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!

Now what?

As I write this, I'm just about to leave for Ottawa for the 8th and final show on this year's "The Way We Feel" tour, a tribute to Gordon Ligthfoot now in its fourth season.

And what is the way we feel? I can't speak for anyone else, but for me this tour has been transformative. I guess when you drive all over Central Ontario on a breakneck pace for a couple of weeks, singing the songs of a Canadian hero to really appreciative audiences, it's bound to be some kind of good for you.

For me it's been the tough kind of good. I've certainly enjoyed the shows, and the backstage camaraderie is wonderful. As always, the music is inspiring and it feels righteous to be presenting the show. And as the host and a four-year veteran of this adventure, I've got a role to play and a significant contribution to make.

But now it's nearly done, and as the tour ends, so does another little chunk of my life, another iteration of my self. David Newland, version 36.11. Spring is fully upon us. I've finished up a couple of big projects and another couple are soon to be put to bed. I'll spend the month of May swinging a hammer around my home, getting grounded in the garden and working out the logistics for my summer. Oh, and doing my taxes...

And the days will unfold as they tend to do, opportunities will arise I'm sure, and the forecast is calling for lots of introspection. Perhaps out of all that, some sense of clarity will descend, and I'll have something to answer that nagging and occasionally overwhelming question: now what?

Please play again

For four years now, a bunch of talented Canadian performers have gotten together every winter to tell the world "The Way We Feel" about the songs of Gordon Lightfoot. I've had the great honour of hosting the show, which means getting the best seat in the house to hear a stellar cast do what they do best. Lightfoot's tunes defy genre in their capable hands - blues, country, folk, rock, pop, protest, poetry, even elements of jazz, punk, spoken word, and comedy have all been teased out by a list of artists now too long to name.

As always when we take the Carefree Highway, it's an emotional adventure. The first year, we stood on stage at Hugh's Room with lumps in our throats, knowing Mr. Lightfoot lay in a hospital bed nearby and might never sing again. The second year, we honoured his recovery with overwhelming gratitude. The third year, he hopped up on stage with us and the show became a joyous celebration. This year, with shades of whimsy and wonder, it became a true tradition, and I hope it never stops.

The kind of energy that Lightfoot gathered from far and wide across this land, wrested into works of beauty and depth, and shared with a people desperate to hear their own stories sung, is magnified in the fervent admiration of today's artists, who have the great fortune of having grown up in a Canadian musical tradition. It's tough sometimes to live in the shadows of giants... but boy, is the soil ever fertile in their cool shadows.

That said, as wonderful as it is for me, the amazing high of The Way We Feel is usually followed by a quick dive into depression. Frankly when it's all over and I've come down from wherever it is we go, I usually find myself crying, for reasons I can't even explain fully. I know it has something to do with music's ability to touch people; something to do with nostalgia; something to do with being surrounded by immense talent, and something very much to do with Canada.

Sunday night, after all was said and done, I sat and watched the Olympic closing ceremonies alone, exhausted and exhilirated all at once. Okay, I'm a sap: I started to get choked up watching the whole audience dance to "YMCA," of all things... then (to my embarassment!) watching highlight reel of Frank and Gordon, the animated beavers from the Bell commercials... you can imagine what a mess I was by the time the Native leaders of lower mainland BC had extended their sacred invitation for 2010, and the quadrapalegic mayor of Vancouver had accepted the Olympic flag and done a couple of doughnuts in his wheelchair?

And our Olympians, the ones who'd worked their whole lives for this and weren't going to miss a moment- did you see them dance over there in Torino, cheerfully waving to the world? It's because they've got Lightfeet, I think. Lightfeet and light hearts. Me too.

Monday morning, in the bright late winter sun, I rolled up the rim for the first time this year. It said "Please Play Again." Funny, in Vancouver, they're using the slogan "Come play with us." Coincidence? All I know is The Way We Felt in 2003, when we gathered on stage the first time to sing "Please Play Again, Gord" - and he did.

And we do...

LIGHTFOOTSTEPS

Almost 3 years ago, when Gordon Lightfoot was really ill, Aengus Finnan commissioned me to write a spoken-word piece for "The Way We Feel: A concert celebrating the songs for Gordon Lightfoot."

This is what I wrote and performed at the concert that year. I haven't done it since. But it's that Massey Hall show time of year and I thought I'd dust it off for the occasion. Here's to you, Mr. Lightfoot.

LIGHTFOOTSTEPS

You're a son of a birch
You're a chip off the old church
C'mon, lift up your drink
To the boys at the rink, if they're still there at all
You should pay 'em a call
You should know that they miss you
Times you've been gone.

Like a bird on the wing:
Always after a new song to sing
C'mon, give us a song
Til the train comes along, if it still comes this way
You know what they say, eh
You should know how a train sounds
It sounds just like you.

Like the tunes that you wrote
All those ones that we all know note for note
C'mon, play us a tune
Like the cry of a loon, if the loons still do cry
You should know how they cry
You know the wherefore and the why
The loons cry for love

You're a lover yourself
It's right there in those records of yours on my shelf
C'mon, tell us of love
Like we're all dreaming of, if we all still do dream
You must know it's a scheme
You must know how the scheme works
You've played it both ways

You've left, you've been left
Just like all of us, we know you've been bereft
C'mon, what do you say
Let's head out to the old carefree highway, if it still runs that way
You can drive to the bay
You should know where that bay is
It's where you're alone

Like the sun going down
Like a lonesome boy stuck on the edge of this town
C'mon, who couldn't guess
At times you were a mess, if it still means a thing
You might still feel the sting
You should know that's alright
It's how stories are made

Like the ones that you tell
The big boat on the big lake lost in the swell
C'mon, you told it so well
How they tolled the old bell, if bells still do ring
You'll still hear them and sing
You should know what that means
To give voice to this land

To the trees, to the snow, to the sand
Sit down old stranger, play that guitar in your hand
C'mon, play like you do
Tell us it's true, if you're still here to play
You're a hero today
You should know that's okay
You should hear
what the ones who have walked in
Lightfootsteps
Are now here to say.

They're here thanking the Lord
For the words and the songs, and the life of you, Gord.
C'mon, a toast has been poured
Lift a glass to that sweet chord, if it's still ringing true
You should know what to do
You should play it for you
And by the way....
Did I mention we've missed you?
Times you been gone...
January 08, 2003.

Pete Seeger's birthday cake

I just read this article by Studs Terkel acknowledging Pete Seeger's 86th birthday.

I'm reminded of the amazing impact that living an exemplary life can have on others. I'm reminded of the importance of faith, hope, and charity. And I'm reminded, sadly, how hard it is to live that way, and how rare the people who are able to do so, and still let their little lights shine.

I saw Pete Seeger at Massey Hall when the Folk Alliance was in town, inspiring people to tears in a 15 minute set that could have gone on for hours. I've seen both Odetta and Richie Havens at Hugh's Room over the past couple of years, radiating joy and commitment as if unaffected by the cynicism all around. I see Bono and Springsteen tirelessly striving to make our global village more just, and more humane. And I see people in this music community working just as hard to bring their convictions to life in the world around.

Sometimes people like that, and the lesser-known folk among us who are similarly driven, manage to make some really great changes happen, and the world is a better place as a result. That is an awesome thing.

Still, the thing I value most is the ability to keep contributing with grace. That's something Pete Seeger has achieved, I think, and it strikes me as a truly divine gift.

86 candles on one birthday cake adds up to a lot of little flames - enough to light millions more little lights.

Let 'em shine!

There is a Gord

My... feet... they're so... Light! I'm floating!

Okay, maybe not floating. It feels a bit more like bobbing, soaring, and diving. Blimp-like. Zeppelinesque? Whatever. It's the annual Lightfoot tribute hangover, after two years, I guess I've gotten used to it.

Actually, this time around there's more than just a hollow feeling about returning to work with the rest of the normal people. There's also a sense of satisfaction in a job well done, now that the trilogy has been enacted.

I feel like this year, we wrapped it up somehow, artistically speaking. We took that loving feeling that has been the beauty of the past two versions, and extended it over 9 days and 4 cities. We somehow brought the thing up and out of the realm of how much we missed Gord, through how much we were glad to have him back, to just how great the songs are. How great the land is. How deep the love is, in songs and in words.

What's next, I don't know. But I think that somehow, what began as a tribute to a man and his music has become a celebration of a land and its stories. I hope for next year that we can begin to explore that deeper, vaster space.

May our feet be Light on that trail...

When the ship went down

The storm that sank the Edmond Fitzgerald shook the Great Lakes coastal area for hundreds of miles. That was 29 years ago tomorrow. I was only 6 at the time, but I remember it clearly.

I remember getting up the next morning to walk up to my school bus stop along highway 69 north of Parry Sound. I had to turn back on our gravel driveway because trees had fallen onto the powerlines. The cables were dancing around like live snakes, spewing sparks as they fell across the road.

I ran back to the house for help. My family was in the kitchen, listening to the bulletin on the radio about the Edmund Fitzgerald being lost with all hands.

It seems like it was only a moment later that the song came out, maybe on some other sunny, frosty morning after a November Great Lakes storm. As a kid I remember feeling that the water I grew up on, the radio that I listened to, the cool of the morning air, that lost freighter, and the haunting voice of Gordon Lightfoot were all part of the same thing.

It's woven so deeply into my mind and my memory now I don't know what to call it. But perhaps the moment 'folk music' really entered my consciousness was with the realization that songs could be one of the purest forms of truth.

String art, Part 1

A portrait of the artist as a series of search strings: here are the top search queries that led people to my website in November of 2003. This is what I look like to a search engine. In a weird way, it's not far off what I look like to myself.





Top 20 of 68 Total Search Strings



david newland

chainsaw mill

bayberry bush

removing drywall

alaska chainsaw mill

Newland

bayberry bushes

chainsaw milling

drywall arch

hazelwood acoustic project

heaven only knows

newland

open mic toronto

NEWLAND

Suzanne de Bussac

alaska mill

chainsaw lumber milling

hazelwood acoustic

Aengus Finnan Lightfoot

Alaska Mill chainsaw

The Tributaries

It's a wonderful thing to have an opportunity to pay tribute to an artist whose work has helped shape you. I've been involved again, as I was last year with the Gordon Lightfoot tribute concert series in Toronto and Ottawa. The astonishing quality and quantity of Lightfoot's work, the fact that he broke ground for so many Canadian musicians and artists, his pioneering use of Canadian landscape imagery in songs, all make this tribute a well-deserved and deeply rewarding endeavour.

They usually are. The Bob Dylan tribute concert, many years ago now, drew artists from all over the musical map - from Willie Nelson to Tracy Chapman - to acknowledge his genius. Two Leonard Cohen tribute records, one "underground" and one populist, have both produced superb renderings of the poet-songwriter's work. Victoria Williams's cause (she suffers from MS) got great support from the likes of Pearl Jam and Soul Asylum. I just picked up a Tom Petty tribute CD featuring a bunch of lesser-known alternative bands that sound pretty darned good. There have been not one, but two Johnny Cash tribute concerts, both televised, one multi-genre, one country; ironically, the country tribute was posthumous. And of course Borealis released the highly acclaimed Lightfoot tribute CD Beautiful this past fall, with bands from Blue Rodeo to Tragically Hip offering their own renditions of his work to the cause.

All of which is great. I love being involved myself. There's a great sense of pride and honour in giving credit where credit is due. As a songwriter in his mid-thirties, I have the privilege of having been influenced by some real giants - Lightfoot is one - and it's great to be able to express what that has meant. I think the other artists I've worked with have felt the same.

We're all what I call "tributaries," meaning people who pay tribute. That's not an insult - among the more famous tributaries are people like U2, Sting, Billy Joel - songwriters who often show up on other people's tribute albums, as they do on the Tower of Song Cohen CD.

I sometimes think we may be becoming a generation of tributaries. And unlike the little mountain streams whose name I have stolen to describe us, these tributaries don't flow into the big rivers - they flow out of them. Or at least that's how it seems at first glance.

After all, it's Mr. Lightfoot's work that has trickled into ours, right? Not the other way around. Moreover, the chance that anyone (at least any folksinger) from my generation becomes a river so deep and wide is negligible. The landscape has shifted against it. Besides, an artist like Gordon Lightfoot comes along so infrequently, it's almost like the Big Bang of Canadian music: a singular event, and one whose echoes are eternal. So it would be silly to suggest that the tributaries are flowing into the river.

Except for one thing: on Saturday, January 10, Mr. Lightfoot, looking incredibly energetic despite a year spent rehabilitating from a life-threatening abdominal aneurysm, clambered on to the stage at Hugh's Room in Toronto. (He put his hand on my knee momentarily to hoist himself up, as a matter of fact, an old-fashioned gesture I found charming.) An emotional crowd, there to watch a Lightfoot tribute concert, leaped to a standing ovation, as Gordon Lightfoot himself cheerily announced his comeback. The energy was amazing, overwhelming, beautiful. It was a moment I won't forget, and neither will anyone else who was there.

Backstage between acts, Mr. Lightfoot showed the class of a true artist, taking the time to individually meet and thank every artist who had contributed to the event. Again, that mighty river flowed into our smaller creeks and streams.

But as a beaming Gordon Lightfoot ducked out into the cold Toronto night, fans clamouring after him as he went I couldn't help thinking - hoping - that maybe, just maybe, the water in those tributaries flows both ways. Maybe hearing his own work back through the voices of his many admirers helped Mr. Lightfoot a bit when he was beginning to ebb. If so, it would confirm the true nature of the tributary: water seeking its own level. Maybe all of these rivers do, in the end, run down to the same ocean, after all.

Dastardly snake...

I said live recordings make me insane. And it's only getting worse. Humans were expelled from Paradise, so the story goes, because of a dastardly snake. Something similar seems to have happened with my Lunenburg recording session, as a faulty snake (the heavy cable running from the stage to the sound board) is being blamed for the disappearance of my guitar track from the files I just got back from that event. It may be that the whole first set has to be scrapped. ARRRGGGGH.

But that's only the bad news. There's good news too: for one thing, I'm in the process of nailing down a place and time for my next (and LAST) live recording. November, nearby. That's all I will say for the moment. Oh, and the working title: Grey November Day.

More good news: I completed a song for my boyhood hero, Terry Fox. Why don't you give it a listen and tell me what you think? It's called Run Terry Run, and you should be able to right click on the title and download it (Choose "Save Target As" and put it on your desktop). Then you can play it at leisure.

For even more multi-media fun, try doing the same with the Run Terry Run video! Keep in mind these were both recorded on a hand-held video camera; this ain't Abby Road Studio quality material. But let me know if you like it, eh?

The best news of all though isn't mine. It's to do with my buddy Aengus Finnan, who has been the biggest supporter of my work for more than a decade. I'm going to brag on his behalf here in return. Aengus's brilliant song "Lightfoot" is the only song on the new Gordon Lightfoot tribute album "Beautiful" that wasn't penned by Gord. Instead, it's the best kind of tribute there is: an ode to all that Lightfoot and his music mean to this country.

It's a real feather in Aengus' cap that he joins the likes of Blue Rodeo, Cowboy Junkies, Tragically Hip, Bruce Cockburn and many others on this timely CD. But better yet, he performed his tune at the press release for the CD the other day. And in the middle of introducing the song, he got a surprise handshake from the Man himself! In many ways it seemed like the torch was being passed, and it couldn't go to a more deserving guy. Way to go buddy.