The Music Archives, Archive 1, Section 1: Original Compositions (up to 1991)
It would be difficult if not impossible to identify the first song I ever wrote. If memory serves, it was an amalgam of different ideas that, once assembled into a coherent song in the late 1970s, was summarily discarded as sub-standard. Oddly enough, the core of the melody would not allow me to leave it behind altogether, and it showed up as the central melody in one of my earliest written and recorded tunes, Apology Accepted.
There have been a great number of songs and song fragments that have ended up in the circular file along the way, as I am very particular about originality. So, the songs in these archives are those that have survived my thoroughgoing analysis, and now number among the songs I am proud to have written/recorded and deemed worthy of public listening. My first eight were written over a period from the late 1970s on up to when they were all captured on my first collection of studio recordings, including two cover tunes.
“Not to Be Denied” was an “album” I recorded in 1991 at Echo Studios on Long’s Hill in St. John’s, NL. It was just before DVDs came into vogue, so it was released as a cassette. As you will read below, I had a lot of help from a lot of exceptionally talented people – and sweethearts every one! I can say, without any reservations or qualifications, that the experience of recording these songs with the wonderful people I was blessed to have with me, making such valuable contributions to the songs and the album as a whole, is one that I treasure in memory, and which still comes to life for me whenever I listen to these songs.
To help me tell the stories of these eight songs and properly present them here, I borrowed from my semi-autobiographical poetry archive, as many of the lyrics here either began as poems or can stand alone as poems. Each song’s story will also have a “supporting cast” segment in which I say a few words about the recording session and the friends involved. And the excerpts provided will give members a sampling of the songs, and a chance to hear what is available for purchase on the site, at prices that compete with such outlets as iTunes and Spotify. In any event, I hope you enjoy this little trip through the writing and recording of my earliest original compositions.
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When Giants Fall (for John)
My home was filled with Beatles music while we were growing up. I’m not old enough to remember clearly when the Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show, but I do remember a television on with loud music coming out of it, and my father singing and dancing around the room as I had never seen before. He was a big fan, obviously, and he played guitar and sang a lot of Beatles songs at house parties every weekend. One of the fondest memories from my relatively well-adjusted childhood is of the countless nights I went to sleep listening to him play and sing, with guests laughing and singing along, glasses tinkling, as sleep took me away. So, my chosen path as an entertainer should not be surprising.
On the morning of December 9th, 1980, my father came to my bedroom door and intoned solemnly: “Get up, my son. It’s not a very good day.” Walking into the living room, I could hear the commentator talking about John Lennon and the Beatles, my parents sitting in silence, staring at the screen in a mournful trance. John Lennon had been assassinated in New York City the night before. It would not be wrong to say it felt like a member of our family had died. We loved John and the music he and his mates created. Those songs, all those magnificent songs had been the soundtrack of my life. Now it would never be the same again. We always knew how important the music of the Beatles was to our lives; we discussed it often. But on this terrible morning we had cause to realize just how much the music and its writers had become a palpable part of us and our lives.
Six days later I wrote a song for John. I had been trying to write songs for two or three years, but this is the first lyric I was pleased with. Forty years later, I still get compliments about the song and requests to play it. To this day the memory of writing these words is as clear as ever. The fact that I was sitting between my aunt and uncle on our living room sofa at the time may have something to do with it; but most likely it is because it was the first songwriting session in which I was hearing the melody as I wrote the lyric, both coming to me simultaneously, which only happened to me occasionally after When Giants Fall.
When Giants Fall (for John)
So, John is gone.
A man of peace is killed by violence.
It makes no sense
to me.
So, on and on,
this foolish world keeps moving to an end.
So why pretend
to see?
He wanted to give peace a chance.
May this be a remembrance.
“…a brotherhood of man”, he said.
I just can’t imagine now he’s dead.
But for Yoko, Richard, George and Paul
we must be strong when giants fall.
My mind recalls
a group from Liverpool gave us a sound,
and it was heard all around
the world.
The curtain falls,
but we still hope that someday they will play.
Oh, but should I say
we were?
He asked us to give peace a chance.
May this be a remembrance.
“…a brotherhood of Man”, he said.
I just can’t imagine, now he’s dead.
But for Yoko, Ringo, George and Paul
we must be strong when giants fall.
It’s a cliché, I know, but writing this song did a lot to help me help myself deal with losing one of my biggest heroes; a man who would inspire me and so many artists and activists for years to come.
About the recording/supporting cast. The always personable and upbeat Jim Whiffen was nice enough to lay down the bass guitar track for me on this one; and on drums I had a quiet young gentleman who has since gone on to bigger and better things, the least of which is not classical composition; and he is also the orchestral percussionist for the hit Broadway musical Come From Away – our very own Greg Hawco!
I did the vocals, rhythm and lead guitars, as well as the organ and strings. But when it came time to lay down the lead vocal, I was having trouble feeling good about it after each take. I soon realized that I needed to recapture how I felt when I wrote it. So, I asked for all the lights to be turned off in the studio so that the only light was coming through the glass from the booth. This gave me a feeling of being a solitary man sending out a message to the world about the great loss of John Lennon and what we need to learn from it, and the next take did the trick.
But the best part of recording this song was the contribution made by two sets of backing vocalists. A group of adult friends and family members made up what I affectionately dubbed “The Moron Fish ’n Tackle Choir” on the cassette’s liner notes. And my son Lucas brought in every one of his Grade Two classmates from Morris Academy (all 21 of them!), and under the direction of their music teacher, Mrs. Kearley, they put in the backing chorus line: “All we are saying…”, a homage to the kids Lennon had singing when he recorded Give Peace a Chance. I put that in at the suggestion of my good friend Gary Andrews. My heartiest thanks to all who helped me out. It was a magical day that I will never forget.
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Apology Accepted
Sometimes the going can be rough in a relationship. We are not always on good terms, for one reason or other, with differences of opinion and so on. And for a young man who wants to be a songwriter, this is just the kind of thing that may end up immortalized in a song. In my case, thoughts of hurting each other with words, apologies, and possible reconciliations gave rise to my first, and to date only lyric of fiction. A melody written more than a year earlier had stayed with me despite the poor lyrics that accompanied it, and one day I decided to marry this new idea to it:
Apology Accepted
In the mist of early Sunday morning, always Sunday morn.
At the curb a taxicab is blowing, blowing his horn.
You can keep the bracelet.
You can keep my key.
I think we’ve used up every possibility.
Oh, please.
Well it’s fitting that it all should end at your place, ‘cause I should leave.
The horn again, can’t say good-bye at this pace, but I believe…
That if you find another
I’d be up a tree
I’ve got to have you, Baby, don’t you see?
It’s how it’s got to be.
But you can’t take that Sunday morning off of me.
The taxicab is long since gone, and you don’t mind a bit.
I guess that we’ll just have to make the best of it.
But for how long?
And you can’t take that Sunday morning off of me.
About the recording/supporting cast. Greg Hawko did the drums for me on this one too, and I did the rest: vocals, rhythm and lead guitars, bass guitar and keyboards.
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In Between
Not long after writing Apology Accepted, I was doing a solo gig at the Rose and thistle Pub on Water Street. I was reflecting on the breakdown of my marriage of eleven years, and myself now as a lonely, under-employed single parent. Just separated from my first wife, I wasn’t expecting to be romantically involved for a while.
My solo show started at ten, and it was just after nine. As I pondered my outlook and wondered about the possibility of future love, remote though it seemed, I got an idea for a song. The picture of a downcast single father, between lovers, looking forward to the next “whomever she may be”, appealed to the romantic in me and promised a much-needed shot of optimism. The melody came the next day, but looking out over the pub that night my eyes settled on two female friends of mine playing cards, and that was the starting point:
Well, Fran and George are playing cards at a table by the stage.
They say that I look younger, but I’m feeling twice my age.
You know the festive season’s come and gone, and all the bills are due.
My wife and I are splitting, just ain’t nothing we can do.
Together, I’m just sitting with myself.
Together, and I sure could use some help.
If I get me through the night,
just until the morning light and keep myself together, together.
Well, Fran is getting all the hands, and George can’t get no deal.
I can’t begin to tell them just how in between I feel.
You know I’ve got to concentrate on being upbeat for my boy.
Gotta keep on working harder on the things we can enjoy.
Together. My son and I can make it.
Together. Yes, I know that we can take it.
Yeah, with my little guy,
we got things we’ve gotta try whenever we’re together, together.
Now Fran has won another game, George said she’s had enough.
And I am feeling the same way, you know my future’s looking rough.
You tell me you’re not sure now, Baby. You tell me we don’t know.
I’m looking forward to finding out, then we can start to grow.
Together. Got a whole lot more to do.
Together. And I hope that it’s with you.
With the end of in between,
just no telling what we’d mean. You and me, together. Together.
The speed with which this was written astonished me and gave me an uneasy feeling. It was as though I suddenly had possession of something I wasn’t supposed to have. Looking back now it is quite conceivable that this feeling was due to having created, for the first time, an artistic work that said all I needed to say on a specific issue. It was cathartic and an altogether satisfying experience in writing verse.
The wait for “whomever she may be” wasn’t too long after all. The very next night, just six days after separating from my first wife, my second came into view. I fell hopelessly in love again, and with renewed vigor I tried to return to believing in romantic love and a full life. All my thoughts, feelings and activities had a more confident tone, and I was beginning once again to live love and love life.
About the recording/supporting cast. This song was a lot of fun to record! We had Greg Hawko on drums and tambourine; I did lead vocals, bass and rhythm guitars; and my old friend from back in the Tequila days, Don Short, came to town to harmonize with me on the backing vocals. Best of all, Paul Monahan, provided the lead guitar tracks. He used a wah-wah pedal on one track, and a “midi” guitar pedal on another that makes the guitar notes sound like they are being played by group of brass players, specifically trumpets and saxophones. It gave the track a Motown feel that suited it well, and I couldn’t be happier with the result!
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Not To Be Denied
My next song was my initial gut reaction to hearing about the scandal regarding the sexual abuse of young boys at the hands of Christian Brothers at the Mount Cashel Orphanage in St. John’s, an issue I would address in much more detail years later in my first published novel Grace Ungiven (and the innocents left to yearn). That said, it also serves as a self-affirmation for anyone who feels down-trodden by society.
The poetic lyrics of the song are pleasing to me, as I believe it demonstrates a more sophisticated style and command of the language. It remains one of my favourites, and it became the title track of the album/cassette. It is my love of children and empathy with them that made this lyric:
Not To Be Denied
Well history’s replete with those
who wearing ordinary clothes
have laid the groundwork for our affluence.
Too often we remember those
who struck the most compelling pose,
forgetting all who have no recompense.
But listen….
We have to credit every man,
to give a damn to take a stand.
It’s a case of willing, common sense applied.
I tell you now they will not be denied.
There’s children’s laughter in the rain,
while in the shadows future pain
is planning some malicious twist of mind.
When those who wear the robes of trust
forsake it all in the name of lust,
we realize that they’re some other kind.
Or do we?
Yet in spite of all the pestilence,
the children salvage innocence.
It’s a case of willing, common sense applied.
I tell you now, they will not be denied.
Now me, I’ve met a lot of them
who’ve tried their very best to stem
the progress of my efforts to be free.
The hypocrites, the pessimists,
the jealous ones who’ve even pissed
upon the candle of my hopes and dreams.
Now they can’t win….
Because I won’t be silenced any longer.
Adversity just makes me stronger.
It’s a case of willing, common sense applied.
I tell you now, I will not be denied.
I tell you now, we will not be denied.
This was just the second time that the words and music came to me together, and it was written in less than two hours.
About the recording/supporting cast. Once again Greg Hawko provided the drum track, and Paul Monahan put down a clear and tasteful lead guitar track that shines throughout. I did the rest: vocals, rhythm guitar, bass guitar and keyboards.
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In Love, with the Blues
The next song appeared soon thereafter, simply because the blues was my second wife’s favourite genre of music. It is a little jazzy, and I was honoured to have it selected for inclusion in one of Oz-FM’s “Rock of the Rock” compilation CDs of some of the better local recordings out at the time.
In Love, with the Blues
This is the story of a man.
This is the story of a woman.
This is the story of the future.
This is the story of our love.
I thought that I knew what love was.
Thought that my heart was in control.
But now that I’ve found her it is clear to me,
that it’s more a matter of the soul.
Now it’s our turn, Baby.
No one can stop what we’ve begun.
Yes, it’s our turn, Baby.
I look back and say: “What’s done is done”,
‘cause, Baby, you’re the one.
Now it’s our turn, Baby,
and we have yet to reach our prime.
Yes, it’s our turn, Baby,
and life has a rhythm and a rhyme.
Well, it’s about time.
This is the story of a man.
This is the story of a woman.
This is the story of the future.
This is the story of our love.
About the recording/supporting cast. Greg Hawko did drums on this one as well, and the ever-smiling Jim Whiffen came back in to do the bass guitar track. I did the lead vocal and rhythm guitar; and, on the lead guitar track, Paul Monahan sounds like someone who was born in the blues-steeped Mississippi delta. I still marvel at how Paul can step in and provide an outstanding lead guitar part for any genre of music and sound like it is all he has ever played. This is certainly the case on this recording, and I believe it puts him in a class by himself in terms of the history of Newfoundland guitarists. Some can play as well, but Paul is the most versatile, and this makes him the best in my book.
As great as everything else sounds, the piano track that veteran performer Cathy Phippard put down is, for me, the jewel in this song. I can still see her deft digits dancing over the keys, clearly feeding off the blues in Paul’s guitar, with her long wavy hair hanging down almost the full length of her diminutive stature. As brief as the time we spent together on these recordings was, I have to say that Cathy remains one of the sweetest, most pleasant people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. To have a chance to work with her as she made her contribution to my project was very special.
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New Strings Attached
My love for our parents, and my heartfelt appreciation of how they brought me up, inspired another song during this period. My sisters and I were blessed with two of the best parents anyone could ask for, and everyone who knew them agreed. They were so special, in fact, that as children we learned early on that ours was not the usual family situation among our peers, and we would have to refrain from talking about it to our schoolmates for fear of hurting them.
It sounds great as an upbeat song that pays tribute to two special people, but also as a light-hearted statement of gratitude. When I recorded it, my father made a special trip to town to play the acoustic lead guitar break on the track for me, and it was just like old times jamming together at home. I listen to it today and it is almost like we are spending time together making music again…almost.
New Strings Attached
Well, I’ve had it to here. I want to go there.
But they say I can’t find it anywhere.
I got lots of faith and plenty of hope,
but they’re pushing me to the end of my rope.
Now, I’ve got what it takes and they say I can’t,
but what they say is irrelevant.
‘Cause I’ve been knocked down, but I’m a-coming back.
Just like an old guitar with new strings attached.
I came into this world in fifty-eight,
and my days are numbered at any rate.
But that’s alright, ‘cause I’ve been prepared
by a couple of people who’ve always cared.
My Mother’s a lady with a ready smile.
She’s a living doll with plenty of style.
My Daddy’s my friend, and as a matter of fact,
he’s got an old guitar with new strings attached.
We spent many a night with a song and a drink.
He taught me how to play and he made me think,
‘cause he slipped in a measure of right and wrong.
And he’s still got a way with a song.
Many years have passed and I’m still in tune,
without the help of a silver spoon.
Now I’m feeling like a little kid again,
and I’m more alive than I’ve ever been.
I’ve found the love of my life at last.
She’s helping me make the present past.
I’m an individual, semi-detached.
Just an old guitar with new strings attached.
About the recording/supporting cast. Greg Hawko also did drums on this one, and Cathy Phippard conjured up the honky-tonk with a wickedly appropriate piano track. I did the lead vocal as well as the bass, lead and rhythm guitars; and dear old Dad, as nervous as was for his first time in a studio being recorded, did the acoustic lead break admirably. This is a golden memory I will always cherish.
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Time Will Show
This song started out as my first poem qua poem in 1986, written outside my activity as a songwriter, with the cumbersome title: “But Seriously (Christianity and Existentialism?)”. For this reason, it would be years before I would come up with a melody for it and add a chorus.
It was an artistic reaction to a philosophy course on contemporary issues; and my professor, Dr. Lin Jackson, liked it enough to ask me for a copy to have on file as part of his course notes. I thought the continuous juxtaposition of opposites would be a good way to convey the contemporary confusion and malaise in society, the symptoms thereof, and to hint at possible cause(s). Most people say When Giants Fall is my best from this set of recordings, but I have always opted for Time Will Show. It was the most intellectually satisfying song I had written to date.
Time Will Show
In spite of life, the theme is death.
Eternal sleepers wake.
There has to be a Hell, you know,
if just for Heaven’s sake.
At any rate, we must speed up.
The difference is the same,
when never is forever,
and the guiltless are to blame.
Separated in a group
the many are as one.
Endless talk of action,
after all is said and done.
And when mere will becomes a right
we dance to freedom’s song,
unaware we’ve over-stepped,
and right is now a wrong.
Oh, Oh, time will show.
It’s not a simple case of ‘yes’ or ‘no’.
And what is true and real,
we can only feel.
It’s not the kind of thing that we can know.
Oh, Oh, time will show.
Well, I won’t stand for sitting back,
for now, we’re lost and find
the key to life is not our death,
but somewhere in the mind.
And if you search that human mind
you should, for all it’s worth,
find opposite to death, not life,
but rather human birth.
About the recording/supporting cast. One of the main reasons I favour this song is the arrangement and instrumentation, no less the backing vocals. Greg Hawko did one more solid drum track for me on this one, and Paul Monahan threw in a wonderful lead guitar part that runs throughout; I did the bass and rhythm guitars and harmonized with my lead vocal.
But if you ask me, it was Cathy Phippard who really stole the show on this one. Her thoughtful piano track supports and flavours the song all the way through, and her three-part backing vocals blend in with Paul’s wailing, melancholic guitar, giving the song a haunting quality somewhat reminiscent of Lightfoot’s “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. No matter how many songs I wrote after this one, or will write in the future, Time Will Show will always have a special place in my heart.
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Lullaby for Lucas
Not long after my first-born son and only child, Lucas, came into the world, I started a band in St. John’s with my old friend from Tequila, Don Short. We took on a bright young lead guitarist, Phil Tobin, and for a time, veteran players Mac Burry and Dave Humber provided the bass and drums, respectively.
A later version of the band featured Vic Spencer from Trinidad on bass, with Belize native Charlie Wade on the drums. We called it “The Odd Socks” at the outset, given we had an odd number of oddballs in the band. But the name took on added significance when our rhythm section became composed of two Caribbean blacks, and we had a running joke telling patrons who would mention their skin colour that Vic and Charlie were from the south coast.
It was a lot of fun and we played some great music. In fact, it got so cozy we all decided to pitch in and rent a house big enough for my little family and a couple of bandmates. It was a five-level house, with bedrooms on the top level, the band set up for rehearsing on the lowest level, and everything else on the other three levels.
This is where my infant son comes in. Lucas was cholic for the first six months of his life, during which time he rarely put two hours of sleep together, day or night. But whenever we rehearsed downstairs, which could be heard throughout the house, Lucas would settle right down, only to start bawling again when the music stopped. It seems music hath indeed charms to soothe the savage breast, and many a rehearsal was extended for his benefit.
Then one evening when we weren’t rehearsing, I was alone in the house with Lucas and he was very cholic, wailing away, inconsolable. I had been thinking that it was the booming full band and the way we made the house shake that kept him entertained during our rehearsals. But when I brought my acoustic guitar into his nursery in desperation that evening and started noodling around, to my delight, I discovered it was the music itself that had been captivating him.
I pulled a chair up next to his crib and started fooling around with a few major-seventh chords. By the time I hit on the run of major sevenths that would eventually form the core of the tune, lo and behold, he was asleep; and he slept soundly for a few hours after I crept out! Lullaby for Lucas was my first instrumental composition.
About the recording/supporting cast. This song is especially personal to me, for obvious reasons, and I wanted the recording to retain the feeling of oneness with my son when we were alone together there in the nursery that day. So, I decided I would do all the instruments and arrangement myself. I did the bass, rhythm and lead guitars, and used the keyboards for violins and cello.
When Greg Hawko heard it for the first time, he thought it needed something more, and respectfully asked if he could add a little bit of appropriate percussion. I assented, and the cymbals and chime tree parts he put in were the crowning glory, giving the song the sense of a child’s playfulness and a little magic dust, as it were. This was a good counterpoint to the strings and cello I had laid in at the bottom, which were meant to convey the mixed feelings and profound realizations an adult often has when observing a child playing, especially one’s own child. It is the child’s innocence in the present, and the parent watching with knowledge of the looming trials and tribulations in the child’s future, that will eventually overcome their precious innocence and naivety.
Spoiler Alert! You cannot hear it on the excerpt provided here, but there are just two vocal lines included at the very end, with me saying: “Goodnight, Lucas.”, to which my son replies: “Goodnight, Daddy”. It still brings a tear to my eye from time to time, to hear his tiny voice from years ago, especially now that I know he has a little family of his own now.
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Before leaving the subject of my first set of original compositions, and the recording of them to make up the “Not to Be Denied” cassette, I would be remiss if I didn’t thank all those involved one more time. And I want to make a special point of thanking one person in particular. The late Jack Winsor, owner and recording engineer at Echo Studios for decades, was a walking, talking piece of St. John’s history and culture. His easy-going ways and avuncular comportment towards everyone who came to record made the studio experience at Echo a homey one, such that when the recording was finished you hated to leave! Thanks for everything, Jack. R.I.P.
