Behind the Hood - a Meeting in Rankin Inlet

 I think there is a truism in music  that goes like this : where ever you go, in every small town, you will always meet someone who will humble you  with their abilities. I never thought that person would be a fourteen- year old Inuit kid from Arviat , Nunavut, named Abraham Eetak.  
  I was involved in a music camp in Rankin Inlet this winter along with Rebecca Campbell, Anne Lindsay, Fred Guignion, and Mike Stevens. We got to Rankin with great effort- lost luggage, three blizzards , deflections to Iqaluit and Yellowknife, and finally arrived in Rankin accompanied by -35C temperatures and 40 knot winds . We were met by our amazing host Bernadette Dean and immediately transported our equipment to the music camp which was at the hockey arena , the home of Jordan Tootoo. As the hockey pucks cannonated off the boards we met our thirty  students. At least I think there were thirty . Over the next four days kids drifted in and out; some days kids showed up I had never seen before. About twelve were from Rankin but others came in from Coral Harbour , Repulse Bay , Baker Lake , Whale Cove and Arviat.  Mike Stevens- the pied piper of the north- started things off by passing out thirty harmonicas and within an hour there were thirty kids ready to join a blues band. ( This could be considered the good news or bad news part of the story.) Anne then broke off four kids who wanted to play fiddle - all from Repulse. Rebecca took seven singers, Fred started work with the better guitar players in a room next to the curling rink . Mike went to a high school to play more harp and I got seven students who were beginning to play guitar.  There I met Nelson Kablaalik  who  had never played  before . He had a spanish guitar with steel strings that were ass- backwards on it and the neck was so bowed that it was impossible to play beyond the first position but - never mind - away we went. I loaned Nelson my guitar, switched his strings and from that first lesson, Nelson played about fourteen hours a day for the rest of the camp
- “ Ian ? - my fingers hurt a bit - will that stop ? “
 By the end of the weekend Nelson was playing right along with all the strummers.
  Anne continued in a similar way . She got some fiddles from Andrea Hansen and her Strings Across the Arctic programme and headed into “  Swallowtail “ and of course , “Amazing Grace “ (We were to find the influence of the Pentacostal Church  to be profound in the Arctic at this time.) Rebecca got the singers right into some three part harmony . Fred was working away with the boys - a workshop called , “pedals I have known” .
   After a break - we played a few tunes for the students , annotating each song or instrumental with something that might be useful for the assembled group.  Mike returned for his second lesson of the day , and so it went. Not bad for a first day I was thinking when Fred lumbered over and said , “ Ian- I think we got a  problem . “
“What’s the problem Fred? “ - thinking that they had probably blown an electrical circuit or something.
“ There’s this kid from Arviat - he’s playing “ The Maple Leaf Rag “ - there’s nothing I can teach him. I can’t even begin to play the f-king piece and he’s playing two parts at once !
 Hmmm- this is a problem - all the expense to bring us up here and  now we got some young genius  from Arviat....
“ Got to hear this ! “ , I said , buying some time.
 
  So off we went to listen to Abraham Eetak play the complete “ Maple Leaf Rag “ . Abraham
and his two buddies , Kendall and Paul Jr. had come up from Arviat on the plane - the latter two with guitars, but no cases !  The three boys wore an Arctic version of a “hoodie” and during the entire time of the camp the hood of the hoodie was never off or down-  whatever. Abraham’s hoodie was made by his mother - it had a wolf fur rim around the hood through which Abraham peered out at the world . He had ‘markered’ out the ubiquitous “Chopper” logo and cross on the back and front and his mother sewed on the design.
  At first I thought Abraham did his thinking through fingers cause he sure didn’t talk much. But when he played  the “Maple Leaf Rag” , Fred and I listened  slack-jawed .  He then showed us how he had figured out the left and right hand of the tune, then how he was able to play both parts at once. He said it took him six months to get it down. He is fourteen years old.   Incredible . He went on to play other tunes he didn’t know the names of - several pieces  by Mississippi John Hurt and Robert Johnson - some gospel tunes , Eric Clapton- some I didn’t recognize. Fred then asked him how he got the reach in his hands- at times he was barring and  spanning seven, eight frets. He put his index finger and baby finger on the floor and pressed down as hard he could. “ I did this every day for a couple of months “, he said.
  As it turned out Fred was able to help Abraham with some of the fundamentals of soloing and I was able to show him a few alternate tuning and finger picking styles but the question lingered -how  could we get into Abraham Eetak’s music camp . On Sunday afternoon Fred and I were collapsed on the couch watching “The Mask”. The music camp was over , the others had left and we were brain dead. Jim Carey was about to put some dynamite in his mouth when there was a knock at the door. It was the Arviat trio  - Paul Jr. , Kendall , and Abraham.
“ Wanna play ? “ And so we did . Fred learned the first sixteen bars of the “Maple Leaf Rag” - and has vowed he will have it down before next camp. I played Mississippi John Hurt’s , “Candy Man” , “Richland Woman Blues, “Payday” . Abraham started talking- wanting to know the names of all kinds of tunes he had learned off a tape but didn’t know the names . We played into the evening and then the trio followed Fred and I  off to dinner.
“You guys coming back?”
“Yeah - we’ll be back”.

 This morning, back in Chelsea, I have sent Abraham a few new challenges - Richard Thompson’s Strict Tempo    , The Best of Django Reinhart   and Don Ross’ Loaded. Leather. Moonroof . That ought to hold him for a few weeks.

Access to Tools-Democratization of the Recording Process

In 1969 the Whole Earth Catalogue arrived on the scene with an interesting subtitle- Access to Tools. In it, there was an article which spoke of a new home multi-track recording device made by Tascam . It suggested that this new  technology might provide  musicians with an affordable means to record their work and thus circumvent the costly recording studio which were in some cases owned or controlled by parent record companies. With this new technology you could also avoid the perceived traps, greed and excesses of the music business world. . You could release your own album. Access to tools. That winter, Ken Hamm and myself searched out this new technology in the hope of pursuing this new path - the woodshed album. After several tours of Toronto industrial parks we discovered that the Tascam was not available in Canada as yet and so  we found ourselves working on an old Scully half- track in a language lab at OISE (Ontario Institute for studies in Education).  Nevertheless, for us, the new age had begun.

  In the subsequent years  more and more artists responded to the democratization of the recording process and in turn technology  provided more affordable gear for home recording.  Now , in 2003, of one hundred CDs on my shelf , 80 are essentially woodshed or woodshed hybrid albums. If I was to check my record collection now  molding in the basement  the relationship would be 3-4 percent. This opening up of the recording process has been a wonderful thing for artists who have dreamed of having their own CD and for works that would have never found a home in the musical  mainstream. And yet , for artist and listener there appears to be some trouble in paradise .

  When I look at my CD collection I also know that a disproportionate number of those independent CDs are pretty dodgy- might I even suggest unlistenable, played once , that’s it. It might be that they sound bad at the recording level but more importantly, they fall short on the artistic level- the songs are not well conceived or executed. Now I will be the first to admit that my first effort was an effort as well but at least I have the excuse of being a pioneer in the form. But now that the CD is so ubiquitous there has been dramatic fallout. Because of the democratization of the process it has effectively turned all consumers into and Artist and Repetoire personnel. In the bad old days record companies had a series of checks and balances in place. The AnR guy sought out and listened to artists who they wanted or who auditioned  to get on the label. One of the most famous was John Hammond Sr. who brought us Billie Holiday and Bob Dylan. He was noted for his taste , musical vision and yes, money making ability for Columbia Records.  Nowadays there is no John Hammond -we are now asked to be the first arbitors of what we hear at $20 per CD. What this has done in recent years can be summed up in the expression- buyer beware. With so many contemporary  CD’s unlistenable, consumers are becoming more and more cautious about wanting to buy a CD period. A recent listener said to me , “I don’t buy CDs off stage anymore - most of them are shit.”  Under the previous paradigm , artists usually submitted demos of their work or recorded a series of demos for the record company before embarking on an album. This check in the system allowed the record company to hear who they were supporting without taking on the cost of full production , and allowed artists to become more familiar with the recording process. Today , an artist can do a CD in his or

her basement and release it unheard by anyone between the artist and the listener. There are no checks and balances in this new world.

  Now maybe there shouldn’t be these checks and balances - certainly the new democracy is preferable to the tyranny of the old system , where record companies and publishers prayed upon the naivety and hunger of the artist. But if this new world has turned us into unwilling editors it as also cheapened the value of the product itself. At one point , doing a demo was like posting a bond of seriousness within the trade. Record companies , club owners, festival directors all required them . It was the thought then that if the artist had gone to the trouble , effort and commitment of putting out a demo , their work should be considered seriously . All that has fallen away, and in the particular and thorny case of the festival director , they are now asked to sort through thousands of CD submissions each year. When you combine the first issue of quality with the second , of shear numbers, it is understandable why the posted bond of a CD now has a reduced value and why, in part you don’t hear back from that  festival director. They are buried under a pile of CDs being asked to do several tasks that used to be done by several others. I was told recently that Rick Fenton , a.d. of the Winnipeg Folk Festival received 1200 unsolicited C.Ds this year. That’s trouble in paradise.

  As an artist who has supported this artist friendly recording process for most of my career all this puts me in a bit of a quandary. If this new order has become a source of frustration for the artist and listener , who has the major beneficiary been.  I submit that at this point the winner is Alesis, Mackie , Fostex , Cubase, Logic, all those formats and tools that have made woodshed recording possible. At some point, companies , who had sold  one unit at $100,000, realized that they could increase their earnings if , through cheaper and available technology they could sell 100,000 units at $6000. Ah capitalism- hard to avoid.   (Alesis’ ADAT sold over140,000 units before it was determined they were better used as boat anchors.) Meet the new boss - same as the old boss.

The Road Ahead - Enjoying the Ride

 In a previous article  I spoke of the ongoing democratization of the recording world and how that was affecting both the practice and process of the art form. Simply put -with  everybody having a CD now and  vying for the same gig - it all seems so overwhelming, how can we  enjoy the ride?!
     Faced with everyone hitting the same club owner or artist director for the same gig, my first series of suggestions falls under the category of lateral thinking . We are all inclined to see the thing in the way it is presented and play the rules of the game . With so many playing there is not enough  room on the playing field the way it currently configured.. And so , I would suggest that you expand the field and adapt the rules to your game. Rather than wait for Joe Cub Owner or Artist Director  to call, create your own venue . Start off small with a house concert , something you and/or your friends can handle . Use a small sound system . Sell CDs . If this works and there is enthusiasm for the house concert format, set up a series. Don’t over tax yourself or your friends as you want enthusiasm, not burn out. A house concert series will, however, give other players a chance to perform and introduce you to a wider circle of place to play.  
  Play in your community . Offer to play at the school , after four programmes , the Christmas bazaar , the hospital , the detention centre, I ‘m not joking . Be part of your community because it is rewarding for both you and your neighbourhood .  You will improve , you may find that you are really good at playing for kids or seniors who knows what could happen. In most cases there will be little pay for this activity , perhaps an honorarium , or tax deduction but what it will do is improve your craft and expand your audience .  After a few years in your community it may be time to move the venue up from the house concert to community hall . Once a year . Lots of advance notice . Strategically timed - perhaps even associated with some cause . Good sound system. High fun factor. An event.  Play well, sell some CDs . See you next year.
  No - this event is not going pay the bills but it will illustrate that you can fill and play this type of hall .Expand your audience , play out of town , repeat. Get enough and you will pay the bills. No Previa but so it goes. Across Canada these days , house concerts and self- promoted venues are joining the more standard types of presentation. To a great extent you have to be your own “little red hen”. I think this is the road ahead.

  Find a place where your CDs will sell away from the competition. Find a small shop, grocery store , bookshop , boutique and ask to place your CDs there , close to the cash register. Ask them to play the CD in the store. Visit the shop frequently to replenish stock. If they move your CDs away from the cash register - get those CDs back there. They will not sell off in the corner gathering dust . Agree to consignment sales if you must but  cash on the barrel head is far better. Suggest a concert in the bookshop , small restaurant . Do something for the shop. You can’t possibly compete with the Stings of this world but with your CD at the cash of local grocery store 500 CDs can turn into a  thousand. At a thousand CDs you will have reached your village and it will be time to expand your village.  Stick with the impulse sales. Expand and consolidate.  

  When I started in this world of music - I wanted to be folksinger., right down to boot cut jeans and cowboy boots . Sad thing was I had glasses, looked like a geek, and was still using my family’s name. Hard to convince people I had just rode in on a boxcar with my piano on my knee.  I made demos , played the local hoots , played the ever closing coffeehouses of the 1970's . I even got a record contract. But I could not make a living from this and maybe I shouldn’t have expect to. But there was a model out there and I was playing by the rules of the game. But then someone arrived with the idea that I could write a musical . Sure I said - I grew up on them but maybe I could do a musical incorporating a story around songs that me and my compatriots were writing. I did . The play, written in 1976 , has seen many incarnations and suddenly  I could include playwright beside my name along with folksinger.. I was now multi-tasking. And I was no longer exactly playing by the rules of the game . I started moving in more than one tribe- there was the music tribe, sub-divided into acoustic and electric  and there was another tribe in theatre . Although these tribes didn’t really mingle I was able to take a little from both and was able to bring a different take on things to each table. When the club scene really collapsed in 1982 - I was able to survive doing soundtracks for a local theatre company as well as setting up an acoustic concert series at the theatre venue.
   The point of this parable is - don’t let yourself get stuck in one box, and don’t let yourself be described as only one thing. There is relatively little room in Canada to just be a folksinger - there are many very good ones . But one’s passion for music can lead you down interesting alleyways and paths that are equally  rewarding both spiritually and financially. Writing music for theatre soundtracks has lead to work in documentary films , television soundtracks , even a cartoon show. It is not the centre of my work but it has expanded my craft , each new challenge informs another discipline of my work and , it all allows me to continue what I love doing- music and writing. I know some might say that you can creatively spread yourself too thin. I have never found this to be the case. There are hundreds of cross - relationships that really make you better in all aspects of your work and can make the road ahead tremendous fun.

Three Days In Ireland

This spring I spent a month working on two expedition ships traveling around Ireland and Scotland . I drive zodiacs for a company called Adventure Canada, point out the flora and fauna , give a few talks on Irish -Scots music, play some tunes. I have done this for the past 12 years to offset the higher tax bracket I would be in if I worked as a musician in Canada year round. It is also an inspirational place for songwriting .The expedition is basically a look at the interesting dovetail between the expansion of two conflicting worlds around the outer islands of Scotland and Ireland ; the world of the Viking from their base in the Orkneys, and the world of the monks and their church as it reached back into Europe from retreats  off the south- west corner of Ireland to the pilgrimage of St. Columba to Iona , Scotland..
    I would like to focus on three wonderful days and nights of music on the west and north coast of Ireland. It could be said that Michael Flatley’s Riverdance and more recently Celtic Tiger has brought Irish music too much into the centre and into the “over the top” category . It could be said Irish culture , fake Irish pubs et al has suffered its own great success   and that the Irish music wave is now in decline in the popular culture. But if this is true the Irish musicians I heard either are unaware of this or don’t give a damn if they are yesterdays hulahoop. From what I heard they are playing with the same passion , precision and joy as the Bothy Band , Planxty , Ossian did at the beginning of the wave.  In some cases they are playing even better.  
   The first day began off the Skelligs- two rock outcrops seven miles off the south- west coast of Ireland . In the 7thC hermetic monks found themselves here- getting away from it all . On one island there is a colony of about 20,000 gannets , on Stack Micheal , there nothing but a shear face of black rock . It defines the word inhospitable. But the monks cut stairs in the rocks , built beehive shaped cletts (stone shelters) to live in at the top , a small stone Abbey about the size of a key on a basketball court . They lived and prayed there . My guess is that they prayed for food.. Occasionally they were raided by passing Viking ships but they persisted and some say the re- introduction of the church into Europe began on rock outcrops like the Skelligs and Aran Isles. How they survived there at all remains a mystery to me.
    We arrived at John Benny’s Bar in Dingle by the circuitous route of Ventry Bay. When I  tried  to get into Dingle Harbour the waves were about 3 metres high, impossible for passengers to get in the boats. I had a brief encounter with Finghy the dolphin then back on the ship. The musicians were just setting up as the pints were poured and I noticed we were in for a treat. The leader of group was an uilleann piper and from the warm up I could tell he was good . Micheal O’Hanalan was a pennywhistler from Aran and a resource person on the ship. He sat in and within moments they were into the craic and a few tunes. Micheal was on the level with Matt Molloy of the Chieftains on Irish flute , had auditioned for Paddy Maloney but it was Matt Molloy he chose.
The squeeze box joined in , then the fiddle and they were off. After  a few sets a guitar player in DADGAD tuning joined in and sang a few tunes . I asked for Arthur McBride or Plains of Kildare, being a fan of Andy Irvine and Paul Brady. He went for Arthur McBride and had all of Brady’s guitar ornamentations down pat. 
  Most of the passengers had never seen a piece plumbing like the Uilleann pipes with its series of regulators, brass and leather. It was only three in the afternoon and the piper barely had his eyes open but he answered their questions  with great patience. It was clear he was the leader of the group , it was his playing that drove the pieces. I mentioned to him that I had heard a musical duel of sorts between Paddy Keenan and Liam O’Flynn at the Celtic Colours Festival, Cape Breton a few years before. He scoffed and said , “aye, the new players, they like to have a go at each other.” With Michael in tow , they organized their sets, reels , slides, a mazurka- often five minutes between sets , sippin’ and tossing it back at each other. I guess it was a session with an audience. It became obvious that Michael was damn good on the whistle so the uilleann piper and Michael did a wonderful slow air with Michael playing discant to the melody. The bar shut up and the music and moment  transcended and transported itself out into the dark green hills of the Dingle Peninsula. An introduction to Irish music.
   Two days later we found ourselves at Matt Molloy’s pub in Westport , County Mayo, listening to the incredible music of the Munnelly brothers. The Munnelly’s are two toe- head boys weighing in at about 250lbs. each and they look like they have lived exclusively on a diet of Guinness and potatoes. But play.  David plays the box with the lilt of Sharon Shannon but the push of no one I know . His brother Kieran plays Irish flute taught to him by Matt Molloy and yet his forte is bodhran. . There is a great fiddler as well whose name I can’t recall but plays in the style of Kevin Burke - dry and fast. When these three guys started up - the acceleration was incredible, Patrick pushing and pulling rhythms adding rhythmic ornamentations , so much so that Michael hit him on the head a few times with the whistle , he could not keep up. The local boys, now more interested in swilling American Bud and listening to Bon Jovi than this shite , stood slack jawed at the power and drive of this music. At one point dancing broke out and a lad on the banker’s holiday, well oiled, jumped up on a chair a did a step dance from his childhood. His buddies were on the floor laughing.
    After forty minutes of pushing Irish music , the Munnellys , soaking wet, took a well deserved break for a refreshment. A few minutes later the accapella singer, Nick Lavelle took to the floor. Nick has been a fixture for years at Matt Molloy’s - a bit of the blarney in horn- rimmed glasses. Nick can sing anything but specializes in those Irish songs that were written in America and brought back to the homeland during a time when traditional Irish music seemed in receivership.  Some are pretty smalztsy but the older folk recognize them and love them . Everybody was singing along to Danny Boy , what can I say. He also sang a couple of very funny originals - My Girl Friend has a new Cell Phone- in a voice that could take out the back wall off Matt Molloy’s pub. Booming.
     The Munnellys came back , Guinness in hand and after a few tunes ,Kieran broke out the bodhran and launched into a solo that would have Ginger Baker smiling .It was unbelievable. The bodhran remained part of the ensemble and David and Kieran played off each other into the night. They tore the roof off the place. I wondered if the 100 passengers we had brought to the house lifted them up to another level or if this what they did every time out. Another mystery to add to the collection . The music  played on as we headed back to the ship , anchored in Clew Bay.     
     The next day found us off the north coast of Donegal on the remote island of Tory. Tory has an elected King - Patsy Dan Rodgers who can pile the Irish lepricon higher and deeper than anyone I know. He greeted everyone with “a tousand tank-yous for comin’ to our wee island ! ”in his long coat and sailors hat. He is also a credible box player and , with his cousin Pol Rodgers , have won a number of ceidlth band contests in Belfast and Dublin . They had had a feud for seventeen years that recalls the recent film set in County Clare but word is they have patched things up. The ceidlth was held in the community hall and it being still the banker’s holiday the boys of the island were well into it. They were also celebrating their recent victory over the ship on the soccer field.
   Tory is one three Gaelic protected areas in the Republic where Irish is the first language. There is also the preservation of traditional dancing and it was wonderful when the younger members of the island took to the floor and did some dances unique to the island. . The enthusiasm of the evening caused an old guy  to get up and do a broom dance . I wondered if it was a traditional dance or something he had learned abroad. He put sand down on the floor and then did a sort of Irish soft shoe on it , while sweeping the sand in different patterns . In the end he swept himself and sand off the floor, an interesting variation on sweeping the spot light away. A few passengers joined in on the fun and when the captain of the ship was asked to dance , everyone hit the floor. Micheal and I played off stage while on stage. three boxes , three fiddles and bodhran provided the groovage. It wasn’t great music but it served the dancing and the fun . People danced till they could dance no more , then the youth of Tory taught them another dance and they danced some more. About eleven that night we limped back to the ship . The band played us out from the pier.
    Tomorrow, Michael and I would play pennywhistle in Fingal’s Cave on the island of Staffa, Scotland. But that’s another story.

The Lake Superior shore at the mouth of the Michipocoten River is an incredible place to play a concert. I have performed at a lodge there that has large front windows and a spectacular view of the lake. The sunsets are incredible. The audience enjoy the view while I pay musical homage to Superior. As I play I am soon lost to memories of this shoreline.

 I grew up by the lake, Fort William,Ont., but an industrial zone  discouraged easy access.  Summers were spent at Amethyst Harbour, on the north-west shore of Thunder Bay and yet, during my childhood, stories of the lake were often filled with danger of drowning in her icy waters. There were no canoes or kayaks on Superior at this time.
 
At Trent University I met Lindsay Staples, an avid canoeist, who introduced me to the “path of the paddle.” It was during this period I read Wayland Drew’s wonderful novel Wabeno Feast, a story set on Superior.  Lindsay and I began talking about canoeing the big lake, particularly the Pukasqua and Gargantua Peninsulas, known as Superior’s ‘haunted shore’.

Our trip began at the mouth of the Michipicoten River, - the very place I was playing, so many years later. Paddling onto Superior, we hit an undertow from the river’s strong current and surf from the lake.  Surviving this challenge, we pulled the canoes in down the beach and quickly acknowledged the lake’s power- a gift of tobacco to the gods , Mishipishu, the Thunderbird, and Nanabijou. Lindsay had just come from a vision quest on Cobinosh Island and believed spirits were alive on the north shore. Canoeing this lake was a big enough quest for me but I thought a gift to the lake made good sense.

Each day we were up at six and on the water by eight,  paddling across the crescent bays that arc the Guargantua Peninsula- Old Woman Bay, Katherine Cove, the beautiful Baldhead River, Devil’s Chair.  On the water, the canoes disappeared in two metre swells but it was fine as long as we stayed out of the back swell zone. Landing, however, was tricky, surfing onto a rocky beach with one wave to get the canoe ashore.   We often camped by raised cobble beaches and found evidence of pukasqua pits, vision pits, where others, long before us, had pondered the lake. 
 
One day we saw a water spout. It seemed quite odd because the sky was clear with only light winds.  We stared in amazement as this thing traveled across the lake, vanishing over the horizon. When we set up camp that evening Lindsay was anxious, convinced that we should have responded with some tobacco on the water. He thought this water spout may have been a visualization of Mishipishu – the same horned creature that is depicted in ochre on Agawa Rock. Our campsite was just west of the abandoned village of Gargantua. The tip of the peninsula is a long way from the highway. We had not seen a soul for twelve days. It seemed we had the lake to ourselves.

 Next morning I woke to see Lindsay running down the beach towards my canoe.  – 100 metres from where it had been hauled out the night before.   When I reached him I saw that the whole bow of the canoe had been ripped open.  Small rocks had been carefully jammed between the in-wale and out-wale. There was no evidence that the canoe had been in the water overnight. The lake was calm. No footprints.
 
 We were unnerved. Could we fix the canoe? We scoured the beach for nails, collected pitch from some balsam trees, and returned to the campfire to heat up the resin. There we made a second discovery: a rock ,placed in the ashes of the fire, and on it, sketched in charcoal, a stick man, arms outstretched, radiating lines from his head.   

As we stared at this image I know I surrendered to the power and mystery of Lake Superior. From this moment on every loon, every tree, every whisper of wind, was alive with spiritual energy. I woke up. Every time I visit Lake Superior I am there again.