The Rock: Sonny's Dream

You forget, sometimes, how far away some things are from other things. Newfoundland. Like a memory: close when you are there. Smell it, taste it. Pictures of oneself in unknown places. It doesn't seem so long ago that I had drinks with Joey Smallwood and he invited me to visit this Rock. You know this place is special because it's in it's own time zone. Even if it wasn't, it would be.

In the morning, I'll wake to a raw Atlantic coastline and 2000 km of blues highway. If I'm really lucky, I'll have a mess for breakfast, 'bye. What it is 'bye. Cod tongues and late nights with cherry bourbon. Fireball. I'm bringing the blues to the most easterly parts of North America, to a place that only joined Canada in 1949, to a place with one of the most interesting and colourful English dialects in the world. As I drive I'll be watching carefully for moose. What it is, 'bye, what it is! Meanwhile the wind snaps at the flags as I wait for the midnight boat out of North Sydney, Nova Scotia. An omen, perhaps, of weather to come.

Rain, not snow. But even the highway signs are brooding in the late November chill. Eight hundred and ninety kilometres to St. John's. Port aux Basques is a Tim's crowded with ferry passengers. The voyage wasn't bad. I'm not a good sailor, but I've discovered I can sleep in rough seas. I've had a solid six hours. Now I've got coffee, lost cell service, and wifi is a mystery to all my devices. Highway time. The wet and empty roads hump the low mountains at this side of the island. Cruise is good. Soon Corner Brook will loom up, puffing and spewing.

Seeing some posters around town is always a good thing. God knows what a Monday night will be here in a small theatre. I go around to Mudder's, have a mess for my lunch, and then sleep in the Lincoln for the rest of the afternoon. In the distance, the omnipresent mill honks and clatters. 

It's a small crowd for the first show of this Island tour. Both the morning and evening drive show featured some country artist who- it was breathlessly announced- would be coming to play the civic centre in about four months time. Kenny Rogers will be playing in a couple of days time. He didn't get mentioned either, so I guess I don't need to feel slighted. The local CBC offices have been reduced to a storefront in a strip mall- next door to a payday loans place. If I blow a tire in the morning, I could go there in a vain effort to get out of town. As it is, I sleep in my car behind the theatre, and put my money in the gas tank.

The day looks brighter. I'm glad to be drinking coffee and heading east to Lewisporte. I've played here before. I don't know what kind of numbers I'll have- but I know I'll be well taken care of- and a warm, wood stove awaits me.

The ferry to Labrador used to run from here. Now it sits, abandoned and rusting in the harbour. A massive hulk. My view from the front window.

St. John's. My friends Rick and Sue live in a rambling old house close to my venue. Our time together is always too short. Rick cooks cod. I drink beer. We all talk politics. The closer you get to St. John's, the snappier the conversation becomes. Finally, here in the downtown, it fairly pops!

Canada has a new Prime Minister, and a new government- and over this St. John's kitchen table there is plenty of optimism. Bitter sweet optimism for some. I took three weeks off the Tour to help defeat the previous government, but my candidate- and my party lost. Still, the nation feels good again. Or better. Canadians haven't been as united in a long time.

And then this: the passing of Ron Hynes. Maybe not a household name beyond Newfoundland- but he was it's "man of 1000 songs." He wrote tunes such as Sonny's Dream- a song which has become a folk anthem in Ireland and elsewhere. When I reached St. John's I saw posters for my show stapled next to his posters. I knew he was ill, so I thought that he must of been feeling better if he had a show booked. He died the next night and suddenly there were people weeping in the streets. A difficult man who will be greatly missed. Tough. He intended to play that show. The outpouring of grief across the province reminded me of what I had witnessed following the death of John Lennon. Later in the week I would listen to his service broadcast live on the radio.

When I visited CBC Radio St. John's to play the morning drive show, I was amazed to hear the host, Anthony Germain- former head of the China bureau- lead with a story about a dead moose on the Circle Highway. I could have made that up, if I was making up the news, but I didn't need to! Canada's public broadcaster has traditionally connected the sprawling country: a national voice, a presence in kitchens and cars that touches all points. It has long been the glue of Canada's national character so, I for one, hope that the new Canadian government will restore operational funding and rebuild the institution. 

One of the many interesting place names along the way. Newfoundland is gifted with some strange and unique names. If a poet and a pornographer put the map together- oh, my jesus, 'bye- what it is. Red Head Cove, Dildo, Conception Bay, Come By Chance, Cupids Crossing, Happy Adventure, Heart's Content, Heart's Desire, Heart's Delight, Bareneed, Blow Me Down, Bread and Cheese, Devil's Kitchen, Exploits, Goobies, Great Barasway, Ireland's Eye, Jack Ladder, L'Anse-Amour, Leading Tickles, Little Heart's Ease, Mistaken Cove, Muddy Hole, Nameless Cove, Pushthrough, Rabbit Town,  Salvation, Seldom Come By, Spread Eagle, St. Jones Within, St. Jones Without, Three Arms, Virgin Arm, Wild Bight, Witless Bay, Woody Island... One place just leads to another, and the cartographer flushes as he prints the maps...

Moose were introduced to the Island many years ago. After they totally over ran the place, some industrious souls brought in coyotes in hopes that these would diminish the moose population. Today, there are plenty of moose and plenty of coyotes... I know an old lady who swallowed a fly...

At dusk I stood outside my cabin in the village of Glovertown. Dinner hour, and the warm, hospitable smell of woodsmoke hung over the valley. Woodsmoke. It pulls at ones fondest memories, conjures up visions of comfy kitchens, the smell of good food, the chatter of conversation among friends. At once I felt both comforted and alone. For some reason I thought of my old friend, the Mole, finding his way Home to his own fireside as Winter arrived. The Wind in the Willows. The blues can come to you in many forms and places. The important part is the heart. It certainly came to me as I looked out over the twinkle of the little lights below. The hungry heart: it's beats echoing quietly in my chest. Consolation is a glass of red wine, a hot shower, and a warm crowd arriving to my show.

You never know who's going to show up at a gig. On this Thursday night, in Glovertown, NFD, Buddy Wasisname (Kevin Blackmore) attended. I've seen his tour posters all over the Maritimes for as long as I've been travelling. Neat! 

It's been a fast paced week- nine shows in six days, covering the entire length of the island. All the presenters were great. Dedicated. I played theatres, house concerts, galleries, pubs, schools, and radio. I thought the shows went well. Off-season again, the crowds were small and local, opinionated and enthusiastic. Many drove considerable distances to hear me- taking their chances on the dangerous, dark roads. I appreciate the effort spent. Large numbers of moose roam the province- and hitting one can be fatal. It's a huge mass which can come right through the windshield of a car, or jam a semi off into the ditch. A deer will wreck your car. A moose can kill you.

Between such pleasant thoughts I play Gander, NFD, and learn that Fidel Castro once went snow sledding there. I figure if Fidel can have fun there, so can I. My breakfast is a traditional, Newfoundland tauton. Not a biscuit, not a pancake, not a roll, not a pastry. It's a thick, doughy thing cooked in a pan and then served with bacon and molasses.

This kid will be winning the East Coast Music Awards someday. Right now he's the King of the music program at Queen Elizabeth High School in South Conception Bay. My "blues in the schools" presentations in Newfoundland are aimed at helping these kids with the business end of music. They already play well! If Rodney doesn't sit in with me next year, I'll probably be his opening act...

On Friday night in Seal Cove, piano man and children's entertainer Terry Reilly came out and played some very adult keyboards at my SS Meigle show. That was big fun, and we intend to do it again sometime. Who knew? Blues DJ, music historian and promoter Terry Parsons did! He and his extended group of family and friends have done much to make me welcome on the Rock.

And driving. Way over two thousand kilometres of mostly empty highway. Sometimes I bask in the silence, alone with myself, my thoughts. Maybe I think too much. Or not enough. Sometimes I let my friends sing to me, mile after mile. Sometimes when a friend sings to you it can really help. Well, it keeps the heartstrings in tune anyway.

And now that it's raining in big sheets of water, wind howling over the crashing waves, all ships are held to port. I've driven slick roads all day to get to Port aux Basques: over 500 km of naked blacktop. Now the tangled houses of St. John's are long behind me, their colours still clinging to the rock hills, their stories still half secret, still half made up, half smiling, still leaning on one and other like old sisters embracing. Newfoundland. Now I'm stuck on her wild shores in a storm.

I've had to cancel a couple of New Brunswick dates. Moncton and Saint John- Monday and Tuesday. I'm sorry, but I'm sitting in Port aux Basques drinking Iceberg beer out of a blue bottle, waiting for the boat, 'bye. We'll see how the wind blows in the morning. Thankfully, they've got plenty of beer- because I could be here for a while. Worse things could happen!

Almost alone at the terminal as the winds gust up to 140 kph, the Lincoln shakes and the rain comes down and down. There are a few stranded semi trucks, and... three posh looking busses. I'm not the only musician to get stuck here. That other guy who didn't get on the radio in Corner Brook doesn't fly- he travels with his crew and his gear. He's on one of those nice looking rides. Kenny Rogers pulls some strings, and we all get to board the ship early. It's not going anywhere- but at least we have our cabins, a bar and a penthouse view of the crashing storm. Nice folks. Nice conversation. Football on the big screen, Ron Hynes on the stereo. Sonny's Dream.

The La La Land at the End of the Rainbow

Coming down through high ranch country. Big spaces. Southbound. This little highway does not disappoint. I'm driving into spring. Any fool would know that. Still, here are the first leaves. A rebirth. A boost. Life. The seasons of man are teased along by all this. We are not old. We are- at least for a moment- young. The smell of the opening leaves, the first warmth of sun, the thin young women sunning in the cafe patio: all this available for a moment, blurred by memories of when we, too, were opening our leaves and all things were possible.

I've taken a secondary, secondary highway southeast from Williams Lake, BC to kill off the day's drive to Kamloops, where I am to play tonight. I stop in old cemeteries and take pictures of unexceptional graves. Someday, someone may think these people may of had some connection to me. Maybe they did. Or now do. I stopped and drank wine by these gated old graves. I wondered who these were. Born in Oklahoma and died here in 1961. "Forever Loved and Missed by His Wife." Maybe these mountains are the hardest place to be lonely in. Or the easiest place- if that has to be what lonely is. I'm happy with my own company on this day as I drive the empty highway. Sometimes this is the loneliest job in the world. I could stop in Lone Butte and change my name to Bill. I could do odd jobs. Do you remember the guy who used to come through and play at the cafe? Yeah. The guy with the old steel guitar. That could be me. But today I'm driving through to Kamloops, British Columbia. I'm not vanishing here, today. Somewhere, up in the humpy little hills, I've got a house concert tonight.

It's not all downhill. But after the continental divide it sure feels like it sometimes. Westbound, I usually drive Route 1 through Cache Creek, Ashcroft, Spences Bridge- down through the high dessert country as I head south and west for Canada's "left coast." Today I exit Kamloops and drive the Coquihalla Highway. A terror in the winter, it is still pretty interesting when dry. They didn't hire me in Spences Bridge this year, so I thought I'd do lunch in Merrit, BC, instead. There's always a new act that's pretty, and sings harmony, to fill out the festival bill. After 10 years of playing these dry, tumbleweed towns, it would be nice to leave with more than gas money. At that, I still shift the car into neutral and coast down miles and miles of mountain road. I've come out of Spences Bridge with nothing but fumes in the tank more than once. There's steelhead in the river. Two railways- one on each side of the river. Eagles hover on top of it all. Crippled little farms, rusted trucks and apple pie. Cowboy cemetery with a witch buried in it. Yeah, yeah, I love that place. The Bridge. The Baits Motel. I'll stop on the eastbound swing and have coffee and pie at the Packinghouse Cafe... How can I not? These are my people.

Now, it's Vancouver. One of the world's beautiful cities. If you have the money. There's a hockey game tonight. This town is in the playoffs, so even the hookers have abandoned the streets. Will they riot in the streets if they lose? The fans, not the hookers. I hope my car is safe outside. But all is quiet. I don't know if the team wins or loses, but I'm pretty much shut down at the trendy, downtown Railway Club. The only woman here is made of wood. A couple of guys come in and watch my hands trace the guitar. My voice is a bit torn tonight, so I don't mind closing the bar early, packing out quickly to the Lincoln, driving, driving. Windows are open, neon on the streets. I lost money after paying for parking on this gig. I'll be off to Vancouver Island in the morning. Hopefully the Tour will begin to produce some actual cash returns over the next two weeks of shows. After ten solid years of playing here, I'd like to be invited to play some of the great festivals presented every summer. As it is, I have enough support that I no longer have to sleep in my car outside the Starbucks in Nanaimo. At least not that often.

I lost my prescription shades in the car crash a couple of years ago. I don't let that spoil the beautiful ferry ride from Vancouver to Victoria, BC. But it is a little squinty, for sure. I've got a little band in Victoria that I've been doing some of the local, Island gigs with, so I'll have a quick rehearsal with them tonight before the first show.

McKinley Wolf/ Doc MacLean bassist Ian Walls gives bass lessons on the patio during set up. I've had a blast playing with Ian, Dallas, and Ed. This is a band that has covered some of my tunes- so I'm always pleased to play with them. At tonight's show Rockland sat in on guitar and was great. As he said, we're part of the same tribe. We're both open G tuning guys that play in all keys- so our chords can look pretty strange sometimes! That was really fun in spite of a sparse turnout to this north Victoria venue.

Up to Char's Landing in Port Alberni. This is a lovely venue, and I always enjoy both visiting and playing here.

That's the view from the landing in Port Alberni. It's a mill town with a tough underbelly, but it is changing fast...

Further on down the road, harp player Lazy Mike and his partner, Doreen, host me for a show.

It's another hockey night. Slow. David Vest is playing just a few miles away. Are we splitting the crowd tonight? Or has he got most of them? Or are we both running on fumes tonight? I don't see anybody from the Nanaimo Blues Society. After a decade of bringing the blues through here, that's a little disappointing for me. I'm not getting any younger, and it's pretty clear that the Tours, the artists, and the venues are not going to be sustainable without bums in seats. Live music in small venues has been slowing down, not just for me, but for many- if not most- of the other, hard core touring acts. It's one thing to take a holiday from work and do a little tour, or retire and fund the thing on pension money, or get a grant to fund your losses but- with due respect- those are different songs and stories, different adventures, different worlds than the ones shared by those who live and die riding the broken white line. Still, we all need bums in seats, and it would seem that the demographic most interested in this music is less and less interested in driving at night. I sleep on the stage after the place closes, but wake up to a beautiful day. Looking good for my drive up Island to Comox. My friends there will treat me well. I'm hoping for a good house concert crowd. I need a cash injection. I'll take the long, coastal road to kill time...

Do you see why they call this La La Land? Well, it is pretty nice. Mississippi got way more snow last winter than this Vancouver Island coast.

Jacket winner at the house concert! I had a ball hanging out with my friends Ken and Lynda, and left with a prize winning jar of pickles! A good crowd in spite of the fact that the Island Festival was putting on a bash for it's volunteers just a few minutes away. In spite of the low Canadian dollar the Festival has managed to maintain a stellar line-up of international artists including Buddy Guy for this year's event. Similar to the mainstream economy, big events are getting bigger, and small events are getting smaller. Have these large festivals become the Walmarts of live music now? They do present a great value for consumers- who don't have to drive at night. A massive collection of top notch artists, at one daily price. Certainly to be an artist featured on these festival bills is to gain access to an audience measured in thousands, or tens of thousands- as opposed to dozens. In the evolving world of roots music, it would seem that the small venues and small shows are increasingly at a disadvantage. This is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is an observation. And as I say to many of the older players, "you've got to ride the wave." The tide is always turning.

Nest stop: Denman Island. I'm riding smaller waves, but enough rocking to make it interesting.

I've driven across Denman Island many times over the years- part of a ferry relay to get to nearby Hornby Island with it's very active blues society. My time on Hornby has always been enjoyed, but I've always been curious about Denman. These Islands all have their own character, their own feel, their own take on the world. Denman does not let me down. My afternoon show at the Island's cafe and guesthouse is full, and the people are all interesting. Plenty of American ex-pats here, as on the other islands in this Gulf. White haired now, they came here back in "the day." Draft dodgers, war resistors, dreamers, hippies, girl chasers, boy chasers, debt evaders, protesters, dope growers, inventors, builders, writers, farmers, teachers, preachers. Folks who craved a better, if self-made world. Kennedy once gave a speech where he talked about "the best and the brightest." I do believe in those troubled years many of the best and the brightest made their way to Canada, where they had a remarkable influence on it's culture and development. That was America's loss, and a wound still not fully healed.

Among those who showed up for my performance was Hillel Wright, the editor, poet, novelist, commercial fisherman, tree planter, college professor, radio dj, and former Rhino party candidate. As it turns out he now divides his time between Denman and Japan- and we've got mutual friends in the small blues scene over there. We are also, as I discover when reading his latest book, Crad Kilodney fans. A small, small world now- and kindred souls tend to stumble upon one and other! Rotary Sushi is Wright's latest book, and he kindly gifted me a copy for my journey.

Back to Victoria, BC the next day for some interesting shows. Ian Walls and I played an assisted living residence in honor of our friend Big Charlie, who had recently moved in to the facility.

We then played one of the world's smallest theatres- a fun show at Merlin's Sun Room- with local singer- songwriter Auto Janez opening the evening.

One of Victoria's many little harbours... In my downtime I ran about 10 km (6 miles) of the winding coast that shores this city. A fine time, although I later pay a price for the many hills!

Genoa Bay. My base for a few days of concerts in the Duncan region of British Columbia.