Wrapping it all up

Well, I wrapped up my fifth live recording in a year and a half yesterday. Grey November Day has now joined The Wine and the Song, Mighty Grace, and Carpenter's Gothic in post-production, and together they will be released as a four album set, Sky Above and Earth Below- the follow-up to last year's Evergreen. In the process I will have met my goal: to put as many of my songs as possible onto CDs in live settings so that both my catalogue and my credibility are established. Hooray..

As for last night: to be honest, I really thought that my first set was a little sketchy, and I felt like I was down 3-0 after the first period of a critical game. But that being said, I always feel poor about my performances on a recording night. I get nervous in ways I never do for an ordinary gig. In reflection, I may have to drop a couple of songs, but that always happens. On the other hand, an extremely warm audience responded with great enthusiasm to some of the tunes, so what the hell do I know, anyway?

I came out of the first set feeling peeved at myself, but determined not to lose the whole game. Thankfully, I had a great bunch of musicians to help me put it over the top: Sarah Ternoway on bass, Gregg Lawless on lead guitar, Scott Vernon on drums and Aengus Finnan even joined us on backup vocals for one tune. With their talent and energy and my dogged insistence on pulling the damned thing off in the end, we managed to really fire it up for the second set.

We closed with a barn-burner version of one of my goofiest tunes, "The Old Man's Workshop," complete with mixed-up lyrics, audience interaction, train-wreck ending and all the great emotion that makes live performances so much fun.

I was reminded a couple of times that I should do more goofy stuff. I was reminded about 30 times that people really listen to lyrics. And I was reminded continually, all night long, that music matters immensely to people, and that it's best heard in small rooms with a crowd that cares and musicians who can make it feel real. I reminded myself that it had all been worth it, and that this manic year and a half of effort and ego and fire and frustration had payed off in the end, on the last night, in a good place, with great people.

Just remind me not to do any more of these. Studio, here I come...

A Night at the Opera

I'll begin by sharing the number one thing I've learned about doing live recordings, especially doing four of them in just over a year: they make you completely insane. I mean it.

By the time I was done doing Evergreen live, last summer, I was a bundle of nerves. After Carpenter's Gothic, in December, I was a bit squirrely. After Mighty Grace, in June, I thought I could never do another. And by the time I got on stage with the guys to record The Wine and the Song, I was halfway in the nuthouse.

Which means that I still don't know how it went, really. I know we had a pretty full house, especially considering it was the Monday evening after tremendous festival. I know we all sold a lot of CDs. I know the crowd was appreciative. And I know Scott was in the pocket on drums, and that Trevor shouldered his big load easily on bass, and that Darren was sharp and cool on guitar. I even know that Scott thought I sounded my very best. But all that is only intellectual knowing. My gut knows nothing.

On the other hand, I've learned that my gut doesn't know what's going on after a recording. I was already living on Tim Horton's and happy hopes at that point, having forgone sleep days before. We did a couple of takes of a few tunes, which I've never done in a concert recording before. Of course that made me feel rotten on stage (most of the mistakes were mine); on the other hand, that might make the final product better. As for the ones we just laid down once... I can't remember how they felt, or sounded, and I just don't have a feeling about them at all. See, my gut doesn't know.

What I do know is it felt great to play with a band. Even if we sounded like a country-rock bar-band, which I half-suspect, it was a great way to make music onstage. I can imagine the joy of doing it like that all the time- you'd have the added bonus that everyone would know each other, and there wouldn't be a record on the line! Plus - and I apologize to my die-hard folk friends - it just feels good to ROCK OUT.

In any case, until I hear the CDS, I won't know what's what. I left Lunenburg feeling hollow, tired, a little bit thin. I actually felt like I had aged a year - to the point where, when asked, I now have to think about it to give my real age.

I took a lonesome drive around the Parrsboro shore of Nova Scotia, looking for solace and space. I found the remains of Spencer's Island, a once-thriving sawmill town that the Bay of Fundy had long ago washed away. I walked into the one restaurant in town, and I was asked to play my guitar for a salmon supper. A few semi-interested tourists called out requests for Gordon Lightfoot and kindly put 14 bucks in a jar for me.

I played until my voice was raw, and then I drove off into the night.

Brewing the Wine and the Song

The first thing I need to point out about Lunenburg is that it's one of my favourite places in the world. I've been going there since the summer of 1991, and it just gets better every time. The fact that UNESCO has named it a World Heritage Site has only added to its prestige, without destroying its charm. And the Folk Harbour Festival, while a little on the traditional site musically speaking, has always been a wonderful event for me. And so it was again.

To begin with, my accomodations were unbelievable: I literally slept on the floor of the dance hall on the upper floor of the awe-inspiring Opera House. The vibe of the building is so grand, and beautiful, that I felt like I was being filled with music as I stared up at the elaborate plaster ceiling 20 feet above me, listening to the "sounders" (the fog horns of navigational buoys) echo across Lunenburg Harbour.

But that's something you can only do once you've gone to bed... which never happened before 3 AM. Despite earnestly believing that a night's sleep is a great thing, I couldn't argue with the fact that late-night jam sessions with gifted and glowing musicians, in the company of some of the world's most welcoming citizens, are even better. So sleep was pretty rare that weekend, to say the least.

On the other hand, I didn't have to commute to work in the morning. In fact on my first day James Shaw, the producer whose studio occupies the second floor of the Opera House, actually brought me a Tim Horton's coffee while I was still prone. All I had to do was get up, carry the coffee 20 feet to my amp, and start rocking. Which I did for about three hours, in the world's greatest practice hall. And the best part was, I got to do that again for 2 more days!

Plus I walked around town putting up posters in local shops, and bent an ear to some of the great festival acts (Galitcha, J.P. Cormier, Rick Fines, Scott Parsons, the unbelievable Celtae... and too many others to name) and just generally enjoyed being in one of the world's most wonderful places.

And I had a pretty proud moment, too, long before I got on stage with the guys on the Monday night to record the new album. Aengus played my song, "When the Whistle Blows," to start his set on the main stage on the Saturday night. And while I know he plays it a lot, it was really something special to hear he and Trevor do it for 900 people, and to announce me as the writer to all of them. I truly felt as proud of that as I had felt about graduating from university.

Of course, getting some attention from the locals, from the festival musicians, and from the crowd -plus a review in the Halifax Daily News, as I found out while I was there- meant that all the marbles were on the line when it came time to do the record... but more on that later.