PLAIN FOLK
by David Gue
Youngest Daughter welcomed me to her kitchen a few months ago. Beneath our conversation, I became aware of melodic, slightly dissonant guitar and gentle, atmospheric vocals drifting quietly from her boombox.
“I thought you’d like it!” She beamed. “It’s Sam Beam. He multitracks all the instruments and vocals himself. Uses the name Iron & Wine.”
Déjà vu? Indeed, you have read almost the same story before.
Just last week in this column, Les Pearson described the same musical recommendation from his son. “Take a listen to Sam Beam - Iron & Wine.”
Just a coincidence? Probably, but it started me thinking of the many wonderful musicians I have discovered or rediscovered through younger family members.
Once, when the phone rang after supper, it was Eldest Daughter calling from Washington, DC.
“Dad, you can’t possibly guess where I am!” I couldn’t.
“It’s intermission at a birthday concert for – Pete Seeger! I got a ticket, and he is amazing!”
My mind flew back to a similar evening in Edmonton, years ago. Pete Seeger, squinting into the spotlights from the vast Jubilee Auditorium stage.
“I feel sort of isolated and lonely up here.” He gestured towards the second balcony, somewhere off in the far distance.
“Maybe some of you could just come down and sit on the stage. This music is meant for people to sing to each other close up, on the back porch, or across a campfire.”
His banjo rang out, and at that moment my musical journey changed direction. My interest in classical piano training, already waning, died completely. I bought a guitar, and Seeger’s “Folksinger’s Guitar Guide”.
Fearing parental disapproval, I smuggled instrument and book into my basement bedroom. I practiced very softly, with door closed. My fingers ached.
Homework time became 5 minutes of study followed by a 25-minute break for guitar practice. My marks plummeted, but I was in another world, enraptured by songs of social significance.
One recent Christmas, Eldest Daughter revealed her latest project. “I’m learning the banjo,” she announced. “The 5-string, like Pete plays.”
Thanks, Pete – from both of us.
The same Christmas, Younger Son gave me a copy of a bootleg recording.
“Take a good listen,” he urged. “More than once. You didn’t like her at Calgary Folk Festival, but it will grow on you.”
“Her” was Vancouver singer, songwriter, and pianist Veda Hille. The recording was her musical biography of west coast artist Emily Carr. The quirky, dissonant music grated on my ears. I soon put the CD away.
A few years later, I listened again, with fresh ears. I was amazed. I heard brilliant music, artfully performed.
“I wondered how long it would take,” grinned Younger Son. “Took you a while to come round, didn’t it? I’d almost given up hope.”
Slow – but not hopeless. Wilco, Juba!, Oliver Mtkudzu, Smashing Pumpkins, – even Spirit of the West. Thanks, Younger Gues. You introduced me to all of them.