ROCK ‘N’ ROLL CANADA…THE RECORDING ARTISTS OF CROSS COUNTRY DREAMS:

ALL ABOARD THE TRAIN AND INNER CONTINENTAL …

(TRAVEL LOG)

First stop, Orilla Ontario. Gordon Lightfoot of the Canadian back logs beneath the wooded and the rain. Fast freeze gale winds build’s of the Toronto dark auburn spirals and it’s take to winter. Color blender like a poser of the bluffs across dark dull blue river. Gordon Lightfoot polishes the final touch of is painting of moods and matches of his songs. Lyrical pathways to his Canadian hail brook of no-journey’s end. The words and melody furthers—as carefree highway is home a ways from that which charms us…soothes us in the moment in song. A non stop linger of unforgotten dreams.

THE EDMOND FITZGERALD: Sea stews and stewardship…Fitzgerald to the fall. Grateful a crime of the lost and gone. Stay off the cold cover waters…The broken backs of the galley’s, ship to stern.Hardened faces in a loss of the sun. Cloud cover nightmare to it’s sink—so  told by Lightfoot. Painted with the words of it’s final throws—out of the storm skies high held waves…reaching over the belly and tail to the ocean bottoms. His wholehearted theme of the sinking of the Edmond Fitzgerald.

IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND: Lemon score over rock and splash of rye. Bar room saddened Lads of old washers…nimbler miles in minutes. Fire breath and bourbon final snorts of luck past the magic spills of heading towards the trips and falls of napkin lapped tables.. Allegorical down plays, though they move as they muscle; and straight out of blue sky hungry moon, Gordon had found her…and as if only she could read his mind to what a tale be told. This is the majesty of Canada’s own, Gordon Lightfoot.

2ND STOP TORONTO ONTARIO ALL THE WAY TO WINNIPEG MANITOBA…

                   (“HEY NEIL YOUNG. OLD MAN LOOK AT MY LIFE”)

Father author…family distances and estranged in ugly separation’s from a wheat-run family farms. Local charts and local starts. A local town library where Neil’s dad on the billboard as a most notable writer…and whom converse and chat up a story to the enlightenment of all those intellectuals of the daily Canada times.Works and stores, yet not so gently a genius son, his rightful one-way trip to Southern California—too it’s bumpy in the moment of time. A heavy pedal fly of the divided road lines, in his very own black Hearst amp spread cargo. Guitars strapped tight where the heavy  caskets once spent…and all the way long, this one strange ‘bird’ and certifiable odd-ball—rides the hot rails south of Canada’s illustrious border’s—longing for rhythms and riches. Passports pair two with his bassist bud, Bruce Palmer. Long-haired and longer beads. Long tall swede hats swiftly out of a native style chills. Long high booted frills. Heavy drive to be oft their bag; and a chance meeting with Steven Stills. “For what it’s worth” Irony is no nonsense in the eyes of an eccentric to the caliber of Neil Young. Some may call it a fated adventure..as others may just say of the luck of the draw. Or perhaps a balance of what lie ahead—and must come true. Forition? Fruition?  Who knows for sure. Yet what is real of the passion and ruggedness of claim. You see, Neil bought a farm. He wrote a popular song, relative to his span of a generation. Yet it had no reference point to his actual own old man; as one old and one Young, walked the line one more time. The property of it’s young man’s earthy grunge. Create a sound . An image…a ragged glory of a course. ”Long may he run” His own dad just set back seated…and yet this strange old man have his glory. Manitoba way north, a goodbye, there in mid sixty fashion. Patron Canadian brothers set up new camp. New ragged farm fed. Farm natural—as a non commercial, as one can get. Because dreams do come true. The rest is gold record history. Lionel moments. Colorado vinyls and widespread mix in the Canadian sends. Canada’s son, Neil Young.

3rd STOP GLACIAL HEAVY ICE AND SNOW OF HIGHER ELEVATION…

              (FROM NORTH OF THE BORDER WINNIPEG)

All our Guess Who soul in their eyes…Melody in their ears. Style all their own. This is the Canadian rock band ”The Guess Who”  Heart’s in the right place of a magic seldom known. ”oh those Canadian colds” Winter’s extra longs. Their songs of images of home. wheat and cold air. Wind driven power punch of a unique bound. Turbines and flatbed trucks. Highway currents and brave belts. Waves of baked dreams. Riches await of lush ladies. Contracts high dollar deals in the sunniest of days. Special moments of Randy Bachman guitar. Burton piano bit gone gold! Ed Sullivan in a courtyard by a backstage light…and lamp to hold true…and the journey one must climb. Ed of a parent teacher in the beholds of memories and good traveled glances of past—-bring upon future—and sunny sides of luck, yet skills of god given gifts, which turn to real honest joys. Yet hard drugs of an industry taken in the pain from the inside out—too the travails and injustices of allegorical day. Often times the nightmare of the music business of those days. And how people and friends fall out of tomorrows better places. Retreads but not faraway, because music is all ours…ours to stay. Best to our Canadian friends. The Guess Who.

THE 4TH AND FINAL STOP AT CALGARY CORRAL WESTERN CANADIAN’S OWN…THE STAMPEDERS.

               (THE STAMPEDERS, SWEET CITY WOMAN. WOMAN OF MY DREAMS)

Oh those rough riding days out of Calgary, which is more than just a stable hand…a Canadian cowpoke. A sweat city woman venture in…& take the place of lonely; as two can play this game—as if so many light years ago…or so it seems. A band called the Stampede-rs. Rich Dodson founder, along with Kim Beryl and Ronnie King Braggart…a cowboy’s inner qualms and even deeper emotions. The stampede ran like hellfire that night, just before the story of the small Philly entered the arena of Rock ‘n’ roll…as i just had this dream the other day. First the clouds came ravaging in like a mad spectacle. Then a rodeo fill of dice less of my own horse; and so on my way as they say; though no lady in waiting…as the sky leap as if out of golden blond…and curl a lasso whirl, this sweet city woman. More praise be of this stampeder song…with so much more in it, as one could say: ”I found that girl on this very day…the saddle style roads in Calgary. The band and her flow to dance by the bandstand and carriers—lie a ringer and horse hoof, the cornering of an eye. How very lovely this cowgirl can be; as it soon became more than just a meeting with this sweet city woman. But a gift in song…and i thank them.