August 8, 2008

“… the sounds keep you up / in the night…”

Like most kids, most of my early life I took for granted that my grandfather would just always be around. When he was gone, it was about the saddest thing I could imagine. The funny thing is that as is so often the case, I appreciated him so much more after he was gone than I did when he was always around. I guess it is true that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

When he died, I was very sad, but the truth of the matter is that by that point, my life didn’t change all that much. I was pretty independent and wrapped up in my own things by that point, so nothing really changed. Until Christmas, that was. Christmas was always his big thing; it was always important to him that everyone was around, and everyone participated in family rituals. After he was gone, Christmas was just never the same, and Christmas was when I really started to miss having him around. It took a few years to adjust to Christmas again and settle into new rituals.

“… the sounds keep you up / in the night…”

Tonight I felt a similar sense of loss and longing. Since his untimely death earlier this year, I’ve been mourning Willie P Bennett, but because I’ve listened to him so much since then, I’ve never really had to miss him; he was still there whenever I needed him. There are many times when only his words can hit the spot, and thankfully, there are so many left behind, and they’ll stay with me for the rest of my life.

I’ve thought many times about the sad, sad fact that I’ll never see Willie again. For years I’ve longed to see a full Willie concert, but because I never had the chance, I guess I’ll never know what I was missing. But tonight Fred Eaglesmith came to town, and it was my first time seeing him live since we lost Willie. I’ve been a huge Fred Eaglesimth fan for almost a decade, and I take nothing away from Fred’s talent, charm, or appeal, but I’d say that an equal part of the magic of seeing Fred and following him was keeping tabs on Willie and getting to see him. He brought things to a Fred show that made it out of the ordinary, and they’re things that can never be replaced. Sadly, they’re things that I can never experience live again.

Whenever I went to see Fred, I’d always try to sit on Willie’s side of the stage, I’d cheer like crazy when he was introduced, and, as I saw more shows and got to know the songs and arrangements better, I’d wait eagerly for those moments when I knew Willie was going to add his mandolin, harmonica, or amazing voice to the songs. Those were always the moments that made the show for me. I’ve seen Fred solo before, and it just wasn’t the same for me; sure, it was fun, but it only served to make me appreciate Willie more, and look forward to seeing him again. (I think that, among all other things is why I’ll never warm up to Dusty. A Fred album without Willie just isn’t complete.)

“… the sounds keep you up / in the night…”

The more I got into Willie, the bigger his legacy loomed for me. For me, he really was a god that I could only worship from afar. I knew that many people really knew Willie, and I knew that he was just an ordinary guy with an absolutely extraordinary talent, but to me, he was so much more. His songs move me and resonate within me perhaps more than those of any other writer, and I listen to a lot of songwriters. Something about those songs, that music, those words, and that voice have made Willie the lifelong friend that I never even really knew.

I always wanted to know more about Willie, and my biggest ambition was always to have him on my radio show and find out more about him. I thought many times about trying to get to know him better, but I was hugely intimidated by him, and I guess I was kind of afraid to find out that my ideas and expectations were unrealistic. I guess that’s why the first time I got Willie’s autograph, I had to get someone else to get my record signed (which probably explains why it says “To Geff”)

I guess in the end I’m glad that I never pulled back that curtain to reveal the true wizard, because the larger than life image in my mind is probably so much more fun.

“… the sounds keep you up / in the night…”

Knowing that I was going to see Fred live caused some anxiety, and it caused me to start thinking about Willie more, and what things would be like. I know Fred’s been touring without Willie for quite a while now, but I’ve never seen, or even heard a show since that point. I know there’s a new player and the set’s been worked out and the shows are Fredhead approved, but you can never really judge something until you experience it for yourself. I wondered what the songs would be like. Would the new guy be trying to fill Willie’s shoes, or have the songs and arrangements changed since then? Only being there would tell.

I felt kind of uneasy going in and sitting down. It was kind of like a first date after the breakup of an important relationship; you know you want to try it again, but you know it won’t be the same, and you have to learn to try again. I was expecting things to be different, but I know that there’s much more to a Fred show than just Willie, so I knew that it wouldn’t be a disaster, but there was still something difficult about it.

It was especially interesting to go with my future wife, who had never seen Willie, or Fred, before. I got to experience Fred for the first time again through her eyes, and I suppose that helped me to remember what it is about Fred himself and his songs and his show that I loved so much in the beginning.

But I tell you, there were plenty of times in the show when all I could think about was Willie. I was having fun, but I was also very sad, and feeling a sense of loss and longing that I hadn’t really felt in a very long time. The first song was hard, but Codeine was, ironically, the most painful. Although as I said, Dusty has never really won me over, Willie’s part in that song stole the show the first time I saw him do it, and it’s lived within me ever since. And tonight, more than any other, the sounds are keeping me up in the night.

It’ll take a while for me to adjust to life without Willie, because seeing Fred in concert will never be the same, and it will always make me think of him, but he left so much behind, and that won’t ever change. Fred’s got a great new band and a wonderful show still, and I have more respect for him than ever because, to my knowledge, for the first time in his career, he’s doing a cover almost every night. Tonight he finished off with “Country Squall,” and it kind of gave me the closure I needed, because it showed that Willie is still a huge part of the show; that moment is an acknowledgement that he is still there, and he’s still important, even though we all have to move on in his absence.

“… the sounds keep you up / in the night…”

February 16, 2008

Music has a power over me that I’m not sure I could accurately describe. I’ve always been a bit of a loner and keep very few close friends. I’m accustomed to spending great amounts of time by myself. Some people are able to find a constant friend in religion. I’ve got faith, but the thought of someone, somewhere, far away never really comforted me as much as I’d like. Music is the only magical force that’s been able to soothe my soul and keep me going through the darkest places.

I grew up on music like many others, but that was the pop music of the day and whatever cool stuff my parents happened to have around. I had some pretty rough patches in my childhood when I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to me or why things had to be the way they were. My only retreat from that sometimes was going into my room and playing my records. I’d started to seek out some good music thanks to a few very knowledgeable people in my life, and the little bits on the radio that were new and interesting. I started to sit in my room and pretend that I was on the radio, playing sets of music that I wanted to share. I’d put together upbeat sets when I was going out or having a good day. I’d put together strange sets when I was bored. But all too often, I put together sad, melancholy sets when things seemed bleak. No matter how sad the set, I’d find comfort in the music.

I had favourite artists that really connected with me for one reason or another. Looking back, I’m not sure what it was about some that really drew me in. One of the artists that I obsessed over for a long time was Stevie Ray Vaughan. His music was rough and rockin’ and somehow different than the other stuff out there. Since then, and through him, I’ve learned what the blues is all about. For a few years of my youth, he was the greatest musician alive, to me.

And then he died.

I remember when I first heard that there’d been an accident. It was exactly two months after my 16th birthday. Initially I was told that it was Eric Clapton’s band that died. Being a big follower of Clapton and Stevie Ray, I knew that they were playing together and I wished I could have been there. Sad, I thought, because I loved Clapton’s band. I didn’t know who it was that died, but I went home and tried to find out if it was anyone that I knew of. It was only then that I found out that Stevie was on board. I remember feeling like someone had punched me in the stomach. I remember being so stunned that I couldn’t really feel any kind of sadness or loss. Until I started to hear his music on the reports, and I had time to think about what it meant. He was without a doubt the artist that I most wanted to see live in concert, and when I thought about the fact that I’d never get my chance, I cried. There were many tears that day and in the days that followed. I didn’t really talk about how sad I was. I just listened to a lot of his music. The songs and that voice and his guitar touched me. I knew that they always would, but it saddened me that I’d never hear what he could do next.

I guess I’ve been lucky, because in the past 18 years, I haven’t felt that way when a musician died. Sure, there have been some losses, but nothing like that day.

Until today.

I wasn’t having a good day as it was. Lots of stuff going on in my world is making things kind of stressful. But none of that matters now, because the news came today that the man whom I believe to be the greatest Canadian songwriter of all time, Willie P Bennett, has died. It hurts me to write that, because for me, Willie is a larger than life icon who will never truly die.

In the early 90s, I found out what real music was when I attended my first Winnipeg Folk Festival. The first full day I was there, I first heard a guy named Stephen Fearing. He was brilliant and amazing, and I could not believe that I’d never heard of him before. I became an instant fan, and immediately started to seek out other great artists that I was missing out on. Fearing has remained one of my favourites, and he’s also become a trusted source of musical advice. He’s quick to point out people who have inspired and amazed him, and every time I’ve heard him mention a name, I’ve become a fan of that artist. I’m pretty sure the first one, however, was the most important.

I remember seeing Stephen in concert at the West End Cultural Centre, in I guess 1996 or so, and he did a song called “The Lucky Ones.” He said it was by a guy named Willie P Bennett, and that he and a couple of friends had recently recorded an album in his honour, and they were calling themselves Blackie & The Rodeo Kings. Well, I set out to find two albums immediately after that, the Blackie record, and something by Willie P Bennett. Blackie came out a while later, so it wasn’t hard to find. Willie’s music turned out to be somewhat more elusive. I couldn’t find an album by him in any store, and in that pre-internet age, there wasn’t really another option but to keep searching. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon a copy of “The Lucky Ones” in the bargain bin at Sam the Record Man for $6.99 a little while later. It’s still one of the greatest finds and bargains I’ve ever found, because the album is impossible to find, and it’s brilliant.

Some further digging netted me another couple of amazing finds after that. At Music Trader, I managed to get used copies of “Take My Own Advice” and a brilliant compilation called Collectibles (both of which, to this day, I’ve never seen anywhere else, even on Willie’s discography page). The latter is what I’d consider one of the finest collections of songs on the planet. Every single one of the 15 songs on it is powerful and amazing. I admit that it took me a bit of time to really grasp what it was about Willie’s songs that meant so much to me.

At first glance, Willie’s songs seem rather simplistic. They’re easy to understand and follow and the melodies are all instantly accessible. At first what dazzled me was the playing and singing more than the lyrics, because they seemed so simple, and somehow, we’re taught that the great works of art aren’t “easy” they take some interpretation. Rubbish. There are very few songwriters on the planet who can get straight to the heart with simple words and stories like Willie P.

The only other songwriter that I can really compare Willie to is Townes Van Zandt. He’s another one whose loss hit me hard, but I didn’t know of him until after he was gone. It was only after seeing a movie about him and really digesting his songs that the loss of his talent and power hit me. So it wasn’t the same.

Shortly after I discovered Willie, I discovered Fred Eaglesmith. I had no idea that there was any connection between the two at first, so imagine my surprise when I learned that the leader of Fred’s band was none other than Willie P. I was indeed shocked, because I figured Willie must be dead or hiding out crafting beautiful songs somewhere, not slugging it out in someone else’s band night after night. But there he was, adding mandolin, harmonica, and those powerful vocals to Fred’s songs, night after night. I started religiously going to Fred shows almost entirely out of devotion to the legend of Willie P Bennett. I always tried to sit on Willie’s side of the stage, and I always cheered my head off when Willie was introduced. It was at Fred’s shows that I first picked up Willie’s classic albums from the 70s, “Hobo’s Taunt,” “Tryin’ to Start out Clean,” and “Blackie and the Rodeo King.” I picked up “Heartstrings,” his superstar collaboration album when it first came out in 1998.

I always dreamed that someday, Fred would let Willie sing a song at one of those shows. Still to this day I can’t figure out how you can have Canada’s greatest songwriter on stage with you every night and not want to hear at least one of his songs. It boggles my mind. I’ve had trouble respecting Fred for a variety of reasons, but letting Willie be in the background for so many years is perhaps his greatest crime. Fred’s shows have become somewhat formulaic for me. They’re always good, but not a whole lot ever changes.

Except for a brief period in 2005, that is. Fred started doing this thing called “The Flying Squirrel Revue” where he showcased three amazing guys in his band, Dan Walsh, Roger Marin, and Willie P Bennett as an opening act of sorts. They came out and played together without Fred and each guy got to do about 3 of his own songs. I traveled all the way to Grand Forks to see that show. That was the first time I ever saw Willie live, and I could have listened to his three songs and drove all the way home a happy man. I wished that I could have heard much more, but the fact that I finally got to see and hear Willie live was a dream come true.

For years I didn’t have the nerve to talk to Willie. I’d ask people what he was like, but I didn’t believe that he was as approachable as they said. I actually asked someone to get one of my records signed for me, because I was too intimidated to ask him myself. I guess that’s why it says “To Geff.” Eventually I worked up the nerve, but it was only because I’d become so frustrated with the fact that he never put out new albums, and never toured on his own. I had to ask him when he was going to step out of the shadows and show the world how brilliant he really was. I remember timidly walking up to him and talking to him a bit, before asking if he’d considered putting out a new album or doing some shows on his own. He laughed and said that he had plenty of plans. He was working on putting together a live album, and writing new songs, and planning some shows, one of which might take place in Winnipeg. I was over the moon with excitement. Sadly, none of those things ever came to be.

I’m a huge fan of the guys in Blackie & The Rodeo Kings for many reasons, but their greatest accomplishment is introducing the world to Willie P Bennett once again. Whenever Stephen or Colin has appeared on my radio show, the conversation always drifts over to Willie. What’s he up to? Is he ever going to put out another album? What’s the deal with him, anyway? He’s a guiding light for Stephen, Colin, Tom, me, and so many others.

That radio show exists for the purpose of allowing people to hear great songwriters like Willie P Bennett who just don’t get heard often enough. Tomorrow, I’ll be playing two hours of Willie P. Somehow, it just won’t seem like enough. I just don’t want it to be true. I want to still believe that someday I’ll get to see Willie in concert, and he’ll release the long awaited album that will win him many awards and get his name back out there. Some day, he’ll get the attention he deserves. I guess now I can only hope that his songs will get the same respect and attention posthumously that folks like Townes Van Zandt and Hank Williams get. They were sadly under-appreciated during their own time as well. Willie ranks right up there with those true greats. True giants whose songs touch hearts and minds. They’ll live forever. I’ll be playing Willie P Bennett songs for anyone who will listen for as long as I’m alive.

I didn’t know you well, and I only heard you sing your powerful songs in person a couple of times, but Willie, you are a true friend. You help me through tough times, and very few of those are tougher, or sadder, than today, when I heard that you’d died. Thank goodness I have your songs to help me make it through.