained that he was sick of hearing the same songs.

Down Town Browne’s

Dropped in on another jam and heard the end of the acoustic jam which is run by Eddie Baltimore. He played great guitar and his jam was followed by the electric jam hosted by Doreen Smith, a powerhouse singer. Didn’t participate but I ran into Danny Marks and dropped by across the street to hear him at Crooks. Danny was doing a set of obscure 60’s tunes (“Pipeline”, “These Boots Are Made For Walkin”???). Anyway, I ran into “The Balls” again and we all headed to Grossmans to catch the end of the jam over there. This band looks like a bunch of Norse Gods escorting a princess and Timo, the leader of the group, complimented me on my guitar playing and rode with me to Grossmans. When we walked in, they were received like European Royalty. . . kisses and hugs and the next time I looked at Timo, he had a girl on each arm. He asked me to sit with them, but they were called to the stage almost immediately and I guess I got lost in the shuffle. But he was most apologetic afterwards – a real gentleman in caveman’s clothing. Maybe that what the ladies found so appealing. As I left the club, I could hear the crowd chanting “More Balls, More Balls”.

Songwriter’s Workshop at Clinton’s

Well, maybe breaking a string at Albert's Hall wasn’t such a disaster, after all. Danny didn’t want me to use the Fender guitar that was displayed on the stage (it’s going to be some kind of prize, I guess). He says “you don’t want to use that guitar – it’s not set up, it’s not in tune. . .” Well, what the hell is it doing on the stage??? Anyway, Gayle Ackroyd had been sitting next to me in the audience and she offers me her Telecaster so I managed with that – I haven’t seen the video yet, but I hope the camera wasn’t on me when I took a solo on the Tele, because when I flicked the switch to the treble position and start to play, there was no sound so I missed the first part of the solo. Anyway, back to Gayle Ackroyd. The following night I was going to see Pinetop Perkins, but the show was cancelled and I remembered Gayle saying that she conducted a songwriter’s workshop so I popped in there and found a small room with a dozen middle-aged bearded guys with their guitar cases and Gayle. She didn’t recognize me from Albert’s Hall but she did invite me to sing a couple of songs and when I did it went over very well (one guy came up and said “Where the hell have you been?” But the reality came striking home when the waitress came around collecting the $3.00 cover charge. I said “but I’m performing. . .” and she says “It’s still three dollars!” I think I have just climbed aboard the “pay-to-play” circuit. Then Gayle invites me to be the featured performer in two weeks. “Great” I say, “and, uh. . . how much would one be paid for that?”. . . She looks slightly embarrassed and says there’s no money. “Do I still have to pay the three dollars?” I ask. And she’s relieved to tell me that I won’t have to pay that. I may even try to wrangle a free beer. Big Time.

This town has Blues Jams happening every night in one bar or the other, and now I know why. The club only has to pay one person and they get ten others playing for free. Not only that, they charge you admission and expect you to pay the full rate for beer. Actually, I was told that at Grossmans, if you do a good set the host will bring around a tray of beers (but you don’t get to say what kind you want – in fact, I bet they just collect the beers that are left on tables, top them up, and then pass them out to the musicians).

Real life Blues Vignette: On the first warm day in a while, I look out my window to see a little local colour. Some fifty-year old fart has taken out his big white convertible (with the top down) and put on his Florida outfit (white shoes & pants – I don’t think he was wearing an ascot but it looked like he should). Anyway, he has parked his big boat right at the streetcar stop – everyone knows that’s an instant ticket. I see his lady friend coming out of the Shamrock Tavern. She is young, blonde and busty and as she is getting in the passenger seat, she sees the ticket on the windshield (I told you so). She gets out of the car, tears the ticket in half with a great flourish and throws it on the ground. Then she thinks better of it and picks up the two halves, looks at them this time, then throws them into the back seat as her fella comes back to the car and they drive off. Do you think they paid the ticket?

Stormy Monday at Albert’s Hall

Then came a chance to play at Toronto’s other blues shrine (you can tell a blues shrine from all the framed pictures of all the blues luminaries who have played there). And this time it will be on TV. Danny Marks has a show called “Stormy Monday” which airs on Rogers Cable. No one is paid (presumably Danny gets something) and the shows are recycled to death on the Toronto cable and then shipped out west where they provide more “exposure” for struggling blues artists. We did the rehearsal last Monday but I dropped in with a friend on the previous Monday to see the first taping (not knowing I’d be on the bill myself). We arrived just as they were about to start filming, and we were escorted by Danny Marks himself to a table at the front (I guess they didn’t want an empty table at the front). We were seated next to a local performer that I have seen play and so I leaned over to ask him if he knew who was on the bill. He said “Oh, this is an all-star jam so there’s Danny and me and, eh, some other people”. That was my introduction to “Steven C”. I never did get to see him play that night but the following week I saw him do a harp duet (blues harp with “real” harp), a lady called Joanna Jordan.

That first night, I saw a string of female performers who just kept trying to outdo themselves steaming up the camera lens. It was something to see, and prompted me to compliment the first singer, Linda Partington, on her subtle interpretation of “Love me like a Man”. All of these women were outdone on the latest show by Rita Chiarelli who was almost falling out of her halter top and a wild group from Finland called “The Balls” which featured a sequined female singer who had learned Elvis songs phonetically ("Biga Biga Biga Hunk Lova") and rubbed up against Danny during his solos. A true cultural exchange. I had brought by Stratocaster for the rehearsal (since one of the event’s sponsors is Fender Guitars) but at the last minute I decided to take my Epiphone. Big mistake. I broke a string on the first tune. I bet Fender had a curse on every guitar that wasn’t’ built by them.

My first blues jam in Toronto

Now that I’ve played a gig at the legendary Black Swan, I decide to drop in at the regular Saturday All-Star jam session. I have not gotten the feeling that Toronto musicians are very hospitable – it seems that no-one is really happy to see another musician that’s going to take up valuable space on stage. As my old blues buddy Butch Coulter joked in one of his tirades “Welcome to Toronto – Wipe that smile off your face”. Anyway, Lorraine puts in a good word for me and I am included in the lineup for the second set. When I knew we were about to go on, I had to make a short trip to the washroom and when I got back upstairs everyone was on stage. I went directly to the stage and was pointed in the direction of a vintage Fender Amp in the corner. I plugged it in but alas, no sound. I’m turning knobs and leaning over the back of the amp looking for a standby switch thinking “This is some kind of initiation. If you can’t find the standby switch on a twenty year old Fender amp, then you’re not allowed to play the blues. At least not in this town”. While I’m thinking about all this and trying to get some sound, I hear “Ah on-two-three-four” and the band is playing. I was near the PA mixer so I just found an empty strip, plugged into that and cranked it up. I watched the next guitar player who got up and I couldn’t hear him doing a thing, although his hands were moving. I guess he knew more about the etiquette of jamming – pretend everything is alright (even when it isn’t), look cool and never have eye contact with anyone on the stage.

A couple of weeks later I went by again, this time with no intention of playing, but just to meet someone. In the washroom, I ran into Gary Kendall, the organizer of the jams (and on of the leading blues bookers in town) and although he didn’t recognize me right away, as soon as he did place me, he invited me to sit in on the next set. This time I used the guitar that was there and that was fine. I played for quite a while, mostly laying low in the background but then one of the singers called “The Thrill is Gone” and they asked if I wanted the solo. I said sure, then as someone was counting it in, Gary turns to me and says “The solo’s at the top”. I had just enough time to figure out the key and managed to play an introductory solo without any goofs. Phew. I left the stage after a set with a guitarist who had an armload of effects pedals and played with the guitar behind his back. And to further amplify the myth of the greasy blues bar, my jacket was stolen from the table where I was sitting. Another initiation, I guess. The most positive aspect, though, was a terrific horn player called Sax Gordon who was in town with Luther “Guitar” Johnson and who put us on the guest list for the Sunday Night at the Bermuda Onion. There Lorraine and I got to hear a blues show that was as good as it gets. Machine-gun delivery with exceptional musicians, especially the piano player, Joe Crown. Luther played with Muddy Waters and Joe has capture and added the piano sound epitomized by Pine Top Perkins.

My first gig in Toronto

Finally, after all these months in Toronto, my first paying gig. And it’s at the Black Swan, a veritable shrine to the Blues in Toronto. How did I come to be in this place? I was just hanging out in the backroom office/studio in the rear of my wife’s T-Shirt shop/studio in Sutton, Quebec. One afternoon Linda came back with a client who had mentioned she was a singer in Toronto. I welcomed her in and even played her a tune I had just written. She asked for a tape of it and I made one on the spot. Her name was Dawn DuVall and she was just starting to play around Toronto with a group called Blue Willow. The song was called “Dump That Lump”. As it turns out, a few months later when I found myself living in Toronto (was that song prophetic or what?) and was invited to sit in with the band. We played around the beaches a few times and now we were stepping into the blues circuit.

The gig went fine, and in the process, I made the acquaintance of a couple of the heavy hitters on the Toronto Blues Scene. After we had finished the first set, I was changing a string and worrying about breaking more because every time I broke a string I had to switch over to my Strat and my little Cube amp was not loud enough. So when I saw this fellow rolling in a Fender Super Reverb amp I thought it was my prayers being answered. I had barely been introduced to Michael Pickett when I asked him if I could use the amp. I got a rather surly look that seemed to go on forever at which point I said “Hey forget it . . .” but I guess he felt sorry for me when he looked down at my little 20-watt Cube amp. “That’s not an amp,” he kept saying, pointing at it. He didn’t exactly laugh, but he did lighten up a bit. Finally he said I could use the amp (I didn’t realize until later that this was his harp amp and he sure didn’t want some heavy metal guitarist blasting through it). After the first tune of the set, he walked across the dance floor to the edge of the stage and signaled me to come closer. Then he said quietly in my ear: “First of all, take your beer of my amp.” Oooops! Then he told me where to put the amp when I was through and walked out. That was not my only encounter with a walking, talking Toronto blues legend during our gig at the Swan. At one point in the middle of the set, Donny Walsh, “Mr. Downchild” of the Downchild Blues Band walked right up on the stage, asked what key the song was in then sat in on a couple of more tunes (One of the was “Dump The Lump”). I actually didn’t think he’d remember very much about that evening except for the startling resemblance between pianist Lorraine Ingle and the late Jane Vasey, Donnie’s former keyboard player and significant other who died of leukemia a few years back.

The gig came of very well, considering we were playing a rather large room without the benefit of bass and drums. Anyway, the doorman said he liked it and I gather that means a lot.

Women's Blues Revue at The Diamond

Saw some great blues performers at the “Women’s Blues Revue” sponsored by the Toronto Blues Society. Arranged to meet Marilyn Churley and her husband Doug MacDonald. I hadn’t seen Marilyn since the days in St. Henri when her daughter Astra was just born. Now Astra was a teenager – and a very high-profile teenager as the subject of a documentary film called “Talk 16”. Marilyn was a newly elected NDP member of the legislature, soon to be Minister of Consumer and Corporate Affairs. The concert didn’t exactly get of to a raging start (and it should have considering it was such a late start – something about coordinating it so that Salome Bey could be filmed by CITY-TV). I never did see those TV cameras, though. It was Salome that really got it going. I should say the highlight of the evening was a young singer called Amanda Marshall who was terrific (I just heard she is no being managed by the Jeff Healey organization). Ellen McIllwaine, who never fails to knock out a crowd despite the worse case of techno-karma that I have ever run into in the Canadian music scene. I have never seen her do a gig where something didn’t blow up, break or go out of tune. Still, her pioneering efforts with sound processing devices should assure her a place in some future hall of fame. And this time everything went fine.