Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - The Beat and the Backbeat - The Lost Chords

Episode Date: September 29, 2023

“Dave thought, 'It will never get any better than this. Some people have God, and some people have money, and some people don’t have anything at all. I have this. I have the beat and the back beat.'”This week, a story that captures the joy of live music and performance. Jess reminisces about two amazing experiences on tour with Stuart and the Vinyl Cafe: one at Stuart’s final concert performance, the other at Hillside Music Festival. The story The Lost Chords was recorded that day at Hillside Festival. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We have a special story for you today. It's a story we recorded at the Hillside Music Festival in Guelph, Ontario. Hillside is a legendary festival. As I've mentioned before on the podcast, I worked at a record store as a kid, and I was super into music and worked with a bunch of people who were really into music. So we went to a lot of shows together and a lot of music festivals, tons of them. The 90s, when I was a teenager, was a huge era for outdoor concerts like Lollapalooza and Edgefest, Warped Tour and another roadside attraction.

Warped Tour and another roadside attraction. But I never went to Hillside. I don't know why, but I heard a lot about it. I went to Hillside for the very first time with Stuart in 2005. I remember driving onto the island. The festival's on an island in a little man-made lake in the small or smallish town of Guelph, Ontario. I remember driving onto the island in Stuart's little Volkswagen Beetle. We rolled down the windows of the car and we could hear music drifting over the lake. It felt like we were driving into summer. There's something different about Hillside. Regulars will tell you about the vibe, and that's definitely a thing. It's a feeling of community. It's laid back.

And it's non-profit. That's definitely part of it. There's no corporate advertising, no VIP lounges. One of the first things we noticed that day in 2005 was the tanker truck. first things we noticed that day in 2005 was the tanker truck. Parked in the middle of the island was a truck holding a giant stainless steel vat, the ones that usually carry milk. Stuart looked at me and said, milk? But at Hillside, it carries water, not milk. There's no bottled water at Hillside. In fact, there's no bottled anything. They give you reusable cups for water and beer and pretty much everything.

And people line up at the water truck and fill their cups or their water bottles. Some people, can you see my hand raised? Some people keep their cups and bring them back every year. It's a point of pride. People carry their mugs around on their belt loops or strapped to their backpacks. I have so many great memories from Hellside over the years. There was the time that Stuart and I saw the Abrams Brothers on the Island Stage. The Island Stage always has my favorite shows, things that surprise

you. It's a smaller stage and it's under a tent, so everyone has to cram in and it gets kind of hot and sweaty in there, but like in a house party fun kind of way, not in a, you know, like fitness class kind of way. The people up front are dancing. The people in the middle are jostling to get up front. And the people in the back stand on picnic tables. I love it. The year I'm thinking about, the Abrams brothers were wearing old-fashioned suits and ties, and they were gathered around one microphone, belting out bluegrass standards. Under the tent, with everyone on their feet singing and clapping,

it felt like an old-time gospel show. One year, we saw a band jump right off the main stage at the end of their set, right off the stage and into the audience. They were still singing and playing, but they moved throughout the audience and eventually around the island with everyone following them, singing along. And I remember finding Stuart one morning, his notebook in hand, looking up at the clouds. It's just that kind of festival that begs for you to lay down in the grass and look at the clouds. One day, Stuart and Hillside director Sam Bagel and I were chatting, and one of us, I don't remember who, one of us said, it would be so fun to do a Vinyl Cafe show here. And so we did. It was very different. We're used to performing in theaters.

This was outdoors on the main stage. There were people crushed up to the front of the stage like they do at a festival. It was loud and boisterous and it was pouring rain. In fact, I think we had to, yeah, we had to hold the show. We couldn't send Stuart out there because it wasn't safe with all the, you know, the gear, the technical equipment. So we had to wait. But at some point the rain started to dissipate and we thought, okay, this is our shot. Let's do it. And as soon as Stuart walked out on that stage, I kid you not, the clouds parted and the sun came out. I mean, if it happened in a movie, you would roll your eyes and you'd be like, oh, come on.

But it did happen. But it did happen. And actually, in the full recording, in the live show, you can hear the audience applaud the moment when the sun came out. It's pretty great. You'll hear Stuart's voice sounding different here. That's because he's outdoors on that main stage at the legendary Hillside Music Festival. This is Stuart McLean with a story about music. This is The Lost Chords. It was noon on a summer afternoon one year ago, and Dave alone in his car reached out and flicked off the radio. Whatever list they were playing from wasn't working, for him at least. They hadn't

played a decent song since he had left home. The exit ahead said Niagara Falls, 43 kilometers. He glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time, so he took the exit. Dave was on his way to Cleveland. He was just thinking to drive by the falls for old time's sake. But when he got there, he parked and he went into a place across from the wax museum and had a grilled cheese sandwich and a vanilla shake. When he finished, he walked along the edge of the river, mesmerized by the power of the black water. Right before the lip of the falls, it seemed to both gather speed and slow down at the same time. He led against the green railing, lost in melancholy and indecision. Dave was going to Cleveland to see an old friend, a roommate, Scamp Gordon. It was so long since he

had seen him, Dave should have been feeling happy, but he was dreading the visit. Partly it was the profiles of scamp he had read online, but mostly it was the piece of cardboard beside him on the passenger seat of his car. Chord changes for a song written, well it must have been at least 25 years ago, it was before he had opened his record store and Dave had been running the Vinyl Cafe for at least, what, a good 20 years. You wouldn't think a guy could actually make a go of a secondhand record store in these

irritable and impatient times, but Dave does. It helps, of course, that his aspirations have always been modest. His store's war cry sums things up as well as anything. We may not be big, but we're small. It's a modest motto. There's no denying that. But if you spend a moment deconstructing it, you can't deny the whiff of determination. You might even say defiance.

Dave, born and bred in the age of Aquarius, isn't a total deadhead. He owns the building that houses his store and the buildings next door. He bought them both years ago after his touring days when he was flush and real estate wasn't. Then there's his collection of music memorabilia on the second floor, the flotsam and jetsam of a rock and roll beachcomber, assembled over 20 vagabond years. The store pays its way, carries a few modest salaries, his included, and in good years actually turns a profit. If Dave has an unusual expense or needs cash for something, he goes up to the second floor and sifts through his collection and sends something to one of those big British music auctions.

The people at Christie's know him. He owns a few items that they've been after for years. Dylan's set list from the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. Dave turned away from the falls. He opened a stick of gum and tossed the wrapper at a garbage can. It bounced off the rim and landed at the feet of a lady wearing a sweatshirt that said, Michigan is for lovers. She shot him a dirty look. He sighed, picked up the wrapper and headed for his car He wanted to be in Cleveland for soundcheck The trip was unexpected

It had developed a few weeks before David had been sitting on the counter of his store Reading out loud off the back of an album cover Listen to this, he said This is a high-fidelity recording. The album he was reading from normally leaned on the shelf behind the cash register. It's one of the albums in the store that is not for sale. There are a number of those. in his store would be for sale. But a man has to make compromises to make his way in the world. This album, the one he was reading from, was recorded in 1969 by his old pal Scamp Gordon, the man he was driving to see. Dave was standing by the cash reading from the back of the album to Scott. Scott's a kid Dave caught stealing records.

Instead of calling the police, Dave offered Scott a job. It's designed, said Dave, reading from Scamp's album, it's designed, read Dave, to play on the phonograph of your choice. If you're the owner of a new stereophonic system, this record will play on it. You can purchase this record with no fear of it becoming obsolete. What do you think, said Dave? Were they right or were they wrong? Depends, said Scott. On what, said Dave? On whether they were talking about the record as a concept or the

concept of Scamp Gordon. You've never heard of Scamp, have you? said Dave. I rest my case, said Scott. Dave wasn't surprised that Scott had not heard of Scamp Gordon. Dave has always argued that Scamp is one of the best guitar players this country has ever produced.

Better even than Amos Garrett or any of those guys. But Scamp has never been a front man. That record is the only solo album Scamp ever recorded. And that was, what, over 30 years ago when Scamp tried out the folk thing. Scamp never released the album on CD. Scamp was born and raised in Sault Ste. Marie. He was still a kid when he showed up in Yorkville. He said 16 years old, but people who were there said he was younger for sure. He was in this band, and they had played around in the north for a couple of years,

so they had seen, you know, plenty of barf on barroom floors. And they had come down to the city because they had been promised a gig as the house band of the club in Yorkville called the Parrot's Patch. They had been told the place to stay was the Warwick Hotel. When they got there, everyone in the band freaked out. They had one room for the six of them, which was normal. But that was the only normal thing about it. There was a bucket of sand on a rope by the window. That was the fire escape.

If there was a fire, they were supposed to throw the bucket out the window and climb down the rope. It was a pretty seedy place. And then the next morning when they got to the parrot patch, which was on Yorkville right near Hazleton, the club was no longer there. The building was, but it wasn't a club anymore. It was a donut store. So they went for a coffee at a little place a couple of doors down called the Mouse Hole, and they took a vote. Scamp was the only one who voted to stay. Scott said, you lived with him, right?

Dave said, yeah, but that was years later. Yorkville was pretty much over by then. We lived in the annex on Lowther or maybe Kendall. We had a room with a hot plate. Scamp used to make up recipes from song titles, like Booker T and the MGs had a song called Red Beans and Rice. Scamp was famous for his red beans and rice. Were you guys hippies, said Scott?

Scamp was never a hippie, said Dave. He was always working. Me too. I always had a job. Those were good years. Dave and Scamp buying records, hanging out at Long and McQuaid's music store, staying up all night. They were like brothers. And now Dave couldn't remember the last time they had talked.

It had been years for sure. That night after dinner, Dave made a pot of tea and went upstairs and typed Scamp Gordon's name into Google. Dave had always felt Scamp never caught the break he deserved. Scamp had hung around the village for years, but eventually, like everyone else, like Joni and Zoll and Neil, Scamp had left too. Instead of heading for the States like everyone else, however, Scamp headed for England. He played with Peter Quaife for a while after Peter left the Kinks, and later with Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin in a resurrected Buffalo Springfield,

without Neil and Stephen, but with their blessings. Dave thought he would find more entries about Scamp online. He read an interview Scamp had done with Rolling Stone back in the 70s, and a page in Mojo. Scamp had done with Rolling Stone back in the 70s, and a page in Mojo. The most recent clipping was seven years old, a one-page profile in Uncut, a feature called We Thought You Were Dead. The three articles spanned almost 30 years. Scamp told the same story in each one. Dave told Scott the story the next morning. He paced around his store while he told it, all agitated. He says that one night back then he wrote a song. Back when,

said Scott, interrupting. Then, said Dave, back then he was playing with muddy waters and, excuse me, said Scott, this guy played with muddy waters? Scamp played with everyone, said Scott. This guy played with Muddy Waters. Scamp played with everyone, said Dave. That happened all the time. Someone comes into town and they need a band. Scamp always ended up in the band. How come I never heard of him, said Scott? Probably because you keep interrupting people, said Dave. Can I continue? It wasn't a question. He was playing with Muddy and when the night was over, he had a song in his head, and he scribbled it down on the back of a set list. He forgot the set list in the club.

He says he remembers vague bits of that song, the main riff, and certain other parts, or he thinks he remembers certain other parts. He's not sure. He's tried everything to bring it back, even hypnosis, because he's certain in his mind of one thing. What's that, said Scott, that it's the greatest piece of rock and roll ever written? He says since he lost it, he hasn't been able to write anything. write anything. That sucks, said Scott. I haven't, said Dave. What, said Scott? I have the set list, said Dave. It wasn't Muddy Waters. It was John Lee Hooker, and I have the set list upstairs. It's what I used to do, save that sort of stuff. I have a whole attic full of that sort of stuff. And so Dave disappeared for three days upstairs

into the room over the record store, digging into boxes and crates looking for the lost song. He kept lugging things downstairs. A pair of colorful striped woolen trousers. Find that German pressing of burning the midnight lamp, he said. Hendricks was wearing these pants on the cover. He was making Scott crazy. He was down 10 minutes later. Look at this, he said. Do I have to, said Scott. Dave was holding up a poster, two girls and one boy. It was hard to tell them apart. Oh my God, said Scott, is that you? There was a place called the Blow Up, said Dave. It was the first poster store in the city. You could take your pictures there and get them. Let me guess, said Scott. Blowing up? Right, said Dave. How'd you know? He eventually found what

he was looking for. In the afternoon of the third day, a piece of brown cardboard. They were both wrong. It was neither Muddy Waters nor John Lee Hooker. It was John Hammond, but it was there. This is it, said Dave. This is what Scamp's been talking about for 30 years. He dropped the cardboard on the store counter. He was running his hand through his hair. I've never understood why he stopped writing. This is amazing. It took

him a day and a half to find Scamp. Hey, said Scamp, I'm playing in Cleveland on Thursday night. Could you bring it here? I could send it by courier, said Dave. You could have it tomorrow. It's been 30 years, said Scamp. If you brought it yourself, I could see you. It would be good to see you. There was a pause. I don't want to lose it, said Dave. You won't lose it, said Scamp.

Dave put the cardboard in a file folder. He put the file folder on his desk by the cash register. Scott picked it up the next morning. He sat down in the chair beside the counter, and he began to play the song on his guitar. When he finished, Dave and Scott stared at each other. That's it, said Dave. That's not it. Play it again.

Scott played it again. Dave said it's sort of, Scott finished his sentence, it's sort of vapid, said Scott. No, not exactly vapid, said Dave. It's not that good. Dave said, maybe you have the tempo wrong. Maybe if you want me to slow it down, said Scott. Please, no, said David. It'll last longer that way. I was thinking, speed it up. Scott stared at the piece of cardboard on the floor between his feet. Scott said, I'm not sure about this, but I think this is the same chord progression as the chicken dance. And so it was, with a sense of foreboding that dave left for cleveland as he drove along the gray highway he kept glancing at the file on the seat beside him for 30 years scamp had been held

prisoner by this song or his memory of it and now it seemed as it so often does, that Skamp had mixed up his memories with his dreams. And so Dave passed the sign that said Niagara Falls, 43 kilometers, and more to kill time than anything. He pulled off the highway and he went into the little cafe by the wax museum, and he ordered the grilled cheese sandwich and the vanilla shake. And when he was finished, he walked along the edge of the river, lost in his memories, mesmerized by the water. He threw the gum wrapper at the garbage can and missed. He picked it up. It was supper by the time he got to Cleveland.

The sun was down and the city was hazy. He parked behind the club beside the big tour bus. He sat in the car for a minute. There were two stagehands smoking by the back door. Dave hadn't smoked in years. Maybe he could bum a smoke. That was the first good idea he'd had all day. Hey, said Dave as he walked by the stagehands, you guys got any gum?

One day at a time, he thought as he walked into the theater empty-handed. There was no one there, so he sat in the back by himself. The smoking guys came in and started tweaking the lights. Dave sat there watching, just like the old days. Scamp saw him first. Dave got up and they hugged. Scamp had put on weight, maybe 10 or 20 pounds. It looked good on him though. Smoothed them out. You look good, said Dave. Then he said, you don't have any gum, do you? Come on, said Scamp. Meet the the guys he knew the bass player dennis he had never met the lead singer keith but he knew keith stuff i saw you back in the 60s said dave i love your music and then he and scamp were alone scamp said do you have it dave nodded Dave said it's in the car Scamp said well but Dave didn't move Dave knew what he was

going to do he said listen we can go get that song out of the car if you want but for what it's worth I suggest we don't do that Scamp said you're kidding? I've been waiting for this for 30 years. Dave said, well, that's the point. That's all you've been doing. That song isn't you anymore. It's you 30 years ago. I always thought you could be a lot better writer than you ever thought. Don't you think it's time for us to find out which one of us is right? If I'm wrong, you can call me and I'll send you the song Dave figured he was gonna hear from scamp in a week he figured wrong it was almost a year he got an email we're playing in your neck of the woods some place called

wealth some crazy hippie thing on the side of a hill. Dave went to the show, of course. This time he stayed till the end. He stood on the edge of the stage like the old days. As Scamp walked on, Dave grabbed him by the arm and said, this is nice. Scamp laughed, standing there on the edge of the stage with his guitar on his shoulder. Yeah, he said, it's nice. Scamp laughed, standing there on the edge of the stage with his guitar on his shoulder. Yeah, he said, it's nice. Then he said, I've been writing, eh? I've got a record coming in the fall, new songs. It was one of those shows Dave knew he would always remember. Dennis on bass, not playing so many notes. And the drummer, all snapping and syncopated and all over the offbeats. Keith, Keith rocked as always.

But Scamp took a lot of the vocals. Scamp at the mic, singing his new songs. There was a moment halfway through the set when they were doing a bluesy kind of thing, but up-tempo and rocky, locked in a groove. And the guy on drums did this totally joyful thing, which caught Dennis by surprise. And he laughed out loud, and Scamp turned, and they all smiled at each other. Scamp looked into the wings right then and beamed at Dave. And Dave thought, it'll never get any better than this.

Some people have God, and some people have money, and some people don't have anything at all. I have this. I have the beat and the backbeat. I have the Beatles and I have the Rolling Stones. I have Leonard Cohen singing I'm Your Man, and Bob Dylan singing Positively Fourth Street, and God bless her, I have Are Cohen singing I'm Your Man and Bob Dylan singing positively 4th Street and God bless her I have Aretha Franklin. That's when he started

dancing by himself on the edge of the stage self-consciously awkwardly more a shuffle and a dance his feet in his arms and Scamp glanced back at him and Dave thought what the heck? And he went all crazy, dancing like a go-go girl on speed, just for Scamp, waving his arms over his head like he was doing the monkey or whatever they used to call it. Scamp cracked up, Dave dancing away like that. This is what they both loved yesterday and today. When he saw Dave, Scamp turned and nodded at the guy on drums and they picked up the tempo and people started getting to their feet

and pretty soon everyone was dancing with them. Thank you. That was the story we call The Lost Chords. I love the ending of that story. It perfectly encapsulates what our life was like out on the road, arriving at the venue, soundcheck, hanging out, waiting for the show to start, but also what it felt like to be on stage watching musicians perform. You know, our live show had, Stuart would tell Damon Morley stories, but we had live music too. And Stuart and I would often watch that music together in the wings.

He would leave the stage. He wanted to share the stage with the musicians. And he knew he wouldn't really be sharing the spotlight if he stayed on stage. So he'd leave the stage and come hang out with me in the wings. And while the musicians were playing, I'd often dance. I love music and I love dancing. And so I'd often be busting a move backstage left and Stuart would sometimes join in and we'd dance together. He was always trying

to get me to dance on stage, which is crazy. Like I would never do that. I was never going to do that. Do you know me, Stuart? Does that seem like something I am ever going to do? Let me make this clear. I am never going to do that. But I did. I did dance on stage at our last show. Of course, we didn't know it was going to be our last show. We had to cancel the Christmas tour that year because Stuart was sick. He'd been diagnosed with cancer and he had to start treatment. At the time, we figured we'd be back out on the road next Christmas, but we didn't know it was our last show for a while. So it had a sense of finality to it. The last song in the show that year, the finale was awesome. The band was The

Once from Newfoundland and our Vinyl Cafe Orchestra, Dennis Penderth and John Sheard were on stage with them. The finale had this amazing breakdown moment where the band merged into Hey Jude and it was just, it was a jam. Like they just kind of jammed for two minutes and the audience would sing along and the music really built we'd done i don't know five or six shows on the tour at this point and every night i was busting a move backstage like it was such a good song it was so joyful and so fun i had to dance i couldn't. That night, that last night of the tour in Thunder Bay, Stuart asked me to come out on stage during the finale. It was an emotional moment. I was really feeling for him. He'd just been diagnosed with cancer and we just had to cancel the entire tour. And during that last song, the finale,

he whispered in my ear, let's dance. What was I going to do? What would you do? And of course I had to dance. So I did. I busted a move on stage during that finale and he loved every second of it. And of course, John and Dennis knew that he was always trying to get me on stage. So they were loving it too. All of us laughing and feeling good for the first time in days. Sadly, for me, there is video of this. Knowing that we'd had to cancel the entire tour, the local CBC had sent a TV crew to cover it. They ran the footage on the nightly news. It was my worst nightmare, but it was Stuart's dream. My friend, Danny Michelle, we toured with him for years. He's one of my good friends. He actually wrote the theme music for this show.

Danny's seen me dance many times. And every time he does, he's like, you dance like Elaine from Seinfeld. And I always just kind of thought he was taking the piss out of me. But then when I saw this video of me dancing on stage, I'm like, oh my gosh, I do dance like Elaine from Seinfeld. But that dance made Stuart happy on a not so happy day. So I don't regret it for a second. We've got to take a short break now, mostly because I'm going to have to go watch that video and see just how bad it is and if I can actually share it with you. I'll do that. You listen to this and we'll be back here in a minute

and we'll play a sneak peek from next week's episode. That's it for today. We'll be back here next week with something a little different, a special episode for Thanksgiving weekend. We're bringing back the Arthur Awards. Hi, Stuart. Hi, Joe. How are you? I'm very well, thank you.

Are you in the front or the back? I'm in the front. Okay, excellent. How are you? I'm very well, thank you. Are you in the front or the back? I'm in the front. Okay, excellent. Is your seatbelt done up? It's done up and we're ready to go. Everyone's got their belts on and we've got the casseroles in the back. What are you talking about, the casseroles in the back? Because we're dropping in on her.

We're going to stay for a while. Uh-huh. So this is going to be a party. Who cooked the casseroles? Oh, I brought a quinoa casserole, and my other sister's got a vegetarian chili. So, yeah, we've got some buns and some salad, and we're going to have a great old time. You guys.

That's next week on the podcast. Come back next Friday to hear the whole story. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Greg DeCloot is our award-winning recording engineer. Theme music is by Danny Michelle. The show is produced by Louise Curtis and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.