November 8 2011 - Entry#1
And so it begins, the first of what I hope will be many excerpts from the Spoons story I've been writing down.
We had no idea that the night that lay before us would change everything. Then again, we were so new, there wasn't much to change yet. We were young and innocent, our faces at least innocent enough to twist our principal's arm into letting a band perform at the final school dance of our last year at Aldershot High School. Enough to coerce someone who was as anti rock or loud music of any kind that provoked unholy behavior, as any mid-western Babtist preacher would be. His face swelled, it turned red, it never smiled. But somehow, as Sandy and I sat in his office pleading our case and promising a nice, calm evening somewhere in the realm of a Pat Boone or Osmonds concert, he gave in. Just like that. As we were about to give up trying. He probably just wanted us the hell out of his office. As we left, proud of ourselves for our little accomplishment, little did we know that we'd soon be banned from playing every other school in Southern Ontario...in all of Canada, if our principal could help it.
Toronto Skyline 1976
Spoons at Spencer Smith Park Canada Day 2011
Music hadn't entered my life quite yet. But I do recall a few early brushes with it that left an impression. The first songs that really stuck with me were from 45s that my mother played around our house. One was Lara's Theme from the movie Doctor Zhivago and the other was Puppet On A String by some female singer with a sexy foreign accent. Whatever it was, the chorus was relentless and wormed its way into my brain, unaware of what it was doing to its helpless, young listener. I think I quickly learned then what a hook was. I had absolutely no thoughts of becoming a song writer then or anytime in my life, but the power of that simple melody was undeniable and must have stayed with me. I literally was its little puppet on a string. And a totally willing puppet at that...
Hamburg was only an hour's drive from Lubeck, but I had no idea what was brewing and about to explode there in the early 60s. We only went there to visit the famous and very large toy store and maybe stay for a dinner of sausages and sour kraut in the local kneipe, a German pub. Hamburg is about as shadowy a memory as Vancouver is. A shame that I was just a little boy without the slightest idea what an electric guitar and amp could conjure up, let alone what they were. History was about to be made in Hamburg. I do remember sitting in my sand box in front of our house one very hot summer playing with toy cars and bugs. I overheard my parents talking about some new band of musicians from England called, of all things, the Beatles. I remember thinking how funny that was, as I pushed a bug around in the sand. What did bugs have to do with music? About as much as spoons, I guess.
November 16 2011 - Entry#3 - The early years in Burlington...
The place that held the most fascination for me was the old pavilion that still stood in the middle of the park. It was all that remained of the ancient fairground, though we once found some faded wooden balls in a small out building which must have belonged to one of the arcade games. Another Shining moment. Crocket anyone? The pavilion was huge, with a boarded up restaurant at one end, a large open dance floor in the middle and stairs which led up to another enclosed ballroom above it. Everything was locked up tight and it seemed like the 1920s were still in there somehow, ready to burst out if someone dared to crack open a door or break a window.
It was the first time I recall being struck by the mystery and power of the stage. Here we were, playing games on what had once held musicians and dancers in another time, in this magnificent Victorian structure built for music. All this ancient grandeur... for music to be played.
La Salle Park Pavillion
There was something incredibly seductive about that to a boy not quite sure of where he was going in life; the stage. But for the time being, it simply remained a good place to find cover when it rained. The cement floors were perfect for floor hockey, so we spent many days in our private little arena. Yet, there was always the feeling that something was looking out at us through those darkened windows. Maybe the lost souls of some big band from the 30s trapped there forever. We didn't bother them and they didn't bother us.
Many years later, in the late 80s, the pavilion would burn to the ground in a freak accident. I don't even remember it happening. The Spoons were most likely on the road touring somewhere as the roof caught fire and the darkened windows finally popped outwards from the heat. Who knows where we were as our old playground turned to ash. Years later the city would rebuild it and restore the restaurant and upper ballroom to their ancient glory. The old ghosts were sent packing and the LaSalle Park Pavilion was open for business again, a popular destination for corporate parties and weddings.
In the late 90s, Aldershot High School erected a circus size tent beside it and had their twenty-fifth reunion. I performed there that night and later strolled through the newly refurbished pavilion for the first time. Crammed with drunk graduates and decked out like the Royal York, I kept thinking, what have they done with our hockey rink and what are all these people doing here?
The New La Salle Park Pavillion
November 20 2011 - Entry#4 - The Twilight Zone.
After school television had about as much impact on shaping a kid's view of the world as anything else. It was the thing we ran home to for relief after a day of drudgery. It caught us at our most vulnerable and had its way with us. Saturday morning cartoons were right up there, but we were too dazed and sleepy eyed that early in the morning to really absorb much. After school we were like sponges. H. R. Pufnstuf, Gilligan's Island, every commercial pushing necessities of life like Hot Wheels and Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots; we took it all in.
But the TV show that affected me most of all came much later in the evening, when the whole family could be pulled in. Of any television program ever aired, I'd have to say that The Twilight Zone did the biggest number on me. Its surreal and disturbing snapshots of American life shaped my imagination more than any book or movie ever did. Each episode was a half hour roller-coaster ride of dread filled anticipation, certain fear and finally, some moralistic outcome that wrapped up the whole thing as best as it could. And for anyone who's heard the theme song, you knew you were going to be in for a bumpy ride. Some episodes stayed with me for days, or weeks even. There was enough material for songs there to last a lifetime.
I watched some of the old shows recently and, though now dated in many ways, they still have that effect on me. I have a special soft spot for any episodes that deal with deserted cities or the end of the world as we know it and the few survivors trying to find their way. A favorite show was based around a couple waking up in an abandoned town, a town where everything, including the food in the fridge and the squirrel in the fake tree, are all just props. I suppose a psychoanalyst could read something into this. For me it was just a comfort zone, a world tailor-made for loners like me.
I didn't get my first guitar until I was ten years old, around 1970. And I'd never asked for it. My father had bought it, and a toy car for my brother, on a trip to Toronto. I wasn't very happy about the gift and didn't touch it for a long time. I thought I'd gotten the rotten end of the deal. It was a cheap acoustic with strings like trapeze wires and almost impossible to play, but one day something must have made me want to stroke the thing and another new door was opened.
Now, when I try to explain playing guitar to someone, I compare it to flying a kite. Completely out of your control at first, you gradually get more and more of a handle on it until, eventually, it becomes an extension of yourself. A piece of you that can let you soar higher than you could ever do by yourself. And the thing is, there's always more string to let out. A guitar is a raw thing that needs to be tamed. But it also changes you.
December 7 2011 - Entry#5
Our annual summer fair, the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto, had a free concert series at their Concert Bowl in the evenings every summer. I saw countless local rock bands there through the 70s and experienced my first whiff of pot smoke. After a day of rides, I'd spend hours watching everything from David Bowie wannabe's and country rock bands to actual big leaguers like Tony Orlando and Dawn. I was probably just as captivated by Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree as a cover of Suffragette City. I definitely leaned toward harder music, but a good hook was undeniable to me, whatever shape it came in.
CNE Bandshell
When I finally made it to my first legitimate live concert, Alice Cooper at Maple Leaf Gardens, it wasn't without a few battles. I remember my father reading a review of Cooper's demonic stage antics in Time Magazine to my mother in the kitchen, loud enough so that we all could hear. Back then, he was Marilyn Manson ten-fold. There was all this talk about ripping the heads off dolls and on-stage homosexual innuendo. But to me it was all just more theatre, more parts of the puzzle to a great live show experience. I think I knew then, though I probably would never rip the heads off anything, that I'd want to be in a band that had some "show" in it; something more. Sadly, when I finally made it to the Cooper concert, it was way tamer and less provocative than I'd hoped. To a kid living in the Twilight Zone, this was child's play.The old Philips stereo was pretty well worn out on Alice Cooper, Black Sabbath and Deep Purple. The slightly naughty Sabbath Bloody Sabbath album cover with semi-clad women was heaven for a teenage boy, and more cause for concern for my parents. I think my father kept hoping a rock would fall on my head and I'd suddenly come to my senses and decide to dedicate myself to classical guitar. I remember my parents taking me to a Segovia concert at Hamilton Place one year, I think out of desperation, and I sat through it politely. Just a guy with a flamenco guitar; no show, no theater, no Marshalls! What was the fun in that? The Spoons would play a sold out show at that same theatre at our peak in the mid 80s. By that time we were doing pretty well and Segovia was a distant memory. Even to my parents.
Hamilton Place Theatre