Monday, June 1, 2015

Prairie Blues


Alberta! The Tour picked up a little more steam with another sold out show in Lethbridge last night. I parked the Lincoln in the loading dock and this was my view early this morning. Rolling toward Saskatchewan now. It's a great map out here: places with names like Seven Persons, Medicine Hat, Manyberries, Wild Horse, Bow Island, Purple Springs... Upcoming in Saskatchewan over the next few days: Kyle, Saskatoon, Wadena, Weyburn, Regina...

The changing prairie. Not changing. Not changing fast enough. The slow pace of the freight trains beating their way across the sky. The slow pace of paint fading, board leaning one direction or another, opening spaces for winter's quiet fingers. Big land, some of it owned by companies with glass offices far away. The family farm. Rocks picked off in spring. The old Case tractor. Just a cluster of trees, some rusted humps where those dreams were made, cheques written. Where war brides shed their tears and men worked themselves to death in the summer sun.

Oil brought strangers here, progress sucking the marrow from the bones of these towns. That church is for sale: you can't fix the roof, and you can't rent a preacher to talk about it. Just thank God that Saskatoon and Regina are only a few hours away. Escaping youth, escaping the emptiness. Escaping the high price of diesel, escaping to the glitter of lights, the smell of mould in a double wide. Indian mufflers. Bud's on Broadway on a Saturday night. Almost too drunk to climb up the old fire escape and squeeze through the back door. Almost too drunk to remember this tattoo, that girl.




It's way too early in the morning, as it often is when I wake up in the Lincoln. The night was warm enough, but sleep was punctuated by the occasional shuffling of the homeless and intoxicated up and down the alley. I kill a few minutes taking pictures as the sun comes up, then change my clothes, perform my toilet behind the car, pack the bedding, throw out the trash, stretch, and stretch again. Coffee time. I head out onto the silent, golden streets: looking for breakfast, looking for cheap gas.



I've got about four hours of driving to get to tonight's show- a house concert up in Kyle, Saskatchewan. That's north of Swift Current, a town I've driven through at least twice a year for ten years- and only played once. My show tonight will be hosted by a woman who used to be involved with the Calgary Blues Festival. She's retired to this little place, and intends to give the scene a friendly nudge. Meanwhile, I've got eight or ten hours. Time to explore a bit. Stocked up with an extra large coffee and a full tank of cheap, Alberta gas, I'm off. Eastbound. Coaldale. I circle through the residential area, down what's left of the main street. I could of stayed out here last night, if only I'd called Nancy. Or not.

The small towns are mostly getting smaller. Not much like towns anymore. Not like the towns I think I remember. Hollow shells of what once was. Mall sites for the slick, multinational corporations that mine these places and drain the money off to far away shareholders. Drain the money. Take the Tim Horton's coffee franchise, which brings in workers from the Phillipines on temporary visas. Take the Home Depot: it's massive footprint, it's sweltering parking lots and overnight architecture. A place with many millions of dollars of imported inventory, a place with many millions of dollars of annual sales. A place where they want you to use an automated checkout so they can eliminate a couple more, minimum wage positions from the town they have occupied. These companies have no real bond with the communities they dominate, while the communities themselves have fewer and fewer reasons to be communities. There's no glue left. Only gasoline fumes behind the vacant buildings, and tense, out of town RCMP cops patrolling the streets. Here, they drive by me once, twice, three times.

You could say the small towns need to be tough and make better deals, or you could say that times are changing. You could make a good living trying to explain this to college students, or at a boardroom table. These empty town streets: artifacts of a way of life that is gone- evolved into a last stage, end game. What will the new world look like? Who will buy the products sold in the superstores? You can bet that when the life blood is gone, these businesses too, will vanish back into the cities that sent them thirsty and greedy to the prairie. What strange landscape will these little places be in twenty-five, or fifty years?

Alberta- easily the most conservative region in Canada. Or that was their reputation. Now they've just turfed out the government they've had for a generation. It's all about oil, natural resources. It's all about Big. But after years of big pay packets, the place is broken: pockets picked clean by resource companies and those who made the deals for them. Why would you want to build a pipeline across the continent to refine oil in Texas and Louisiana when you could do it in Medicine Hat? Why wouldn't you just ship finished product, instead of buying it back? My fuel costs on the Tour are nearly twice as much on the Canadian side. Anyway, now we'll see what the new, centre left, New Democratic Party brings to the table. Provincially. Maybe nationally as well...

The changing prairie. There was a time when the Hutterites might have walked naked through the streets to burn the Parliament. Now they vote, and vote hard. You can't buy back the ruined little towns, abandoned spurs, fallen elevators and broken farms. But you can always dream.


Over the last 9 years my Canon, Powershot A560 camera has taken nearly 20 thousand pictures of the Tour. Well, I've taken the pictures- and used this camera. Now, it is suffering. I've dropped it off the roof of the car more than a couple of times, it's been through a car wreck, it's been underwater, but it seems to have survived those traumas relatively unscathed. I think it may just be age. Still, when the shutter fails to open, or the flash won't flash, or it just doesn't do what is requested or expected- it can be a little frustrating. I've thrown out more pictures than I've kept on this tour. Pics that just didn't turn out. Beyond salvage. On the up side- I've had to work at the software a little harder to produce images that are at least somewhat presentable. I have friends who take really good pictures (heck, you may be one of them!), so over the last couple of years I've tried a little harder to watch and learn. But, for sure, I've had to work harder to bring images to the Blog this year.


Not a traffic warning. One of my favourite place names anywhere. I'm guessing that more like 100 people may live at Seven Persons. I've never actually seen anybody- but I've driven past their houses, the little bar, and the store.


A stop in Medicine Hat, AB, to visit pawn shops and thrift stores. I buy nothing, and find no temptation. Instead, I find a cafe with internet. Here, I open the virtual office and get down to business. Strangely, I am booking shows in St. Louis, Mississippi and Newfoundland from this dot on the prairie map. Facebook also demands frequent updates- part of the reason my blogs are no longer posted daily.


Here's a mural in downtown Medicine Hat. While it features a quote from R Kipling saying "don't change the name of this place," it also grabs at the fundamentals of the region. Fossil fuels: big oil, big coal, the power of the railways, wheat, the working farmer, and the native American heritage that underpins it all. Fittingly, this is painted on the back of a liquor store. You can see the sign just above the art. Behind the garbage bins, a couple of homeless First Nations people lie sleeping in the shade. There are way too many First Nations people sleeping in the shade across this land. Sleeping in the shade, far from hope, far from salvation. Sleeping in the snow, sometimes forever. Canada's dirty secret is it's 1876 Indian Act, an apartheid-like bill which remains largely in place today. This was Ottawa's attempt to assimilate- or perhaps simply pacify or disable- Canada's native people through the systemic destruction of culture, language, social and political organization. While a reserve system contained- and continues to contain- First Nations people on often remote and always separate lands, well over 150 thousand children were removed from their homes and families and sent away to residential schools. The last of these closed in 1996. This is a dark stain over race relations in Canada, particularly in western Canada. It left a generation damaged and largely dysfunctional. Lost. Canada, like America, is moving on- but in Canada the moving is slow. The after effects linger on the streets and in the prison system like a bad hangover. Ordinary people are going to change this world. The churches and the politicians have had their turn.


The blues itself. The race card. What's that? Not yet color blind after all these years. It depends on who's asking, or hiring. Or why their asking, or hiring. Still fought over, re-invented, stolen, stolen back, made up, remembered and forgotten. The fact that we're still talking about it means we are not yet where we need to be. Ordinary people are going to change this world.


Driving today. Out of Alberta. Saskatchewan. Somebody told me it has more miles of roads than any other province. That might be true.







Small town hotels don't feature many shows anymore- but they sure are good places to connect with local folks. I had a really nice time playing a house concert just a couple of blocks from this old hotel. Good people. Good stories. Good things in small places you might miss in the folds of a map. I'm reminded of how much I enjoy performing in small towns all over Canada and the United States. These are not just shows- they are connections, openings into the mysteries of time and space. Well, the mysterious lives of others, at least. One always returns as a friend of somebody.



Saskatoon. "Toon Town." A city, not a town, really. But a friendly place with deep blues roots. Bud's is one of the last of the big beer joints. Six, sometimes seven nights of music. It used to be six nights of blues. Touring bands. Live upstairs in a couple of band apartments. Live wild. Live. Just for the joy of it. When beer was king. When love was free. When some of us were young and foolish. When others were old and foolish. Climb the fire escape, drunk. And howl at the moon. Now I've got three nights here. Solo. The band apartment is clean, and quiet. I keep it tidy. I've got my choice of beds. No wifi. There's a television, but I never do turn it on- so I don't know if it works or not.



The bar managers here are friendly and experienced. They know what's what, and who's who. And they pour me drinks. So, we're a good little team. If it's quiet, I'll quit early, or start late. If it's busy, I'll work the house. The first night is pretty quiet. The second two nights I play four sets. There's red wine. No driving. A whole bunch of friends from the Saskatoon Blues Society drop by over the three nighter. After ten years of shows, I've got a whole lot of friends and fans here, and it's always great to catch up. Not to mention that this is MY blues society. Every blues fan should join a blues society- and this one is mine. They do such a good job! Role models for so many other organizations. Or they ought to be. This organization has really made a difference over the years, and has helped cultivate some great local, regional, national, and international talent while building a large, well informed audience. Here, in this prairie town. Prairie Blues. On Sunday I go down the block after my gig. There's a blues jam running late. I play a short set with local players backing me up. Lynn Victoria on bass, and C. C. "Che" McGhee on drums. One of Brownie's boys, and a fine player in his own right. Go figure. Small world sometimes, for all the miles and hours, all the years, all the gasoline. Brownie taught me a lot about how to live as a traveller. I have fond memories of him teaching me how to solder wires to fix an amp. A long ago afternoon, before a long ago show in Oakland, California. And now, in a dusty, Canadian prairie town, a bit of that same generous smile behind me. Walk on. Walk on.


The early morning view from my apartment over Bud's on Broadway.


I've got a down day in the middle of Saskatchewan. A Wednesday I couldn't even give away. Funny how that happens sometimes. Prince Albert has never been a blues town. Two kinds of music: Country and Western. My friends Scott and Cathy have got a farm outside Wadena, and they come to my rescue. I'll roll in a day early for my Wadena show. I kill part of the day on the Yellowhead Highway by stopping at the many wrecking yards along the way. Amigo's, just outside of Saskatoon, is a great yard.  My Lincoln needs a couple odds and ends, but Lincoln Row has been picked clean since my last visit. Ford Row is still pretty good- I've got a 63 Galaxie, and I'm always looking for parts for that. Nothing I could pull and carry, so I buy a Coke and hang out in the office for a while. It's a busy yard, and I love the smell of oil and tires. Sometimes they let me walk around yards like this: just looking at the hulks. Who drove this? When? And why? How did it come to be here- with that shoe under the front seat?

By late afternoon I'm on loose, Saskatchewan gravel, rolling up to the farm. Scott is in from working the fields, and it's hot enough to drink beer- so we do. Because we can. He's worked a lot harder and longer than I have today, but I was in a little Saskatoon speak until 3:30 in the morning! After cooling down we go out to check on the cattle. It's calfing time, and there is one cow past due he wants to check on. I stay in the truck as he slowly approaches her, and sits down nearby. Clearly something is happening. It's a standing birth! Not uncommon, but not something I've witnessed before. As we watch, the calf bursts from the mother and lands on the ground with a distinct thud. Within a few minutes the newborn is on it's feet, and we are on our way.




Here's the old Anglican church at Wadena, SK. Soon to be closed. Soon, perhaps, to be torn down. And soon this Tour will move east to Ontario, south to St. Louis, Mississippi, Alabama. Other pictures, other stories. I'm not ready to be torn down yet. But I'll miss this little hall.



Flooding is a growing problem in parts of Saskatchewan. As some people figure out how to drain their lands, others are left with water covered fields. Increased foreign ownership of farm and ranch lands may also be a factor. Investment companies don't have neighbours, but they often have good lawyers.


Down into south Saskatchewan. I think you'd need TWO hands to hold this. Should be a Two Hand Gun Club... I'm heading down to the border area to play a show in Weyburn. Tommy Douglas came from Weyburn, SK... I've got enough in my pocket that I'm going to check in to a motel tonight instead of sleeping behind the venue! Just across the street there is a likely spot...




It's a small show- so I'm glad it is sold out. Nice folks in southern Saskatchewan.



Pointed east now. Just one more true, prairie show on this National Steel Big X Blues Tour. Someday, maybe all these grain elevators will be gone. There was a time when every town had them. And all these well tagged trains. Who are these people? The ones who tag these trains? Are they here, stuck in places like Milestone, SK, watching their tags leave town? Sneaking down to the tracks for a joint, a cigarette, a whiff of the oil soaked ties? Here, under Big Sky, they send their marks away. A surrogate escape, a token freedom, maybe a shout at a bigger world. Maybe they'll write a hit song, or a bad cheque, or hitch hike to Vancouver, looking for the bright lights.



Regina, SK. The opening band, Carmanah, were so good that I invited them to play the rest of the night with me. We had fun. My pals from the Regina Blues Society came out. Dale, who has put me up many times. Redbeard, who has promoted shows for me, played me on his radio shows, and has been a long time supporter. Others. People who bought the Narrow House cd when it was new. People who came to theatre gigs in towns like Moose Jaw, Estevan and Redvers. It means a lot to me. This show didn't get past the small print listings, and the Regina Folk Festival people didn't show up for the 10th consecutive year, but somehow that didn't matter so much this time around. After we packed out, the band invited me back to their digs- the Walmart parking lot. In the early morning, I pulled out alone. Bound for Winnipeg.




Train tag photographed at Indian Head, SK.





Winding up two months of shows across western Canada. The last couple of weeks under big sky- across the badlands and the flatlands of Alberta and Saskatchewan. House concerts in one syllable towns. Community halls. Churches. Classic old blues rooms tracing the ghost roads of the old northern circuit. Back when beer was king, and the bands came up out of Chicago to St. Paul, Winnipeg, Regina, Saskatoon, Edmnton, Calgary, Banff... Two months of six night shows for real money. Thick smoke drifting under hot lights. Bourbon. Pinball and pool. Girls living wild and dangerous. Plenty of blues DNA left across the dusty prairie. Maybe some of mine. And now, there's plenty of time to think about all this as I drive the open spaces. A one man show, living in broken rooms, living in my car, living in the shadows of what was, trying to carry a torch for what is, bringing the Blues from town to town. Thanks for riding along with me on the Blues Highway. Next: over the Hump of the Great Lakes.

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