Massey Celebration
Hey Everybody!
On May 23rd, we (The Lightfoot Band) participated in a fabulous show at Massey Hall, celebrating Gordon Lightfoot’s memory and music.
We had Tom Wilson singing “Cold On The Shoulder”, Meredith Moon (Gord’s daughter) with Serena Ryder doing “If You Could Read My Mind”, Tom Cochrane with “The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald” and Dallas Green (City And Colour) singing “Sundown”.
We reunited with our old friend and bandmate Pee Wee Charles, playing the pedal steel guitar.
In the second half, we rested while another band and some solo artists, like Burton Cummings, took over. Surprise guests Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson from Rush played The Way I Feel with the well-known Canadian band Blue Rodeo.
At the end, we were all on stage singing Summerside Of Life again with Blue Rodeo.
It was a great tribute, and the CBC filmed it for a July 1st Canada Day special.
And Now….. A Bit Of Editorializing
Everyone did a great job…… but we absolutely crushed it. We really should have been the closers. It makes sense to have Gord’s own band that was with him for decades, finish the show with his daughter singing Read My Mind (there wouldn’t have been a dry eye in the house), then kick into a rousing sing-along of Sundown.
Blue Rodeo is a great band, I’m a fan, but what is their relevance to Gord compared to ours?
Still, it was an excellent show and a chance for many musicians from disparate genres to mix it up.
Hobnobbing With The Big Guys
I spoke with Geddy Lee at the side of the stage. He smiled and said, “I can’t hear a word you’re saying.” He turned both ways, displaying in-ear monitors.
“Perfect!” I said “I’ll have to get a pair.” He continued to smile.
There was a reception afterward, but I managed to escape before the schmoozing really got going.
No Sarcasm
Usually, I stay right until the end of one of these receptions, talking and kibitzing with as many musicians and industry people as I can. I can say with all sincerity that I enjoy it and seldom think of it as “networking”. I’m intrigued by their stories and personal views about this wonderful business we’re in and I’m happy to share my own.
But…
I had been there since 8:30 AM! That meant getting up at 6 to leave by 7. This is cruelty to musicians. I will be filing a complaint with the SPCM. I didn’t even know there were two 6 oclock’s in one day.
Exchanging Pleasantries
The drive to Massey Hall from my house takes either 25 minutes or an hour and a half depending on what time you leave. At 7 am it’s the full 90 minutes. I vaguely remembered from the distant past that people are not exactly “rays of sunshine” as they crawl along, bumper to bumper, just after dawn.
Flipping The Bird
This is a gesture that I have never used. At one point I saw four of these extended out of the open sun-roof of a car. When these irate car-poolers caught my attention I started to laugh. This, I’m sure, infuriated them even more but I wasn’t trying to provoke them…. it was just genuinely funny.
Calling It A Night And Sneaking Out
It was a long day of “hurry up and wait” and I was tired. After talking to my girlfriend, brother and sisters, niece and brother in law (squeezing as much praise out of them as I could) I, after careful surveillance of the room, stealthily made my way to the door and back to the stage to check that my equipment was being handled properly. Earlier, I had scoped out a door leading right to Victoria Street that I hoped would provide a quick escape later and that’s where I headed next.
Oops
Outside the door on Victoria Street was a crowd of fans waiting to get autographs. I don’t begrudge this aspect of the business for a second. Gord, in his usual terse way, talked about this soon after I joined.
“It’s part of the gig” he said. The implication: We need to appreciate that the people who love and support this music are our real employers. Surely we can take a little time out of our busy schedules to sign an album cover or a ticket stub.
I didn’t need to be told. My father knew a lot about show-business having been a professional himself for a number of years. This is the gist of what he told me. “Gratitude for being given the privilege of entertaining people at such a high level begins with the basics, and treating the fans with respect is show-biz 101”.
It can get a little strange though. A few years ago an attractive, well endowed lady asked me to sign the T shirt she was wearing. She pointed to the top of her left boob. “Right there” she said.
“I’d rather not” I said.
“Oh come on, what’s the big deal?”
“My hand might slip”
“So?”
I almost said I would sign it if she wasn’t wearing it, but I sort of knew what would happen.
Back To My Story
I’m always profoundly surprised and flattered that anyone would want my autograph. I was swarmed that night to the point that someone from the theatre’s security asked if I needed help. I shook at least twenty hands, signed a dozen or so posters and as many album covers and with a wave and a good word or two I headed towards a parking garage at Queen Street.
When I got there I took the stairs up to the third level. I opened the door at my floor and there was a body in a grey, worn hoodie, laying face down on the cement. Cautiously I crouched beside what looked to be a teenage girl and asked if she needed help. At first I thought she had been either asleep or unconscious but now I began to wonder. She looked up at me wordlessly with what seemed to be a small magnifying glass in her hand as if she was an entomologist studying ants on the garage floor.
I mumbled something like “What are you doing?” and then thought better about waiting for an explanation as her eyes took on a hollow eerie look. I stood up and walked briskly to my vehicle intending to dig my phone out of my backpack and call 911. This all-purpose bag of mine is similar to a clothes dryer in that it is a portal to an alternate world that steals or hides socks and iPhones. As I dumped the entire contents out of it I saw, in my rear view mirror, the girl get up and sort of waft down the ramp to the second level. When I say “waft” I’m serious. It was as if she floated a few inches above the floor. So I started my truck and began driving around all the different levels looking for her. I stopped a few times and inspected the stairways. The Phantom of Queen Street had disappeared.
Wise Words
Ancient Chinese-Irish philosopher Foo O’Shit say:
People face-down usually fucked-up
Spooked
If this was a Stephen King novel, she and Gord Lightfoot would be sitting on the porch as I drove into my driveway. She’d be looking through her magnifying glass and he’d be softly humming “The Watchman’s Gone”.