Читать книгу Strange Way to Live - Carl Dixon - Страница 14

So what does an eighteen-year-old music-compulsive reluctant student do with a year off school? At first, finding more gigs for my band became the imperative. I’d joined with fellow Barrie North students in a group we called Boots for no particular reason. We got going with a small number of beginner-level shows. We had no idea about anything except learning our favourite songs; an example of the sort of job we’d get in those days was to play for the Barrie Dog Show for $100. By the third song people ran from various points of the park to scream at us to “Stop, stop! The dogs are all freaking out!” Critics.

I was working two “straight” jobs and, despite Boots, getting impatient with the pace of my music career. In the pursuit of a steadier gig I kept my eyes open constantly.

I found an ad in the Toronto Star classifieds seeking a “singer for a steady-working rock band.” That was exactly what I thought I needed, as opposed to the occasionally working band that I had with my friends. This could be my big step up to the level of the real pros, I thought excitedly. I called the number and wound up auditioning for a group called Olias. The name was drawn, obscurely, from Yes vocalist Jon Anderson’s solo album title. I don’t remember the audition but they asked me to join. I was elated.

Olias asked me to come to their hometown of Owen Sound to rehearse for a week before commencing their next slate of one-week stands. The band was popular in bars and worked constantly.

That rehearsal week is gloomy and dark in my memory. Only three of the four musicians attended; the keyboard player was almost thirty (!) and lived in another town. It wasn’t worth his while to leave home for unpaid rehearsals. I heard the stories about Dave, the singer I was replacing, a very good singer and frontman but who just didn’t like playing with them anymore. He’d given them a month’s notice. I thought I was working hard in the rehearsals, but I realize now I hadn’t a clue about preparing a repertoire quickly. Ah, I was so green!

We finished our week of practice, and I drove home to get ready to meet in Orangeville a few days later. The band was nervous but I didn’t notice. I told the boys in Boots that I was off to join this full-time group to build my experience and my reputation, and maybe we could do something again in the future. I told my girlfriend Gwen the news and promised I’d come home as much as I could and I’d bring her on the road as soon as I was settled in. My dad was out west teaching, but I arranged with my mom to take care of my car and things while I was away. I would also need a ride to Orangeville the next Sunday with my suitcase, guitars, and amplifier to join my new employers. It was an exciting couple of days, filled with anticipation.

Sunday arrived, and my sister came with my mom and me on the delivery trip. The Grand Hotel in Orangeville, in all its faded Edwardian glory, beckoned me inside. I said my prolonged goodbyes to the family and went in with my gear to begin the “Grand” adventure of life as the singer of Olias. Five days later I was on a Gray Coach bus headed home to Barrie, tail between my legs. Released from further obligations.

How had it unravelled so quickly? It was a combination of my inexperience and singer Dave’s veteran savvy. He was there to begin the week as part of the transition process, and I was to ease into the role by week’s end. Improbably, and unhelpfully, the band had me room with my soon-to-be-predecessor, on a cot in the corner of his room. They had a set number of rooms provided by the hotel, and I was an extra guy, so there was no other place for me. Maybe Olias thought he would coach me toward being ready to fill his shoes. Not so. Dave eyed me shrewdly when I arrived and then set about exposing my un-readiness for the job. He was a typical road dog, staying up smoking and drinking until three or four in the morning every night, inviting the strippers from up the hall into his room for parties. I was unfamiliar with this lifestyle. My presence was not going to stand in the way of his fun, and I never knew whether Dave was intentionally wearing me down or just carrying on as usual. When I think about what I learned in my years on the road that followed, it seems likely he was doing what he would have done anyway and I was the oddity, with my wussy desire for a good night’s sleep. A memory that I can’t shake was of a stripper prattling on drunkenly one night at 3 a.m., moaning about how the hotel management didn’t appreciate the great sacrifices she’d made by doing her “danseuse” shift on the stage even when she had diarrhoea. Yeoww. Now there’s a sexy image I’m wishing I hadn’t heard while I was clutching a pillow around my head to shut out the noise and the lights.

It wore me down very quickly, the endless chatter and Dave’s eight-track tape player carrying on into the wee hours. The band resumed rehearsals with me in the mornings to get me up to speed (rousting me while Dave slept in blissfully), but that preparation was too little, too late. They got me onstage for a few songs in front of the audience on the fourth night, but it wasn’t good enough. I just didn’t know how big the gap was between showtime and myself. Increasing bleariness was setting in from my sleepless nights, and it was becoming apparent that I was no road dog.

From the other side, Olias was no doubt panicking, thinking I wouldn’t be ready fast enough. They told me Dave had changed his mind about quitting when they let me go. Maybe he had, or maybe they begged him to stay. Either way, it was off back home for me, with egg on my face and lessons learned: be prepared and don’t room with the competition.