On this “bookend” date, I thought it appropriate to launch my songwriting attempt to reconcile with political history still unfolding…
I didn’t know…
I didn’t know that I’d record this song. I didn’t know that I’d pair this footage with it.
I did know that my father was entering palliative care. I was on my way home to see him. I didn’t really understand that this would be my last bridge crossing, from Detroit to Windsor, while he was still alive. I saw that the rain was beautiful, on the windows of the cab.
For many years, Dad had picked me up from the Detroit airport.
I knew to say these things to him.
“on the line”
Years ago, my father told me of the summer he worked “on the line” at Chatham Steel — across from his father. Dad told me of the oil baths that his father would dunk the molten steel into — after the formed metal parts came out of a pounding press. My grandfather was very deaf, by the time I knew him, because of that pounding noise. Dad said that when he looked up one day, at that factory, and saw his father’s face drenched in oil an sweat, he knew “why he drank.”
braving making content
Exploring songs, by other writers, playing out, experimenting… all in service of making new work.
Always a vulnerable exercise — I can admit that it takes courage and a willingness to engage with the opinions of others. I’m so grateful I’m feeling strong enough to do it again.
performing again
Building the muscle of performing again. Little by little… I know I’m not alone in recognizing that performance is a “muscle”, metaphorically speaking, that needs to be maintained.
156 weeks, 4 days
I miss my Dad. He passed away on January 31st, 2020. Three years ago today.
About six weeks after his passing — the world changed. He didn’t have to go through all of that.
I’m grateful we could celebrate his life together — at a large extended family gathering — before the pandemic descended. I’m grateful I could sing “for him” at that celebration.
Dad’s family was “salt of the earth” — Irish, Canadian. Amazing people. So proud to bear the same last name.
Back Row: Uncle Chuck, Uncle Pat, Edmond (Dad), Uncle Dave,
Front Row: Aunt Marg, Grandma, Grandpa, and Aunt Rose.
title track “Totem”
I flirted with the idea of calling it Totem (Titanic). Ultimately, I did not. It’s a song that “appears” to be about the fated musicians who played on the HMS Titanic. It is not. It’s about my feeling that my own “musical ship” is sinking. In truth; it is not.
What it is is me, in an unprecedented way, exalting a song and statement of my own. (How dare I point a finger to work in this way?) No. This is me daring to give voice to a part of myself that longs to be heard — a personification of “I sing what I can’t say.” And I answer the song’s final question by uttering the question, “Who am I playing this for?”
Like those musicians, knowing they were about to die, I dare say, “I play this for me.”
touching home
A line from the great Stan Rogers song First Christmas Away from Home takes on a new meaning for me in 2023. “Time for touching home” now means coming back to my own home — rather than the home of my family of origin.
minutes, hours, days
Again, in this construct of a new year, I ever more carefully commit to the minutes, hours, and days.
“It’s only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth — and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up — that we will begin to live each day to the fullest as if it was the only one we had.”
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
what became “Totems”
This body of work, Totems, took a long time. Many obstacles to overcome — but the songs are here now. I’m grateful I had the courage, little by little, to put the pieces together. Thanks always to Ian Hattwick for helping me through it all.
Now comes the hard work of putting it out there.