The Voice of Gord
For seven winters now, I've had the honour and the privilege of hosting The Way We Feel, a continuing tribute to the life, the work, the art and the voice of Gordon Lightfoot.
I've written about it a number of times in this space, trying to capture what it's meant to join voices with musicians and performers from across the country, in an effort to echo the voice of Gord.
We've never seen ourselves as parrots or puppets, but as practitioners of a living tradition. And in practicing, we've come to hear the voice of Gord more closely, and in different ways. It's not the voice of a radio hit anymore, or the voice that wafts from the familiar grooves of an old vinyl record. It's the voice of a landscape, a geographic and emotional space that only seems to get wider and more mysterious the more we explore it.
We started singing because it was about time. In 2002, when Aengus Finnan and Jory Nash booked the first show, no one had made the effort to do a Lightfoot tribute show yet. I suppose people had thought since the voice of Gord had been there for all our lives, surely he'd be singing forever. But when Mr. Lightfoot got sick and his own voice was literally silenced by an abdominal hemorrhage, the silence would not stand. People began to sing along. By the time he was back out of bed and on tour again where he belongs, many voices had joined his own in a Canadian chorus.
The chorus has been building into a grand crescendo. Last fall, I helped put together a project to celebrate Gordon Lightfoot's 70th birthday online at Canoe.ca/lightfoot. When we gave fans the opportunity to share their wishes, they came in by the hundreds, not just from fans, but from peers as well. Everyone from Anne Murray to Tom Cochrane to Dan Hill to Kris Kristofferson had been touched by hearing the voice of Gord.
Over the years Mr. Lightfoot has quietly, modestly, graciously acknowledged the accolades and the adulation. A few times, he's slipped in the back door of Hugh's Room to listen to The Way We Feel for a bit, to shake hands and thank the many musicians who have clamoured to sing his praises. Once - I think it was year 3 - he even hopped on stage to say a few words, to the delight of all.
But he's never taken the stage to sing before. Until last night, when, amid deafening applause, Gordon Lightfoot hopped up on stage in sneakers and blue jeans, a borrowed guitar in his hands. His face was golden in the light, his skin nearly translucent.
Hugh's Room hushed as he approached the mic. With a CBC Radio truck parked right outside on the street, the whole country was on the line. Everyone was listening, intent, as his fingers graced the strings with a brave and tender version of the aptly-chosen "Song For A Winter's Night.'
From a thin and restless wanderer, unweary from his travels and unbent from his travails came an unmistakable, irreplaceable sound...
It was the voice of Gord!
I've written about it a number of times in this space, trying to capture what it's meant to join voices with musicians and performers from across the country, in an effort to echo the voice of Gord.
We've never seen ourselves as parrots or puppets, but as practitioners of a living tradition. And in practicing, we've come to hear the voice of Gord more closely, and in different ways. It's not the voice of a radio hit anymore, or the voice that wafts from the familiar grooves of an old vinyl record. It's the voice of a landscape, a geographic and emotional space that only seems to get wider and more mysterious the more we explore it.
We started singing because it was about time. In 2002, when Aengus Finnan and Jory Nash booked the first show, no one had made the effort to do a Lightfoot tribute show yet. I suppose people had thought since the voice of Gord had been there for all our lives, surely he'd be singing forever. But when Mr. Lightfoot got sick and his own voice was literally silenced by an abdominal hemorrhage, the silence would not stand. People began to sing along. By the time he was back out of bed and on tour again where he belongs, many voices had joined his own in a Canadian chorus.
The chorus has been building into a grand crescendo. Last fall, I helped put together a project to celebrate Gordon Lightfoot's 70th birthday online at Canoe.ca/lightfoot. When we gave fans the opportunity to share their wishes, they came in by the hundreds, not just from fans, but from peers as well. Everyone from Anne Murray to Tom Cochrane to Dan Hill to Kris Kristofferson had been touched by hearing the voice of Gord.
Over the years Mr. Lightfoot has quietly, modestly, graciously acknowledged the accolades and the adulation. A few times, he's slipped in the back door of Hugh's Room to listen to The Way We Feel for a bit, to shake hands and thank the many musicians who have clamoured to sing his praises. Once - I think it was year 3 - he even hopped on stage to say a few words, to the delight of all.
But he's never taken the stage to sing before. Until last night, when, amid deafening applause, Gordon Lightfoot hopped up on stage in sneakers and blue jeans, a borrowed guitar in his hands. His face was golden in the light, his skin nearly translucent.
Hugh's Room hushed as he approached the mic. With a CBC Radio truck parked right outside on the street, the whole country was on the line. Everyone was listening, intent, as his fingers graced the strings with a brave and tender version of the aptly-chosen "Song For A Winter's Night.'
From a thin and restless wanderer, unweary from his travels and unbent from his travails came an unmistakable, irreplaceable sound...
It was the voice of Gord!
Labels: Aengus Finnan, cbc, Hugh's Room, Jory Nash, Lightfoot, The Way We Feel
posted by David Newland at 18.1.09
2 Comments:
Aw, how cool..wish I could be there!
I feel like I was there, David. Thanks for sharing the magic.
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