tag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:/blogs/thoughts-and-things?p=3Thoughts and things2021-02-03T10:39:30-05:00dennis O'Toolefalsetag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/65547722021-02-21T13:00:55-05:002023-12-10T13:54:28-05:00The Prodigal Gospel...<p><strong><span class="font_large">well, I'd like to believe that you'll always be near me</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">that we'll meet again in that 'sweet bye and bye'</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">how I'd love to believe that you could still hear me</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">when I raise my voice to the sky...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">...(the opening lines to an old song of mine...)... on my mind this morning with the news that an old friend has had his partner of many ears 'pass on'...'cross over'... whatever we tend to label that last transition from this 'mortal coil'... the biblical story of the 'prodigal son' was always a favourite of mine, though being raised in a Catholic household, the bible was not a big reference manual... my heart is heavy, and with my old friend and musical partner J.P. Hovercraft.</span></strong></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/65384002021-02-03T10:39:30-05:002023-12-10T12:02:57-05:00...a quote...<p><span class="font_large">..." Dennis is one of the most clever, articulate songwriters, ever....eloquence personified..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...Gary Peeples... guitarist of Jackson Delta and Al Black's 'Steady Band' had this to say about my work in a Facebook post somewhere back on down the line... and when asked if I could use his quote for my own awkward attempts at self promotion; graciously agreed. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> "You are always welcome to whatever humble service or quote that comes from me", he replied. I had mentioned that " ...in these uncertain times, the respect of one's peers is more than sufficient reason to carry on.." (May 12th, 2020). And haven't "these times" just become more and more uncertain? </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I launched 'Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel' in an intimate setting at the SLAB in March 2019, and have since given away hundreds of copies, as well as included it in t's entirety for free download (along with 'The Brave Work' and the initial eponymous effort) in this site, in hopes of getting the tunes 'out there' to any who appreciate the song as te prime 'art form' of our generation. Not necessarily a 'sound' business plan, but music had never been about 'business' for me, and is even less so, now that 'the music business' seems to be in transition and/or disarray. There are so many musicians out there trying to scrape by, I just can't be bothered wit the 'nickel and dime' aspects of streaming services, and to be honest, the whole 'online' aspect just leaves me cold.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I hope folks support those most in need, but for my part, the songs are free. Help yourself to what you will, and try to support those that need it most. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/65383842021-02-03T10:04:19-05:002022-05-28T07:07:08-04:00scene his shadow...<p><span class="font_large">..well... it has bee a long time since I've been able to 'log in' to this 'blog'; especially on my lap-top, as opposed to my iPad... I had hoped to get off to a fresh start yesterday (being 'groundhog day' and all), and was not able to gain access, (yet again) from my iPad, either.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I was beginning to despair of this whole routine (and my account with Bandzoogle), but it would seem that my 'tech pal' and photography friend Jackie Wimbush has been able to sort it out. So, (a day late and a dollar short) I am given opportunity to consider an actual 'blog' as opposed to just cataloguing lyric and recordings for 'posterity'. A time for new beginnings, perhaps? </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I was following my good friend Phil Connor's 'blog' that he was keeping from his little hide-a-way down Mexico way, and as impressed as I was with his candor in recounting his formative years, I know I will not be able to quite so forthright in my own attempt to chronicle 'my life in art', or at least less revealing as to my personal history. "What a long, strange trip it's been..." to quote the 'Dead'; never one of my favourite groups growing up, but a musical entity that I have come to appreciate more with the passing of time (and SO many of the musicians of m-m-m-my g-g-g-g-eneration...).</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> So, having posted many of my more 'relevant' lyrics, and given the sequential nature of a 'blog'. I don't want to delve to deeply into early attempts at lyric; thinking that the first songs just don't stand up to the ones that came later, with a little experience and maturity that this half-century (and more) with a guitar in my hands and a song in my heart has hopefully brought me. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I have recently had cataract surgery on both eyes, and am enjoying my new lease on vision immensely. Not being able to read for pleasure ( let alone see a keyboard or screen clearly) has been at trial, to say the least. Driving was getting to be a serious challenge as well, and though my surgeon did not pull my ability to do so, I was much reduced in scope and circumstance, navigating a very short circuit (my sister's house, the grocery store, the 'SLAB'; all within a few blocks of ne another) with extreme vigilance, and never at night. I guess in \the good old days' one just went blind. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> The 'SLAB"... well... that has been a truly remarkable opportunity, and one of the only real 'positives' to come out of the whole pandemic problem. I'll catalogue some photographs of tis wonderful little spot at some point for posterity, but suffice it to say that the 'SLAB' is a lovely little 'garage' that has never seen an automobile; but has hosted many a fine small 'house concert' (cousin Michael P. O'Toole and I 'released' the most recent recording there in March of 2019; \Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel). and Phil and Yvonne Connor (in whose backyard 'the SLAB' exists) were so kind as to leave me a key when they went to Mexico last season. Before their return, we were in the grip of the global pandemic, and my 'residency' has been extended into this winter, as well. A remarkable opportunity, and though I'm not a 'high achiever' or driven to rite or record at a fevered pace; ot has been a wonderful chance to spend countless 'indolent hours' with my (large) family of guitars. and a few new songs have inevitably transpired.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> Cousin Michael P. and I continue t get together weekly of a Wednesday afternoon (and hopefully will do so again today), keeping our distance and making music that hopefully we ill get to share with a 'live' audience at some point, but who knows when or where that will be. I'm not overly inclined to present myself 'online'; but will add a couple of video clips that we did for submission to the 'Blue Valentine' memorial effort this year; which will be a 'virtual' get together in honour of the late Willie P. Bennett; gone thirteen years this month. Well, that's it for this installment; 'for hat it's worth'. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/64694002020-11-03T14:08:20-05:002022-06-01T21:12:52-04:00... some scenes...<p><span class="font_large">some scenes obscene won’t be unseen</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">our histories haunt us all in kind</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">memory, not a slate to be wiped clean</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we are all captives of the mind</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love can ennoble or demean</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">too often declared ‘blind’...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">some scenes obscene can’t be unseen</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">invective hurled can’t be retrieved</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">be sure to say just what you mean</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if you are apt to be believed</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">those who live as libertines</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">oft may be deceived.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">some scenes obscene won’t be unseen</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">aspersions cast can’t be repealed</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">often a fine line between</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what remains obscured or revealed</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">conscience inclined to intervene</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">whose lips shall remain sealed?</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/63132662020-05-12T08:23:17-04:002022-05-30T06:20:24-04:00In My Wildest Dreams<p><span class="font_large">...waking from more curious dreams than usual; I am inclined to share a recent lyric...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">in my wildest dreams... there are tamer scenes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where we stop and catch our breath ...reflect upon the gift</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">see time for what it is; simple and precious, just like this...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I see you in my wildest dreams.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm prone to fantasy... comes easily to me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">imagination knows no bounds... and while my heart still pounds</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll make of love what I will... and give my all, until...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">comes my time to be set free.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">in my darkest night... when my soul cries for light</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I fear unfamiliar shores... what lies behind darkened doors...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you'll stir in your sleep; and I know somehow you keep</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">me anchored, even in my wildest dreams...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 1.4em;">in my wildest dreams... there are tamer scenes...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where we stop and catch our breath... revel in the gift...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">cherish time for what it is... simple and precious, just like this...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll meet you in my wildest dreams.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... a song for 'older' lovers, perhaps... born of a lazy, 'jazzy' progression on the guitar in my 'indolent hours' these past weeks and months I've had access to 'The SLAB' as my personal musical playground... this one will get recorded when we get back to that sort of thing. I have found much to recommend 're-writing' lyric by hand, in liquid ink... often just a word will change, here and there... I guess lyric and poetry are inevitably fluid things... open to re-interpretation in repetition... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/63122492020-05-11T14:20:30-04:002023-12-10T12:52:26-05:00Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day (the lyric)...<p><span class="font_large">...of course, the 'blog' presents items in order of appearance, and the 'reflection' on this lyric will be below this page... apparently there is no way to mess around with the format, so...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">my brother tasked me to write him this song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he asked when we both knew his time was not long...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he said: "I'll leave it to you, just what to say; but call it</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day'..."...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">we shared a room; a decade but light years apart.b..</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I fell asleep to 'Only the Lonely'... 'Only Love Can Break Your Heart'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he slipped into psychosis to the hits of the day as they'd play...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">working on his own rainy sunshiny day...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">now I don't know just where it went wrong</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">can you blame a sad slow radio song?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Roy Orbison, Gene Pitney, too...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'Town Without Pity'... 'Blue Bayou'...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">now it's just another rainy sunshiny day</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">clouds of my own making keeping blue skies at bay</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I suppose... I surmise... that these tears in my eyes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">come with just another rainy sunshiny day...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">now it's just anther rainy sunshiny day</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how I wish he was here, so I could play</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">my simple song for him... hear what he'd have to say</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">about 'Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day'...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">no, I don't know just where it all went wrong</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">can you blame a sad, slow radio song?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Roy Orbison... Gene Pitney, too...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'Town Without Pity'... 'Blue Bayou'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(then perhaps a reference to Don and Phil)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"Love Hurts... love scars... love wounds... and mars...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> any heart.. not tough... or strong... enough... to take a lot of pain..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(the Everly Brothers hit written by Felice and Boudeleaux Bryant, of course).</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/63122042020-05-11T13:40:38-04:002022-07-26T03:44:55-04:00"Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day..." (reflection on the writing of a song)<p><em><span class="font_large">... "Dennis is one of the most clever, articulate songwriters ever...eloquence personified..."</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large">... Gary Peeples ( guitarist/songwriter; member of Jackson Delta (blues band) and Al Black's 'Steady Band' -February 10th, 2019. ...whew... that's quite a quote (unsolicited) from a friend and peer on Facebook, in relation to some reference to songwriting, I suppose. I came across it on an envelope yesterday and it gt me to thinking about songwriting in general and this song in particular. As I've delved through 'my back pages' in the creation of this blog, I've not been concerned with any sort of chronological order, and have skipped through eras and traumas as the spirit moved me. I've never considered songwriting as 'craft' so much as 'vocation''; and over the half century or so that I have aspired to the sobriquet (there's a word that hasn't cropped up lately) 'songwriter' I've mostly waited for the lyric to come to me. most often in near complete form. ave not pursued commercial reward or appeal as a motivating factor, and don't go looking for 'topics' or engage in 'co-writing' (much, at least not regularly or successfully). But when my brother Peter directed me to write him a song, of course I said I would. He only gave me the title:</span></em><em><span class="font_large"> "Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day"; and I dutifully scribbled it down in my notes at his bedside. </span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large"> I came up with a stanza or chorus of some sort either before or shortly after he 'crossed over', and I was actually at his side (with guitar in hand) when he did. I'm pretty sure I described this experience in the notes to "Jesus, My Brother..." (earlier in these 'pages'). below, that effort...</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large">it's just another rainy sunshiny day...</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large">clouds of my making, keeping blue skies at bay</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large">I suppose, I surmise; that these tears in my eyes</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large">come with 'just another rainy sunshiny day'...</span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large"> and so it sat... he died... I regretted not having knuckled down and written a damn song for him before he did. Over these past months I have had access to 'The SLAB'; the lovely little performance space behind Phil and Yvonne Connor's house here in town; and in some of my indolent hours there playing guitar and singing to an empty room; the lyric coalesced and became a song... for my brother; who always regretted getting a gun (.22 Cooey single shot rifle) and not a guitar as requested for some birthday in his teens. He had a paper route and a record player with a growing album collection in the years that we shared a room in the little 'war time' house in East City (Peterborough) and I fell asleep to Roy Orbison, Gene Pitney, the Everly Brothers, Buck Owens, Hank Williams, etc., etc. ... quite a education in song, in retrospect. </span></em></p>
<p><em><span class="font_large"> Peter slipped into psychosis, and spent much of his life a mental health in/out patient living close to the street in Toronto, where he died. This song is for him, and will be the next one recorded when cousin Michael P. O'Toole and I (hopefully) get back to regular rehearsal and recording after 'the pandemic' has (hopefully) passed. maybe on a new page. love to all, d.</span></em></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62502142020-03-15T14:10:49-04:002022-04-03T19:39:39-04:00Ould Soul<p><span class="font_large">old soul... you are traveler</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">old soul... odyssey unraveling</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">old soul... trying to find a way home</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heartbeat... like an ancient drum</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">complete... vision soon will come</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">defeat... something you've never known</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you see the universe in a grain of sand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a lifetime in the blink of an eye</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">always hungering to understand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">never demanding why...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">old soul... immune to siren's call</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">old soul... seen empires rise and fall</span></p>
<p><font size="4">old soul... so together, so alone</font></p>
<p><font size="4">…</font></p>
<p><font size="4">seeking that sense of certainty</font></p>
<p><font size="4">shining in a true love's smile</font></p>
<p><font size="4">the fleeting glimpse of eternity</font></p>
<p><font size="4">in the eyes of a newborn child...</font></p>
<p><font size="4">...</font></p>
<p><font size="4">old soul... you are a traveler</font></p>
<p><font size="4">old soul... one more life unraveling</font></p>
<p><font size="4">old soul... trying to find a way home</font></p>
<p><font size="4">something you've never known...</font></p>
<p><font size="4">so together… so alone.</font></p>
<p><font size="4"> ... well... this song seems complete enough that I've been singing it in my sleep, so I'll put it in here and not lose track of it. Just the other day a bit f verse from recent times got married up with a song that has been with me for a long while (Virgin Heart)… I'll track that down and make revision... recent weeks have found me singing much more and enjoying it in equal measure. love to all, d.</font></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62424822020-03-09T10:53:58-04:002023-12-10T13:34:33-05:00TheGift of the Moon and Stars<p><span class="font_large">I can only give you the moon and stars</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they're yours for the asking... there for the taking</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we can catch fireflies in jars</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll be basking in the light they're making</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let this summer's night roll slowly</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">your love makes me feel real and holy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lazy days come and go...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the moon waxes and wanes, and comes 'round again</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we can watch our love grow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a bit of you and me... and now we are three</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how shall I interpret your sigh?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is that a tear come to your eye?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can only give you the moon and stars</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">spin rings from Saturn, and roll you in clover</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anything your heart desires</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as long as we can dream, I'll be your lover</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lover, take me in your arms...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I will give you the moon and stars...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well... a song from a time of wonder and amazement... a child in the making... hearts full of love and promise... from the 1990 live recording, and written while Kyle was preparing to make entry into the world... seems so long ago, now... and the dream died with him, I suppose... gallant effort was made to make a life beyond, but in the end it was not to be... the moon and stars remain; and on this day of a 'super moon' this old song comes to mind, so it takes it's place among the others... it was as close to 'jazz' as the '& Friends' got, I suppose. " and s it goes..." I dedicate this song to every couple who try to make a 'go' of parenting,whether or not the child is of their own making... love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62381302020-03-05T10:11:28-05:002021-12-20T10:15:41-05:00True Love's Time has Come<p><span class="font_large">men are born to be bound by duty</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">bred to be slaves to beauty</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">bled by social pressure from the cradle to the grave</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've worn my heart on my sleeve, and it's led me to believe</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that true and lasting impressions are the only ones I'll crave</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love would do well to be blind; but not so, deaf and dumb</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a song in my mind... singin' 'true love's time has come'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">true love's time has come</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I believe they broke the mold, when they cast your heart of gold</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you are a boon companion to this lonesome old fool</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">call it proscribed romance; be it luck or circumstance;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sometime it seems so brand new</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">times it's for sure 'old school'.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">... love would do well to be blind...(repeat chorus)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm serving you fair warning; I'll be loving you each morning</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll be bugging you for hugging every hour of the day</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll be scribblin' you new songs, trying to right all my wrongs;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I believe we belong, in a betrothed way!</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...love would do well to be blind... (repeat chorus and fade...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... this is a country 'romp' of one sort or another... never been recorded, and not near the top of the list; but it came to mind, and I thought I'd put it down while it was still in my head. An older tune, for sure; from the Bandanna! days, no doubt. Having had some small success as a recording outfit; the lure of the 'radio rodeo' was strong. Our friends in Prairie Oyster were making a splash in Canada, and even south of the border; it seemed as though there might be some sort of future as a singing cowboy after all; even just on a local level. There had been a well established C&W scene in Peterborough, with places to play (sometimes six nights and a matinee ...honky-tonkin' night and day...); but mostly weekend work; and that was beginning to dry up. I consider myself fortunate to have been able to 'cut my teeth' in the fading 'glory' of a flourishing bar scene; but of course a 'bar scene' is just that. When came a time to 'get on the bus' and go out on the road with a real touring act; I chose to go back to school and get some 'working papers' in social services. It was time to start considering 'family' as opposed to a full time career in music; and even with all the changes in my 'family' status over the years; I'm glad I made that choice. 'The Brave Work' took it's toll on me; but it was good work; and effort spent in the service of others helped me keep my head more or less together; at least more so than it might have fared in the blind pursuit of 'fame and fortune'. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62381062020-03-05T08:48:53-05:002022-05-22T04:51:21-04:00The Sky's the Limit<p><span class="font_large">you want me to need you and I need you to want me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">your past has freed you; mine keeps coming back to haunt me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you know much more about me, than I'll ever know about you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(darlin', what can I do?)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we sit separated by silence, unable to bridge the distance</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">between tenderness and violence, warmth or resistance</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I don't doubt you could live without me;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I could get by without you...but that just won't do</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the sky's the limit, if we just can hold on</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and weather each storm through to the dawn</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with so much at stake, heartache can not shake my resolve...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sure, we've got problems to solve</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we've each got our cycles, like the moon and the tide</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the give of our love; the pull of our pride</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what we have together, is more than the sum of the parts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm talking human hearts...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the sky's the limit, and I'm leaving the ground</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">my hands are trembling, and my heart starts to pound</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">darlin', come what may, I want to stay around you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I swear this love is true...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you want me to need you... I need you to want me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you want me to need you... I need you to want me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... this is an old song (first track on side 'B' of the 'O'Toole and Friends/Live at Artspace' cassette, recorded July 08th, 1990); and I don't believe it was 'new' at the time; but definitely one of the 'rockier' numbers in the 'folk/rock' set. Dave Borne on guitar, Jim Leslie on the kit; Craig Patterson on the upright bass (this unit would morph into 'The Crossing' not too long after, with J.P. Hovercraft on the electric fretted and fretless basses, as well as adding his vocals to the mix). This was a heady time for me;t o be taking my original material out to concert and nightclub venues (mostly bars). I recall Andy Pryde giving Dave a crash course in intonating an electric guitar prior to the recording. As The Crossing evolved, I began to delve into the world of electric guitars myself; eventually ending up with three Gibsons onstage (6&12 string 335s, and a little Les Paul Firebrand) fed into a vintage blackface Fender Super Reverb. Some of this outfit can be seen in archival video clips from a concert at The Pines (some footage on the Agoraphobic Folk page, eventually to be transferred here). Looking at the cassette liner notes as I write, I'm struck by the optimism of the young man in his middle to later thirties.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I had forsaken the world of stimulants (not coffee, of course) in my 35th year; after a woman by the name of Jan Woods had predicted that I ought not to expect to make it past my 40th year. Jan had been commissioned to do an in depth study of John Lennon's astral chart after his tragic assassination by a wealthy fan in Calgary. When I was leaving Cowtown some time after that; she 'read' charts for myself and the woman who was to become Willow's mom. Jan told me that the salient difference between my chart and John's was the ten years between us by birth; and therefore I might do well to get my living in before my 40th year came rolling around. Of course this prompted a spate of hedonistic adventurism. Eventually I settled down to getting some music accomplished; and at one point had Bandanna! on the go, as well as O'Toole and Friends/The Crossing and duo work with Dave Borne. There was a period when Joel Reynolds joined The Crossing and Dave and I in a trio setting on keyboards. Such was my 'rock'n'roll career, for what it was worth. A bit of a tsunami in a teapot; but loads of fun on occasion. Jan died in a motorcycle crash out in the mountains of Alberta sometime thereafter ( I guess she didn't see that coming) and Dave in a crossroads car crash in June of '95. He had been gigging with a bluesman whose name escapes me; but any dream of 'putting the band back together' died with him. Eventually the electric guitars and amp morphed into acoustic instruments; but of late I've been getting back into the world of electric instruments; ( I have several of Peter Cragg's) and one day hope to have an 'outfit' to take out on occasion again. Cousin Michael P. O'Toole and I have a little 'rock'n'roll history' behind us with a band of his associates the never settled on a name. I would jokingly refer to us as 'Five B'Hai and I' (due to their religious affiliation) though we toyed with the names 'Hobbyrocker' and 'Dreamcatcher' by turns. The word 'hobby' has always seemed abrasive to me. I consider music a vocation, whether or not one makes a living (or even any money) at it. Cousin Michael P. and I will play a B'Hai 'NawRuz' (Spring Equinox/new Year) celebration later this month. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62369612020-03-04T09:46:14-05:002022-07-29T01:49:35-04:00Meadowlark Grove<p><span class="font_large">he walks in a shady grove...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lay him down 'neath a summer sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">watching dragons and castles move... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">changing shape right before his eyes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he sees them fly...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">seems so log since he was a child... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">everything seemed s simple then...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he could latch right onto a cloud... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ride the waves of the restless wind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... to be a child again!...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's so far from the kiss of his mother now</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's taken, and broken a over's vow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he feels like a bird with a broken wing...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">his life is stitched together with guitar strings...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... and other things...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a meadowlark sitting there on the fence</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's well fed, and he's singing sweet;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to him. life always makes sense...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's never been beat, out on the street... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...feeling incomplete...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's never taken, or broken a lover's vow...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">or done a little more than the law allows...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ventured too far in a realm of sin...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">had to make peace with his soul... to sing again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's as free as the wind!</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he walks in a shady grove... lay him down 'neath a summer sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">watching castles and dragons move...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">changing shape right before his eyes... see them fly...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...walking in a shady grove... lay him down...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...walking in a shady grove...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this may be one of the last lyrics from the 1990 'O'Toole and Friends/Live at Artspace' recording; originally released on cassette (yes, cassettes and .45 rpm records were still the method of delivery for me at the time)... I often suggest that I co-wrote this poem with my father; but more likely he was close at hand when it came together. 'W.G.' lived out his years in a little house behind a not much bigger house where we lived in a rather 'communal' setting. My young man and my old man and myself were an adventurous trio for a number of years; and those memories sustain me now that they are both gone on. This song is my 'Sugar Mountain', I guess.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62334692020-03-01T12:48:19-05:002022-04-03T19:46:06-04:00Song of the Sad Whip-poor-Will (Hank Fisher/dennis O'Toole)<p><span class="font_large">seems so long since I've heard a whip-poor-will</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that I can scarce recall the sound</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">takes me back to a time when you loved me still</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we lay on our backs on the ground...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the stars up above were a witness to love</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the wind sighed in sweet harmony</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to the whip-poor-will's call when I pledged you my all</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and you promised you'd always love me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">spring faded to fall... the wild goose call</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">was my reason to wander and roam</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to seek my fortune and fame</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">so you could proudly wear my name</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">while the whip-poor-will sane 'round our home.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I don't know how I survived when that letter arrived</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I saw that it was edged in black</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"Blll; your darling is dead...".. were the words that I read</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and all of my dreams were crushed by this fact</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it seems so long since I've heard that sad ('ol) whip-poor-will</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">yet it seems the one sound I crave...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still the memories burn, (perhaps) one day I'll return</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to stand, hat in hand; at her grave</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll leave this dirty old town... sirens and factory sounds</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for that little church yard on the hill</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">through my tears and pain... perhaps hear, once again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the song of that sad whip-poor-will.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... </span>.this is an old timer; and yet the previous tune put me in mind of it; and by rare happenstance I could lay hand on it. From an old ledger that I transcribed some notebooks into while visiting my pal Rob Loree some time back. A 'co-write' as it turns out. ; with 'Washboard' Hank Fisher; himself a serious student of old time music. This ballad follows time honoured tradition and theme; as would the arrangement;were it ever to be recorded. </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62333972020-03-01T11:45:46-05:002020-03-01T12:12:14-05:00Nickleodeon<p><span class="font_large">let me call you 'sweetheart'... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">like they sang back before the war...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">before the battle of the sexes (and whatever that was came next) </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">had us runnin' for the door...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm craving one 'true romance';</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">like some sweet old Tin Pan Alley song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">back when they'd put another nickle in ...that old nickelodeon...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and sweethearts would sing along...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've spent my time among the 'modern lovers'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I can tell you that's just not my style...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and that sort of callous game ...surely puts 'love' to shame</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and misses the mark by a country mile...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">so darlin', let me call you 'sweetheart'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">accept this song as a virtual 'valentine'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">or maybe even better... a musical ragtime love letter;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now tell me you'll be mine...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'cause I'm craving one true romance...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">like some sweet old Tin Pan Alley tune...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where a cherubic Cupid hovers... over starstruck lovers</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">dancing beneath a paper moon.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> .. well ... on the topic of 'Tin Pan Alley'... this is a new song... ( like, 'brand new'... a work in progress) inspired by my current 'sweetheart' (dear heart) and a little 'lick' I stumbled across on the guitar; trying to figure out where I might use a particular chord that only ever cropped up (for me) in Fred Neil's blues classic 'Handful of Gimme'. My mom and dad would take autumn vacations, ( mostly affordable day trips) driving around Ontario marveling at the colours in the trees; stopping in little taverns to have an ale and play the jukebox (apparently Porter Wagoner's 'Carroll County Accident' was a favourite; though they were by no mean 'C&W' fans, as a rule...). My mother would tell of a time when she approached some backwoods barkeep for change to play the jukebox... "...for the 'nickelodeon'..." she said...he replied: "Lady, where have you been?" ... and that always encapsulated my parent's 'honky tonk' experience for me... and it seemed a highlight when I first heard my own songs on a jukebox... (or the radio, for that matter)... you may be sure that a copy of the Bandanna! 45 rpm recording got left anywhere it might get loaded onto the 'nickleodeon'...</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62333542020-03-01T10:38:23-05:002020-03-01T12:22:36-05:00Talkin' Tin Pan Alley Blues<p><span class="font_large">well, I took my song about my girl named Sally</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">down to the boys in Tin Pan Alley</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the man's smilin' face was like a big full moon</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">signed me to a contract on the 06th of June...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">gave me a couple 'toots' from a silver spoon...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">said he wouldn't 'snow' me.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he had pictures on the walls of all kinds of 'stars'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">big breasted women lyin' on fancy cars...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he said: "Son, I know how to play this game;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">why, I hold the keys to fortune and fame...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">by next week you'll be a household name...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but first, we'll change it...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll get rid of that hat, and those 'cowboy' clothes;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">get you some latex pants, and a smaller nose...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Son, you sing and play real fine; </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but seein' as how this song is now half mine;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let me get my 'hooks' int a couple of lines...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I'll own three quarters..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'Let me tell you; I know just what the people like;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll turn your girl Sal into a dyke</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and she'll slit her wrists over her lost lover;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">her suicide note will blow her cover...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it'll be the 'last straw' for her aging mother...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">YouTube'll love the video... it'll go 'viral'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll be laughin'...</span></p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">he says: "There'll never be another 'King'; you know what I mean?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but country coud surely use another kind of 'Queen'..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and with that he give my ass a squeeze;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">suggested I get down on my hands and knees...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and let the bugger do whatever he please...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">says: "What's the matter, boy?...didn't you read the 'fine print'?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... you're going to choke on it..."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">friends; I left that place in an awful huff...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">kept my 'artistic pride'; but Lord, times got tough...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and seein' as how my Sal's so sweet;</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">why, to pay the rent, I put her out on the street...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">soiled my bride... kept my pride... aw, let it slide...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">hell, I ain't goin' to prostitute my art...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">you bet your boots... 'cause I pawned mine.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ... well ... 'talkin' blues' was/is a time honoured tradition in 'the music biz'; though gone the 'way of all flesh' for all intents and purposes in this digital age... (my old pal Buzz 'Mr. Soul' Thompson used to sing a laconic talkin' bIues that he had learned from his dad 'Hec'(tor) by the title of: "Life Gets Tedious ('tee-jus'); Don't It?"... and though Buzz didn't have much use for 'cowboy and western' music; he could see the value in a song that might raise a smile... I wrote this tune many years ago; after signing my first (and only) 'management' deal that went nowhere in particular (and eventually petered out in mutual dissatisfaction)... 'Tin Pan Alley' of course was the section of New York city that spawned the plethora of 'tunesmiths' in the 'golden age' of 'sheet music' (way back when...)... I sang this song 'live' on Trent Radio when I was a much younger man (and mine own mother was tuned in; to our mutual chagrin, I'm sure...)... I've 'updated' it some in this transcription (needless t o say, it's never been recorded); as there certainly was no 'YouTube' or internet 'back in the day'... the reference to 'big breasted girls ('titted' in the original) layin' on fancy cars' was a nod to the classic 'Candy-O' cover (by Vargas?) for The Cars' album. I actually bought a meticulously cut out example of this 'album art' at a yard sale some years back; and it resides (in storage) with many priceless/worthless items of 'art' in my archival 'vault'.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> 'Talkin' Blues' is traditionally a recitation of sorts over a simple recurring chord progression, and this little ditty is no exception. My attempt at humour; for what it's worth. And a young man's somewhat disillusioned (jaded?) take on 'The Music Biz'. love to all (especially Sally). d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62258922020-02-24T13:54:21-05:002020-03-01T11:13:16-05:00Hurry Sundown<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown... put this day to rest</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm feeling run down... not up to my best</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">this day is nt my own, and I'd sooner be at home</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown... I'll fly back to the nest.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown, come on twilight...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let the first star herald the kind night</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown... come on moon rise </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let me lay down... and close these tired eyes.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown... I need my lover's tuch</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">night can't come too soon</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">this day has been too much</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I'm feeling too rough</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for naught but making love...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hurry sundown... bring me what I'm dreaming of.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... I almost recall the day this little lyric was penned... (though it could have been any of many)... I spent far too many days in the sad homes of other people; back when it was my lot to do so, in order that folks might spend time with their children... 'supervised access'... an uncomfortable situation at best; and often far from 'best'. I would often introduce myself as 'friend of the family' (when other folks would wonder who the heck I was)... and that was who and what I tried to be...friend to the children, certainly. Some of the most heartfelt (and hard) condolences to accept after the passing of my son came from 'clients'. They knew all too well the pain of having a child 'taken'... though of course not in so final a manner. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62258752020-02-24T13:38:19-05:002020-02-24T13:38:19-05:00World of Wonder<p><span class="font_large">..." We are each of us angels... with only one wing...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> we can only fly... embracing each other..." -Luciano de Credenza.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...this inscription graven in stone beneath a statue at the entrance to St. Joseph's Hospital in Toronto... where I would occasionally visit my brother Peter William Emmett O'Toole when his mental health issues required residency. I believe this lyric was in fact a song sung at a'Songwriters Unite' evening at Hugh's Room some years back... the title, of course, also a novel by Robertson Davies... (but titles are exempt from copyright restrictions.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> walk with me through this world of wonder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">smoky mirrors and mystery</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">even when a soul seems torn asunder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there remains a realm of possibility</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">keep your chin up, and take my advice</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">both love and lightning have been known to strike twice</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">walk with me through this world of wonder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">open your eyes and see</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we are each of us angels with only one wing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's in the embrace lies our hope to fly...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let us join voices, and in harmony sing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">raise a joyful noise to the sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">take a leap of faith...don't look so pained</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's true; nothing ventured nets nothing gained</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">soar with me over this world of wonder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">don't stop to ask how or why</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sail with me...across this sea of sorrow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll make it through to the far shore...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and bask in the promise and dawn of tomorrow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">secure in our dreams once more...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">take your chances now, you just might beat the odds</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as the devil dances</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">perhaps so must the gods</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">join with me in this world of wonder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">cling to me as a divining rod. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... htis one culled from an old ledger that became a repository of 'song scraps' and notes from various little books... (transcribed August 29th/2018, according to the date at the top of the page, but much older than that). Generally when there is a date on the original piece. I would include that; but dating verse has come to me later in the game than I might have wished. I actually pulled the last line today from my dog-eared copy of Bessie Redfield's Rhyming Dictionary; as the verse/lyric was missing a last line. I've rarely resorted to 'Bessie', but bought the book originally having read that Bob Dylan claimed such a thing indispensable. Mind you, I am of the (humble) opinion that such usage shows in many of the Bobster's later lyric. Sometimes the rhyme seems a little contrived, (but who am I to say, really...). love to all, (you too, Bob), d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62258002020-02-24T13:02:04-05:002020-02-24T13:02:04-05:00Of Human Bondage<p><span class="font_large">it's an act of human bondage... this welding of the hearts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the whole is greater than the sum of... the wedding of the parts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's a fact of human bondage... the flesh will not be denied</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">an act of human bondage... daring, my hands are tied</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, I aspire to a higher plane... though I'm buut a man made of mud...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a paradise to be regained... I believe it in my blood.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">n the tract f human bondage... boundaries are bound to blur...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">on the map of human bondage... errors may occur.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a trace of human bondage... in every intimate embrace</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the masked face of human bondage... difficult to track or trace</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">seeking truth in ancient adage... dark wisdom in old wive's tales...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, in light of human bondage... much held for fact fails.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, I aspire to a higher lane... while I wait for my wings...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in this cocoon of human bondage... there's a song my soul sings</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as a child I would steal a glimpse... a print on my parent's bedroom wall</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">poor Hylas and the water nymphs... I could hear their siren call...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an act of human bondage... this inarticulate speech of the heart;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the exactitude of human bondage... comes in fits and starts...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, I aspire to a higher plane... though I'm but a man made of mud...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a paradise to be regained... I believe it in my blood.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an act of human bondage... this desire to fulfill that which we crave</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the service of such a restless mistress... demands neither master nor slave.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an act of human bondage... the flesh will not be denied...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an act of human bondage...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you must see... my hands are tied.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this song has been gestating/percolating away for a long time... recorded once; but might need to be redone... as a young man, was entranced by a print of 'Hylas and the Water Nymphs'... an assortment of beckoning beauties (glimpse of breasts, no less) in sepia tint, encouraging young Hylas to try life under the water...I viewed a film with Kim Novak (Of HumanBondage...which my friend Tim Williams told me was an adaptation of a W. Sommerset Maughan story) which imprinted on me strongly. I think back to the images of my youth that had great sexual impact, and can't help but wonder how differently the barrage of pornography in our current society must be affecting our young people, male and female (and everything in between). Gone the days of furtive viewing of (someone else's) parental magazines. I recall being caught up short at the Exhibition (irony not lost) in a canvas tent, where I was slamming a photo machine which had not delivered the nickel 'blue' postcards as promised. The carny grabbed me by the collar, and made me wait while he opened up the machine and gave me my dime's worth of illicit imagery. Nothing to compare with the 'pocket porn' available on any cell phone these days, but heady stuff for the times (at least in my little East City Catholic enclave). That mix of curiosity and innocent ignorance might well have landed me easy prey for a pedophile priest; but perhaps my getting kicked out of 'altar boy class' for not having learned the responses to the Mass in Latin over the Easter break that long ago year was the kick start of my lifelong tendency to get by on a 'clear cut case of more luck than brains...' Whatever the case, I made it through my awkward Catholic years with no major religious trauma; and most certainly did not foist that whole scene on my own children. There is a lyric tentatively titled 'Sins of the Fathers' that has yet to come to fruition, but I suspect it will</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I have left this 'work in progress' as one lengthy poem; thought in 'song' form it allows for the couplets to stand as 'verses'. 'Of Human Bondage', indeed. Mild allusion is made to the trappings of S/M role play, but it's really about the depth of commitment we allow (indeed demand?) in our human relations. love to all (whatever that means as individuals), d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62251852020-02-23T19:00:32-05:002020-02-23T19:00:32-05:00Little Wing<p><span class="font_large">they'll talk about a 'reputation'... what do they know?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they whisper in the shadows of their fears...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they'll envy you a situation; deal you a bitter blow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but gossip only interests idle ears...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">don't you worry about a thing... listen t this song I sing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">close your eyes and fly with me, little wing...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to someplace far away..we'll be back by break of day</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when sunrise strums the dawn on silver strings...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what can I say to you, child... to set your mind at ease</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we all have our special cross to bear...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the tamest horse can turn wild, and take into the trees</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">et her hoof prints fade into the first snows of the year...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the same is true of you... just take pride in what you do</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you only have to heed the call of your own heart...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">don't let conscience be your guide lay regrets and memories aside</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">take a hand and cast yourself in a new part...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can tell you one thing truly... I can see you want to</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can show you just how to get through to me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and if you believe me, it won't hurt so to leave me;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">take my hand, you can stand right next to me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">don't you worry about a thing... listen to this song I sing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">close your eyes and fly with me, little wing...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to someplace far away... we'll be back by break of day...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when sunrise strums the dawn on silver strings...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">talk about a 'reputation'... (huh..)... what do they know?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well.. not Jimi's 'Little Wing' by a long shot... ths one turned up on those old Cragg/Bertok/O'Toole sessions from Artspace (1978?)... I recall the boys using the straps (three) from my old Guild guitar case ( the handle was gone, and this was some time before gig bags were at all common or available...)... tied to a pillar to keep distance from the microphone (shades of brave Ulysses...),, pretty rough stuff, but once again ; Pete and Geo laid down some lovely supporting arrangements. Hell, I listen to scratchy records; I can surely listen to this on occasion. The whole premise a little shaky, though I suspect there was a young lady or two in mind... the one in particular feeling trapped in her small hometown, 'reputation' firmly established by the time we met. The term 'child' a colloquialism; not a suggestion of under age status... (and it rhymes with 'wild'; donchyaknow ). " sunlight strums the dawn on silver strings..."... I suspect I was listening to a fair bit of Townes Van Zandt back then. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62247292020-02-23T18:15:00-05:002020-02-23T18:27:09-05:00Nero;s Ground Zero Blues<p><span class="font_large">you're walking on a tightrope...cherishing a slim hope</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hanging on by a thread</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">slipping on to thin ice, ain't got time to think twice</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tomorrow you might be dead</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when there's a red sun rising up above ground zero</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there'll be no time for lies. or playing the hero</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Satan's tuning up a fiddle...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">going to play a little 'Nero's Blues'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">countdown in 'the cold war'... what the hell is it for?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you need no chainsaw to cut your throat...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">taking too much for granted, when you get what you wanted</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you'll realize you've missed the boat</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when there's a red sun rising up above 'ground zero';</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there'll be no time for lies, or playing the hero...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Satan is tuning up his fiddle</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">gonna play a little 'Nero's Blues'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">anic on th main line, blod as cheap as red wine</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">hand trembles on the hotline 'phone</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they're all strung out on power, trying to be 'man of the hour'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when the hour is all it's own...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">whoa, and time ain't talkin', though she hints she knows</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">exactly what the man is like beneath his clothes...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">early in the mornin', now; sailor take warnin'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when the ill wind blows...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the man talking on the TV, he ought to be in moves</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's got that slick trickster smile</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">both the hawks and the doves, got horseshoes in their gloves</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">kangaroo court martial trial...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and poor blind Justice, crying on the witness stand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">trying to explain 'rape' to a jury of men...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she looks like Venus de Milo with the cuffs on her hands</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">,,,they don't understand...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you're walking on a tight rope... cherishing a slim hope</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hanging on by a thread...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">slipping onto thin ice, ain't got time to think twice;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tomorrow we may all be dead...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when there's a red sun rising up above 'ground zero'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there'll be no time left for playing the hero...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Satan is tuning up his fiddle;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">get ready for a little 'Nero's Blues'!...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this is not a new song... 'the man talking on the TV, ought to be in movies..." was in fact Ronald Reagan, when this song was written... who could have guessed the buffoonery that would beset the U.S.A. to follow?...'ground zero' was wherever a nuclear device was detonated, not a hallowed hollow in the New York City skyline... a word or two has changed since this song was recorded, and changes yet to come. I'm sure... ( I guess 'change' is all we can ever be sure of... sure would be good to see some positive change in this sad old world...) love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62247262020-02-23T09:50:15-05:002020-02-23T09:50:15-05:00Talking in Tongues<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">there's angels talking in tongues... speaking in my dreams;</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and I'm watching this world come apart at the seams...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">there's weapons in the hands of children</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">they are pawns in the game of evil men...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">cross-hairs bearing down on women...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and a shadow creeping over the sun.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I try to make out what the angels are saying</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">read their tortured smiles... are they cursing or praying?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's time for the righteous to take a stand</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and give the disadvantaged a helping hand</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">coax the touch of magic back on the land</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and remember; we're all 'chosen ones'...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and if we can't lead the children... let the children lead</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">if we can't give them what they want, let them give us what we need</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's time for love to triumph over lust and greed</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">for every rusting heart to open up and bleed!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">there's angels talking in tongues, speaking in our dreams</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we suspect it's in code; if we only knew what it means</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we could take the weapons fro the hands of children</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">break the monopoly of evil men</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">pay proper homage to women</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and strip this shadow away from the sun...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">strip this shadow away from our sons...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... this is a tune that came from a dream... not just my dream, but the character Savannah Wingo, in Pat Conroy's novel 'The Prince of Tides', as well... she was beset with tortured angel imagery, and it caught me like a 'flu bug... "if we can't lead the children,let the children lead,...", indeed. I've dedicated this song recently to Greta Thunberg and the various climate activists, and more recently to the young First Nations folk manning the barricades and blockades in support of their brethren out west being bullied and bamboozled by the continuing Canadian Colonial Empire... to the millions of young men and women world wide caught up i the false imagery of commercial pornography that permeates everything from advertising to children's programming. These are strange days, indeed. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62239072020-02-22T09:20:01-05:002020-02-22T09:20:01-05:00Devil's Door<p><span class="font_large">south of San Salvador... there stands the 'Devi's Door'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">twin lava peaks stand in silent silhouette against the sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and those who by night 'disappear'... like as not, will end up here</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and though no one speaks, they can't forget the ones that die</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">democratic vultures will soon be striping skin from bone</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">innocent or guilty... the verdict dies unknown</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the hill folk curse the sunset, fear they'll be dragged from their homes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and wonder what in hell the gained from their election.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and there's Yankee shotguns in the death squads' hands</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">native blood soaking into the sand...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the rebels ain't backed by all the people;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">at least they seem to know who to kill...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and it's torture by the handbook; CIA tricks...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">leaving old women crying, clutching the crucifix...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">waiting for their sons to come home...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and they know they never will.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and 'democratic vultures' continue to rape and pillage in 'freedom's name</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">spreading a diseased culture; nations just pawns in the game</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">intent on maintaining their stature; never shouldering the blame</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">always playing down ther evil connections...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">south of San Salvador... there stands the 'Devil's Door'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">twin lava peaks stand in silent testament....</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">against God and the sky.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this one came bubbling up from the well of memory this Saturday morning... many years ago, on just such a morning; I read a journalistic account of the 'killing fields' in El Salvador; a description of a moonlit 'scape littered with the bones of the 'disappeared'... and shotgun casings... shotguns being outlawed; the only ones to carry them were the government backed 'death squads'... perhaps graduates of the 'School of the Americas' ? ... perhaps just local thugs trying to earn a few extra dollars for the maintenance of their own families? A rare piece of journalism, nonetheless; and it prompted me to write this song... (another ballad in 'A minor'; as my high school music teacher Peter Ford once told me: "All folk songs are in A minor..."... he was pulling my leg, of course, but just the same...my sister Mary Frances and her man Doug had a scary episode with the Salvadoran police/border guards on their travels through South america in my dad's old Dodge Polaris (the first car he ever bought 'new'; and oft referred to as 'the old hat'; a term he used to explain to me t's dearness to him when I was beginning to drive)... it was many years later that I read 'Shock Doctrine' (Naomi Klein) an d got any perspective on U.S. policy in Central and South America. And we;the 'complicit Canadians'? The current (and coming) colonial aggression towards First Nations tells us we are to be painted with the same brush... dipped in the blood (yet again) of our indigenous peoples. love to all(?), d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62230402020-02-21T14:40:14-05:002022-04-03T19:38:23-04:00Thoughts... DLB<p><span class="font_large">...(the full title of this song is: "Thoughts on the Alchemy of Time and Memory... for David Louis Borne... inspired by the reading of the 23rd Psalm at his graveside; and a blue heron in flight..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we laid him down in green pastures</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">just like the Good Shepherd said...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with the earth opened up to receive him</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">blood red roses at his head...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">even the sky could not hold back her tears</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">my lips were still, but for the tremble...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I felt my whole world shift, as my heart took lift ...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in a hymn heartfelt and humble</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I looked hard for the reason</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the gift in what had been taken from me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what good in God's name can come from his pain?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hell, even Jesus lived to be thirty three...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I turned away, shaking my head,,,</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">leaving him and his guitar behind</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">knowing in my heart, though it felt like lead</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">glden memories would remain and shine...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(shine... shine... shine on...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">golden memories I'll share... I'll share and spendi and save</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and when my throat clears, I'll sing so loud he'll hear </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and perhaps n time I'll join him there...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">until then it will be, for him to come to me;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when I close my eyes and see...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">him shining so bright, burning with inner light</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">on the bridge from here to eternity...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(...shine on...shine... shine on...)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we laid him down in green pastures</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">just like the Good Shepherd said...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... second time through for this post... the first one vanished (along with lengthy commentary) when I tried to scroll up to proof read... Dave died in a crossroads car crash one foggy night en route to see his gal... when I stood at his open casket with his mother at my side; she remarked on the guitar pick a musical friend had laid on his chest: "he'll appreciate that, his guitar is in there with him..."... not visible, however... a custom made telecaster style electric guitar, by Don Carter of Mid Town Music, Sarnia; Dave's hometown. I pent a quiet hour with my old friend the following day before they closed the casket and carried on with service and internment. I begged Dave for some sort of 'sign' that I should rescue the guitar from it's fate and secrete it in the trunk of my sister's car, borrowed for the trip. Of course, no such sign was coming from my dead friend. Driving home, a heron swooped so low over the windshield I thought surely we would collide. Instead, a song... Pat LaBarbera lays down a soulful sax solo on the recording, one of several musicians producer Andy Pryde brought in to finish the session in Toronto. Andy has been of great assistance on everything I've recorded this century. He even got Dave this track posthumously, blending some licks from a former recording. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62217222020-02-20T14:50:04-05:002020-02-20T14:50:04-05:00Perpetual Emotion<p><span class="font_large">you're caught up in the rhythm of perpetual emotion</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love circles like the moon and stars in the sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">waxing and waning, healing and paining;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">leaving you in awe or wondering why...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">troubled by the concepts of loyalty and devotion</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">circumstance conspires to drag you down</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">weighing what you're gaining, against what's remaining</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">counting the thorns and stars in your crown</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">trying to spin logic from a web of indecision</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">bleeding for the magic, getting scarred from the incision</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">relying on your senses;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">always letting your defences down.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's no easy answers to the questions that you're asking</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love's a limbo dancer, a harlequin for the unmasking</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a puzzle to be pondered ...as you wander</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">through this world alone.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">,...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">no, there's no easy answers to the doubts that will plague you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love can be as cancer... your own pride will gag you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a lump you try to swallow; it will leave you feeling hollow and cold</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hollow and cold...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, you're caught up in the rhythm of perpetual emotion...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love circles like the moon and stars in the sky.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this tune closes out the 'Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel' recording, but it is not a 'new' song, by any means... and yet... like so many songs, it holds true for times as they change, relationships as they shift and shuffle... try as we may to make of love what we will, it seems as though we are always caught up in the tidal ebb and flow of it all. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"If the moon can shift an ocean;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">surely it can move the human heart..." love to all, d....</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62215662020-02-20T13:30:46-05:002020-02-20T13:30:46-05:00P4W (Prison fo Women)<p><span class="font_large">tears tattooed on her once pretty face... a broken heart worn on her sleeve</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she's a prisoner of her sex and race... she sees no reason to believe</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that she will ever leave this place; or that things will ever change</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the ceaseless grieving and disgrace... she gets more and more unhinged</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she slashes at her wrist, and shakes the bleeding fist</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">through the bars at the sky... on the far side of the glass</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where freer women pass... days and nights that are their own</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and their thoughts are far between and few</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">their sisters here, in P4W.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ah, you should have seen her then... before he strapped on this mask</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she used t believe in men... and all they had to do was ask</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it was all good times and fast cars... and she knew how to find them</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she grew up in the bars... and now she lives behind them.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tears tattooed on her once pretty face... she's got that cold and glassy stare</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's friends and lovers in this place... they're the only ones that care</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she's got a daughter running wild, somewhere... she's got more hard time to do</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">times it seems it's too much to bear... comin' across in P4W.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tears tattooed on her once pretty face... a broken heart worn on her sleeve</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she's a prisoner of her sex and race... and sees no reason to believe</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that she will live to leave this place... or that things could ever change</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the ceaseless grieving and disgrace... she gets more and more unhinged</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she slashes at her wrist... and shakes the bleeding fist...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">through the bars at the sky... on the far side of the glass</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where freer women pass... days and nights that are their own...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and their thoughts are far between and few...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">of their sisters here in P4W...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... I played a little joint in Kingston called The Vaults years ago, and was billeted in a student residence room at the university that overlooked the infamous Prison for Women (P4W). The room belonged to some 'valley' (Ottawa Valley) farm boy who had it decked out in many (even solar powered) 'Smurfs'... those little blue gnomes that were popular (with children) at the time, (at least 37 years ago, now) and they were everywhere, I kid you not And out the window was the grey limestone edifice of P4W. Not too long after that, I chanced upon a CBC TV documentary that was the first ever 'look' inside those walls. The image of one First Nations woman's face burned itself into my mind, and the words began to flow (may more verses than the recorded version transcribed above). I do not pretend to know anything of her history, or to be particularly well versed in the politics of incarceration (other than to be well aware of the disproportionate number of First Nations inmates coast to coast to coast in our 'correctional' system). It just grabbed me deep down, and this song resulted from that one viewing of a well done documentary and my fleeting images from that strange little room above the grim reality of those walls. Sometimes the songs just come like that; and what's a fellow to do other than t write them down? Not intended for commercial 'success' or even release; it seemed to fit in with the other tracks on 'Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel'. I think I've sold one copy of this recording (a three for the price of one deal to a fellow who was interested in learning my song 'Asylum' a the Greenbank Folk Club back in October 2019). I have given and mailed many to folks I thought might be interested in hearing what I'm up to these days, in my 'retirement'. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> I don't claim to have any great insight or connection to 'First Nations Issues' in this country, but I am; as best I can be, a 'Proud Canadian'. I'm just not as proud of our lame attempts at 'Reconciliation'. It s high time we take an honest look at just who we claim to be as Canadians. P4W no longer exists as a penal institution, but one can't help but wonder just what has really changed. </span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62215452020-02-20T12:43:35-05:002020-02-20T12:43:35-05:00Brigadeer<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">came home from 'his' war...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">with one leg, and that guitar...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">a few sad songs he'd sing in Spanish;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">and not a whole lot more...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">he never turned his back on his country; </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">not even when his country turned it's back on him</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">he returned lame, and fair game...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">his prospects cruel and grim...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I'd take him his mail, and without fail</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I'd learn a little bit more about 'his' time...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">though he rarely spoke in English</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">when he was deep into the wine...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">he was a good man, a veteran</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">of perhaps the only 'noble' war</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">an International Brigadeer, a Canadian...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">and a 'Mac/Pap' hero, for sure...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">he came home from 'his' war...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">with nightmares... and that guitar.</span></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 23.52px;"> ...well... this song came about as a result of a gift of a guitar to me by my old friend 'Doc Clock' (Bill Legere), who had come across a severely damaged ( but exceedingly ornate and lovely) Spanish guitar he had found in the 'Sally Ann' in Fenelon Falls Ontario and purchased for a five dollar bill. I mooned over and coveted it; and eventually Doc gave it to me, and it hung on my wall for a few years in my basement 'office'. Eventually I took it to my 'go to guitar guru guy' Bruce Dowd in Toronto for restoration appraisal. Bruce has an affinity for old instruments, (in particular the odd little Canadian guitars made by Arthur Hensel; the 'rare Artist' and 'even more rare 'Minerva' models; but that's another story) and initially thought this poor guitar was beyond repair. I pointed out that he face was intact (more or less) and the 'slipper heel' common to guitars of that ilk and era had kept the neck straight (more or less). Bruce eventually allowed me to leave it with him to see what he might choose to do, and of course he rose to the challenge and brought it back to life. The label declared it to be made by one 'Telesforo Julve' in Valencia, Spain; and when I did a little research, came across a great deal of information on the luthiers of Valencia compiled by one Ton Bogaard of the Netherlands. Ton and I became 'pen pals' of a (digital) sort, and he dated the guitar to the early 1930s, according to the series of digits in the telephone number on the label. It occurred to me that perhaps the guitar had made it's way to 'backwoods' Ontario in the hands of a returning veteran of the Canadian battalion the Mackenzie/Papineau Brigade- the 'Mac/Paps'; who volunteered to try and support the democratically elected government being over run by fascists in what we know (what very little we know) as the 'Spanish Civil War'. The call went out for help, and help came from many quarters. I suspected a song to hiding in the little guitar; and when I sent the first verse to Ton, he replied that it was 'too heavy' to start a song with. I pointed out the inherent irony of a fellow by the name of 'Ton' (ton/tonne) telling me anything was 'too heavy', and went on to construct a tale to fit my imagining. One of the very few lyrics I have woven from the 'whole cloth' of fantasy, but I hold it (and the little Spanish guitar, tuned down a full step) close to my heart. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 23.52px;"> 'Brigadeer' seems to not be recognized as a legitimate word by the 'powers that be' on this platform, and though I do make occasional concessions to 'AmericaSpeak'; this will not be one of them. A breathtaking chapter in history that was never even touched on in my 'formal' education, as I recall. I make reference to 'the only noble war' simply because that particular conflict stands apart from the profit motivated engines of death that most (if not all) wars seem to be to me. Democracy was under attack in Spain, and any men and women the world over put their lives on the line it it's defence. Something I intend to research further. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62214582020-02-20T11:16:12-05:002020-02-20T11:16:12-05:00Seven Smooth Stones<p><span class="font_large">David strode out to meet Goliath... he took seven smooth stones</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he put that giant's ass in a sling; and he did it on his own</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he did not go empty handed, t pick that particular bone</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(you've got to use what the good lord gave you)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's hard to cast a long shadow when your back's against the wall</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">stand your ground, and let your sound be a clear clarion call</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">gather your friends around you, they'll have t deal with us all</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(you've got to use what the good lord gave you...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">these 'captains of industry' would have you believe they're our friends</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they come across as common thieves to me;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and on this you may depend...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">given half a chance, they'll do fr us all, in the end...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(you've got to use what the good lord gave you...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we're standing n a slippery slope my friends, </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and we're running out of time...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">best to dig your heels in, form a straight and solid line...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and take nothing 'free' for granted</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in these strange and troubled times</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(you've got to use what the good lord ave you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> it's the only thing that will save you...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">David strode out to meet Goliath,</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he took seven smooth stones...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this song was written for my friend Jon Newton, who hosted a democratic site dubbed p2p.net back in the earlier days of this whole computer madness ('puter 2 'puter; get it?)... at some point, soneone else's views posted on Jon's site led to a media backlash and litigation. The call went out to supporters of 'internet freedom' tor ally to Jon's aid, and a benefit was organized at The Rivoli Club in Toronto. I was pleased to present this tune there, (on a stage I doubt I will ever see again) and promptly 'lost' it in the chaos and confusion that was my ensuing life. It came back to me prior to the latest recording, and is prefaced with :"My great aunt Gertrude used to say...'you've got to use what the good lord gave you...'..." and indeed she did. Gertrude Tobin lost a new husband in the first world war, and lived out her days a widow. She was a link to the past that I recognized, even as a child; and her house was a step back in time; virtually unchanged over the years.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> My friend Jon Newton moved west, and we lost regular track of one another. He suffered a debilitating stroke; but was still as feisty as ever in our occasional communications. I sing this song in his honour. Jon Newton, defender of democracy. ( I lost the first attempt to post this, so I'd best do it now.) love, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62214172020-02-20T10:31:12-05:002020-02-20T10:31:13-05:00Babe, I love you...<p><span class="font_large">babe, I love you, many reasons why...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'deed I do... 'till the day that I die</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the environment may be fit to choke...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the whole damn globe may go up in smoke...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but, babe, I love you... I will be true to you.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I thank my stars, I'm a lucky guy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can count on every one ...up there in the sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's much that I could do for you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that couldn't explain like making love would do...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">babe, I love you... let me whisper in your ear... (cme here, near; now...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">cuddle up, muddle up my mind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll close my eyes, and feel my way blind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love is real, it's warm and kind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've been searching, darlin' now I find...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I find it every time, in your embrace...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when that sly smile creeps 'cross your face...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...(well... the lyric to this tune chooses to escape me at the moment... an older song, for certain; and I had thought the recent occasion of 'Valentine's Day' might bring it to mind... apparently not so... "and so it goes"... I suppose. ...and so it went, t would seem... maybe I'll return to this at a later date...)... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62208532020-02-19T20:02:37-05:002020-02-19T20:05:54-05:00Coyotes Call<p><span class="font_large">coyotes call ... down in the coulee</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sunset gilds the mountains ghostly gold</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that old owl... he's hooting to me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the first star is afire ... as the night unfolds</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">shadows creep 'cross the valley floor</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">night winds, they are whispering 'round my door</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can't help but feel like I've been here before</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when there were no roads or scars upon this land...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">then the buffalo... were without number</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">their dust clouds darkened the prairie sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the earth would shudder... with their thunder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">overhead the circlin' eagle cries</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">before the first ploughshare split the soil...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the long grass danced above the untapped oil...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the horizon... standing fenceless and unspoiled</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">rivers ran unharnessed by the will of man...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tribes would wander... there without hindrance</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the unshod painted ponies cut the trails</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the foothills echoed.. with their hunt chants...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">young ones learned from the old one's fireside tales</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">no concrete or glass cut the skyline</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">woodsmoke curled o'er tipis of lodgepole pine</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still nights... unshattered by the diesel whine</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the world stood unchanged in a man's natural lifespan</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">coyotes call... down in the coulee... coyotes call... down in the coulee</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">history holds her breath... as eternity unfolds...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... picture this... a full moon over the Bow River valley...Calgary glowing like Disneyland upriver... the drop off of an old buffalo jump... a young man does his evening rounds, making sure all is well for the night with the livestock... a doe starts from her feeding at the haystack and bolts right past him... down on the flats an eerie chorus of howls drifts on the evening breeze... coyotes... circled and baying at the moon... time stands still; as does the young man... mesmerized by the scene... knowing it will stay with him as long as he draws breath... and when he picks up his old guitar in the little house on the edge of the coulee, the song comes rolling out in a minor key... and it is this tune that he plays for Luke on Ian Tyson's old Martin not too many days later... I came across two versions of this song just the other day; on a recording at least forty years old, now... Peter Cragg and George Bertok adding flourishes, and on one take; the woman making very believable coyote calls.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62202442020-02-19T12:16:14-05:002020-02-19T12:16:14-05:00Heat Lightning<p><span class="font_large">some folks surely lead dull and desperate lives</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">trapped in the roles of husbands and wives</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when living together becomes just playing their parts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">so far removed from desire and their hearts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but darlin', I need you so much... every time we touch, it's like...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... turning night to day... before my very eyes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the atmosphere is electric when we're dancing so slow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">senses crackle like static... on an old radio...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">babe, when you kiss me... I become a live wire</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">making love to you sets me soul on fire...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I need you so much... every time we touch; it's like...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... turning night to day... before my very eyes.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">come over here, baby, and sit next to me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we won't waste our evening, just watching T.V. ...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">our moments together, they are precious and few</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've been working hard all day, darlin', dreaming of you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(and I need you so much... every time we touch... it's like...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... searing 'cross a midnight sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">heat lightning... turning night to day before my very eyes...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">right before my very eyes.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well... this is a 'love song'; if you please... I pulled over by 'The Big Rock' near Okotoks Alberta one night after a gig in some little bar; headed back to catch some winks before rising early to throw hay bales for the heifers and haul grain for the feedlot yearlings... I was young, and I suppose 'in my prime'... working seven days a week from 'cain't see to cain't see' (as the sharecroppers might tell it) and still finding time to gig the rough little taverns within a reasonable radius, trying to get enough coin together to take woman and child back out 'on the road' in the GMC short bus that was the home on wheels. There was country yet to see, and my chapter as a working cattleman and farm hand was drawing to a close. aspirations of going to agricultural college or auctioneer school taking back place to the ongoing dream of making my mark in music. I was writing songs in earnest, and aching for more. Luke Wilson was working repairing instruments in Calgary. I stopped in to see him one day as h e was finishing up a repair and set up on Ian Tyson's old Martin D-45 and Luke said: "You can play it if you've got a new song..." I had just finished 'Coyote's Call'... and did it ever sound good on that lovely old guitar.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62201962020-02-19T11:09:51-05:002020-02-19T11:09:51-05:00Angels in the Snow<p><span class="font_large">the mirror don't show your best face</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">morning finds you feeling ill</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the cocaine leaves you restless</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with too much time to kill</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">your young years slipping away on the wing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">leaving nothing much to show</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">trying to catch the magic of the moment in the songs you sing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">chasing angels in the snow... angels in the snow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for every crystal clear evening</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's an empty, aching day</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for every teasing taste of heaven</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you know you've hell to pay </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">can't you see you're caught up in the slipstream</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">slowly going down in the undertow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you're so wrapped up in your 'hip scene'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">thinking you're in the know</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">angels in the snow... angels in the snow...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">all in all it's a downhill slide</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you know you're losing ground </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but you keep going along for the ride</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">thinking one day you'll come around</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you know you're caught up in the slipstream</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">slowly going down in the undertow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">so wrapped up in your 'hip scene'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">thinking you're in the know</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">angels in the snow... angels in the snow...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well ... this is also a very old song... I remember the very first time I saw 'Peruvian Marching Powder' (as Kinky Friedman might opine) in my little hometown, and over the intervening years, The 'Patch has developed an alarming addiction rate, particularly in the realm of opiates. It scared me then, and terrifies me now. I kept my distance, and watched it take hold of several folks and bring them down, hard. 'Angels in the Snow' being the 'Favourite Game' of Leonard Cohen's first novel, and a seemingly apt metaphor for the lure of cocaine. Maybe I recognized my own addictive tendencies 'way back then; perhaps it was more a matter of the company I chose to keep; but it never gt it's hooks into me; and for that I am truly grateful. I was always leery of substances that had direct connections to blood violence; but then... oil and gasoline make the world go 'round; and there is much blood that has and will yet be shed in our endless hunger for petroleum products.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62195112020-02-18T18:27:08-05:002020-02-18T18:27:08-05:00Well Rounded Triangle<p><span class="font_large">are you feelin' cornered? ...triangles... are vicious circles</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and talk will tangle up the truth...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> it comes back to me and you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we're only human... we make mistakes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it takes a heart more time ...to mend than break...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and only time will tell... if we can use it well...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lord have mercy... on these poor sinner's souls...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is it all just hearsay... or can we spin gold from these last few straws?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">call it win, lose; or just a draw...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(don't say you love me... just to hear an echo...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">always putting you above me,, was like slipping my eck into a noose...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">cut me down and turn me loose...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm feeling cornered... damn these triangles</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">small town circles... selfish angles and foolish pride</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">time turns the page and tide... and a good love has died...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... a good love has died...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... "so sad to watch good love go bad..." ... so sang the Everly Brothers; and it's just as true today as it was then, ad evermore shall be... and yet... love does indeed 'go bad'... and there's little to be done but move on and hope for the best... I've always been fond of this one, though it hurts like hell to sing it sometimes... and it is by no means a new song... love to all (even those who could not sustain it...) d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62194622020-02-18T18:09:57-05:002020-02-18T18:09:57-05:00Three Kinds of Fool<p><span class="font_large">did I hear you right? ...when you spoke?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">was it said in spite...or as some sort of joke?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an eye for an eye... once bitten, twice shy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">three kinds of fool...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tell me where do I start ...what's right and what's wrong?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">can one win a new heart ...with an old lover's song?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's an eye for an eye... once bitten, twice shy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">three kinds of fool...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">now you're lovin' him ... and I'm lovin' her...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">never again... will things be as they were...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">,,,</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">tell me what can I do? ...except accept this scene...?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">always feelin' so blue... leaves a man mighty green (at this game of love)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's an eye for an eye... once bitten, twice shy...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... three kinds of fool ...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... a simple 'blues' song of some sort... originally written to have something I could sing 'sitting in' with folks, no matter what sort of shape I might be in... (well, the pangs of heartache and betrayal were real enough, I suppose...)... oddly enough, of all my songs, this one has been 'covered' most... first by Georgette Fry on her 'Rites of Passage' recording (it's an Ian Tamblyn tune, that title track) and then by Calgary based blues and roots music performer Tim Williams, and most recently by our own Alan Black, here in Peterborough. It may have more couplets of any given performance, but the 'tag' remains constant. It is always a great pleasure to hear someone else sing a song one has written; and I'd be some pleased to have that pleasure more often ( a massive international 'hit' would be more pleasing still, I suspect)... nonetheless, the respect of one's peers goes a long way towards filling that gap yet to be bridged by fame and/or fortune. "and so it goes"... I suppose. love to all, especially those three stalwart souls. d.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62192062020-02-18T14:24:05-05:002020-02-18T14:24:05-05:00Gypsy Myth<p><span class="font_large">you stare into the stars... looking for a sign...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in Jupiter and Mars... (Venus, throw my life a line!...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've been a wanderer, I've learned some from what I've seen...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, I'll pay the fortune teller... to tell me what it means.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've traced the gypsy myth; tracked ghost riders in the sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">bent my perception with; potions I just had to try...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've paid the piper; and begged all to call the tune...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've sung my secret songs... to none but the moon.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now all I ask of you that you hear me out... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and what I say is true... you can accept it without doubt</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's a lucky man tempts fate, and returns with his soul intact...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">dealing in abstract concepts... don't ever change the facts.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">so part this mystic veil, and let this traveler through...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm following a trail... without one blessed clue...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">my odyssey is mapped by memories of the muse...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she fades in shades of grey... coloured by the blues</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you stare into the stars... looking for a sign... (repeat first verse)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this also an old song... from a full moon ramble on one of those rare days when songs came in threes... 'Gypsy Myth' being a play on 'gypsy moth'. I suppose; but also a thought on the lure of the ramblin' life... I certainly had my taste of that. And like many a Catholic boy (raised) I suspect we were fodder for the psychedelic experience(s). To put something on the tongue that packed a real wallop... ( "...to see the universe in a grain of sand, a lifetime in the blink of an eye..." (to quote a lyric as yet unfinished...)... myth and mystery... love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62192012020-02-18T14:05:44-05:002020-02-18T14:05:44-05:00Said in Silence<p><span class="font_large">my darlin' hangs her head in sorrow... leaving me to guess</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that some things must be said in silence... noo anger can express</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I'm caught one more time... trapped in my own lines...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">torn between loving you... and just letting you go... your own way.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">times I ought to bite my tongue... choke on my own words...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if you weren't taking all I'm saying wrong... this couldn't have occurred...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I see anguish in your eyes... too late I realize...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that things said in jest... put a love to the test... everyday.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">all in all, there's been damage done; we can't easily disguise</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">or expect that we could carry on... in this state of compromise</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I heard you talking in your sleep... exposing what you keep</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">deep inside your heart... it's tearing me apart... to know the truth.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(my darlin' hangs her head in sorrow... repeat first verse...) </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... don't we all fear what we might let slip in our sleep? ... dreams hold us all captive in one way or another, and though we may be the author on a subconscious level, oftentimes they seem to direct the action of their own accord. This is a very old song, and yet it seems to have application in every situation since. Perhaps this is why a songwriter needs to get beyond the immediate autobiographical nature of a lyric (easier said than done) and allow the material to speak to the 'human condition' on a broader scale. I rarely feel the need to look beyond my own life experience for material (indeed, the songs often come looking for me, rather than I for them). And yet... one always hopes that a song will 'strike a chord' with others. Otherwise, why would we? ... love to all, (especially those who try, or have tried; to love me). d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62190822020-02-18T12:04:19-05:002022-04-03T19:40:53-04:00Hearsay<p><span class="font_large">well, it's true... and not just 'hearsay';</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">no, death don't have no mercy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">not in this, or any other land...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll tell you this, and you may as well believe it;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">llie just is what it is; you can take it or leave it...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">might as well grab it with both hands; while you can.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ft times 'Time' is much maligned...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as though time could be either ways inclined; </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">blamed for much lost beyond return, recourse, or relief...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ah, but time is just an open door...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a natural predator; a carnivore, fr sure</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but in the end my friends, it is grief that is the thief.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">yea, and though I am a man of constant sorrow</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I refuse to be blinded to the joy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">knowing full well I may not wake up tomorrow;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, in my heart beats the wonder... of a boy.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I will take what this life can throw me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">try and keep faith with those that know me</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I will 'keep on keepin' on'... as best I can</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and when it comes my time to go...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">friends, I would have you all to know...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">both good and bad, I'll leave this world</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">one lucky man.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ..well... 'lost beyond return, recourse, or relief...' I was almost to the bottom of this page when it just went blank on me... so I started again... what else s there to do? I was musing on the loss of my 'one blood son', Kyle William O'Toole; who passed from this earthly hotel January 26th/2008. The ensuing decade brought even more loss and upheaval in my life, including several of my dear friends and the end of a 33 year relationship. ..."and so it goes",... I suppose.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I kissed my one blood son goodbye</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in a failed attempt to revive him</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">many's the tear has crossed my eye</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in my attempts to survive him.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">....'my one blood son'.. in my years working with troubled teens, I had several young men in my life that I felt deep kinship with... 'surrogate sons', if you will. But only the one 'blood' son. 'Hearsay' is my personal mantra to follow the late Buzz Thompson's advice (oft repeated) to 'keep on keepin' on...'. My interest and ability to do so was in question for a period of time when I was in the throes of deep depression and despair; complicated by heavy alcohol abuse. I have just turned the corner on two years clear of that particular depressive obsession, and though I am still prone to 'darkness';it seems more manageable these days. I used to take comfort in my 'Black Irish Heart'; and the places it drove me to... these days I just want to live what time remains as best I can. I would very much like to see my grandchildren grow into adulthood, but of course I'll take what I get; as must we all. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62189832020-02-18T10:23:52-05:002020-02-18T10:23:52-05:00Petunia's Hard Time Blues # 1<p><span class="font_large">he's a modern day yodeling hobo... ramblin' across this land...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">singin' all them old railroad songs, a battered guitar in his hand...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">standin' on a busy street corner... singin' for nickels and dimes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tryin' to brighten up your mornin', friend...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">won't you stop and spend some time?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(attempt to yodel, if you dare...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">come on and favour us with a tune, Petunia...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you know you yodel with a lot of soul...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hang your hat wherever you want to...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you're never too far from home...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(go ahead... try again...)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">'Tune, you know you're welcome in our home...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">any time you're passing through...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">leave a hobo's chalk mark on our front walk...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">your arrival will be overdue...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(come on.. you can do it... yodel!)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ... well ... this little ditty was inspired as tribute to my friend (he's your friend, too...) 'Marcel Petunia'... a self made man if ever there was one... when we first met, he was still 'busking' on a regular basis, ]lying the street singer's trade wherever the wind blew him... am old Norman guitar, severely distressed by countless hurs of hard strumming was his instrument, (though he tells me that it has since been stolen... a hard oneth to 'fence', that old guitar; I would imagine...)... the origin of his name apparently from an old landlady who could not pronounce his surname correctly, and it stuck... endless traveling, numerous pairings with supporting musicians, and all these years later, 'Petunia and the Vipers' are a much in demand act across North America and beyond. The Vipers' were (late) rockabilly legend Ray Condo's band, and give Petunia's music serious boost. Petunia is also involved in a pilot series titled 'The Musicianer', and can be found online easily enough. He still tours with Al Mader, 'The Minimalist Jug Band' yearly; and Al s a unique character unto himself... declaiming poetry to a simple washtub bass, with 'Tune riffing on guitar behind on occasion. 'Dead Man's Pants' being a fave of mine. My father used to tell me that in the Depression years, hobo fellows would leave chalk marks on certain house sidewalks where a traveling man might find a meal r or some small kindness. Apparently my grandmother O'Toole was just such a woman, her own large family notwithstanding. Petunia is like no other, check him out!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... the parenthesis encouragement to yodel is just that... give it a try!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62184642020-02-17T20:46:07-05:002020-02-17T20:46:07-05:00Streetside Serenade<p><span class="font_large">well, I'm standin' here a-singin' for your nickels and your dimes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if you can't spare some silver, won't you stop and spend some time?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">bein' broke, ain't no joke; but it sure as hell ain't no crime...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">hard times will surely test an honest man...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">all I'm guilty of... is doin' the best I can...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">me and this old guitar, sir; we've seen a lot of miles...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">had our share of hard knocks, but we've raised a lot of smiles...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we're here to play, just for today, won't you listen for a while?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and if you find it in your heart to toss a coin...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it will help us down the road, to where we're goin'...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... there was a time 'Streetside Serenade' was hand lettered on a scrap of cardboard and set in the old Guild (D-40) guitar case, t encourage folks to 'throw that minstrel boy a coin...' .. I always lied the concept of playing for folks whether they could afford to chip in or not... very democratic, this 'busking' idea; and far too often confused with panhandling. There were times when myself and 'Lady Grey' ( I was labouring under the 'nom de guerre' of Carson Daniel Grey in those days) did quite well for our efforts (the Kentucky Derby gates being one of the best). That day I traded my guitar to a young fellow to sing a few while I hocked programs for him. He had seen Townes Van Zandt and John Lee Hooker the night before, and was on fire to play. Once at the beer store in my hometown I came across (almost stumbled across) a young lad flat on his ass, strumming an old Kay arch top guitar. I asked him: "Do You know hat you've got there?" and he dreamily replied: "Yeah, man... magic..."... I tipped him a dollar and suggested he might do better to stand up and put a little energy into it; remembering Bob Dylan's comment: "Anyone can stand there and sing... you got to step out a little..." I used to 'step out' with two pair of spurs and cowbells on my 18" Justin range rider boots (with Spanish heels); but the dancing lady in the low cut gown with the tambourine didn't hurt, neither.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62180032020-02-17T12:57:20-05:002020-02-17T12:57:20-05:00Wild Gypsy Eyes<p><span class="font_large">darlin', when you do the dance... my poor heart</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">takes wing upon the wind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I suspect romance... takes a fresh start;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">time and time again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I know I'm not saying nothing new to you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but I'm inclined to tell you just the same</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if your heart is open, I'll get through to you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and warm my soul... in the wonder of your flame</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if I could catch you eye for a moment;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as you go gliding by...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a smile as your reply ...questions unspoken</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sweet and gentle as a sigh...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a promise of magic when the music's through</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the last chord dies on the guitar</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">making love as only few can do...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">your skirts and scarves lying loose upon the floor...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for surely Jezebel... in all her splendour</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">could not weave a finer web...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">no barefoot Esmeralda ... in the tent door</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">could sooner turn a poor man's head</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's such a long line of gypsy queens</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">dancing to the minstrel s 'round the fire</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ancient violins, hissing tambourines</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">wild eyes rekindling man's desire...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... this may be the lyric entire (with the first verse repeated and wrapped up with a crescendo flourish)... the mention of the period in my 'cowboy adventures' wherein I became a 'farrier' brought to mind the times spent as a 'street singer'; making a few dollars playing guitar and singing (at volume) while the (eventual) mother of my daughter would dance (barefoot and barely contained in a light cotton gown)... the Kentucky Derby one year, with a sign that proclaimed: "Canada for Mother's Day or Bust!"... after a winter spent working as a trail guide in Palm Springs California, (demoted to riding a mule after my horsemanship (lack thereof) was clearly demonstrated). I spent some time assisting an old fellow who had shod thousands of horses as a cavalryman (they 'shoe' horses, don't they?). I thought that perhaps I might 'fare' better under horses than atop them. Upon returning to Canada, en route to the east coast, a fellow from back home approached me on the Sparks Street Mall in Ottawa, where we were plying out 'street show' to tell me he had just dropped out of a Farrier Program at Algonquin College's outpost south of town in Greely; as it had more to do with horses than the blacksmith trade. I had already applied for this same program, and as luck would have it, a call home to check on insurance status had my mother telling me that there had been a call from the very spot my friend had just vacated. We parked the bus at the facility that night, and in the morning the instructor said: "You must be the new man...".. and I began my 'horseshoeing' education only a few days late in the program; camped out in a little park just up the road in all the autumn glory of Ontario. Horses 101, from the ground up. ...and just enough blacksmithing to forge my publishing identity as 'Anvil-True-as-Steel Music'. And a few gigs in the Ottawa area as a 'folksinger' type to boot. "and so it goes", I suppose... yet another 'clear cut case of more luck than brains...'... However, being clearly too tall for that particular trade, my 'career' as a farrier was short lived, but interesting; nonetheless... </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... I suspected there was a missing verse, and fortunately I was able to spin the song from a disc that I'd had burned from the original cassette of my very first 'actual' recording session (at the Artspace location on Hunter St., aided and abetted by Peter Cragg and George Bertok (the little session in Ma Thompson's living room all those years ago on Barry's 4 track recorder notwithstanding). Lots of static and background noise, but some brilliant playing by those two fellows... I'd lost track of the disc, and when I dug up a cd player to give a young fellow last week, there it was... 'and so it goes'; I suppose... love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62179522020-02-17T11:45:05-05:002020-02-17T11:45:05-05:00...'unpublished/unheard...<p><span class="font_large">... " there ain't much call for unpublished poets...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> or unheard singers of songs..."... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... well... this couplet comes to me from the far flung days of my early 'hotel' existence... I signed on to the Trans Canada Pipeline the day turned eighteen, and began living in the hotels and motels of southern Ontario, working as a 'rod man' on a survey crew, hanging out with 'pipeliners'' of an evening; the hard drinking, poker playing rough edged characters whose 'romantic' aspects wore thin pretty quickly. I lost one hundred dollars my first game in a flash, and thereafter took my little Gibson guitar to the gatherings, sitting in the corner, observing and taking notes and requests. The St. Lawrence Hotel in Brockville ( long since burned to the ground) was a memorable stop on my travels, the old room I stayed in had tall windows overlooking the majestic river, and a little bar in the basement where I met a curious solo 'entertainer' whose name I can't recall. She was some sort of 'folksinger' I suppose, and may have led me to establish the mistaken idea that one could play folk music on the hard ass country-western bar circuit. This ill advised notion persisted for far too long, and resulted in more than a few firings in the ensuing travels and travails... I packed that scene (the pipeline) in that Christmas break (having started October 05th) ad flew to Calgary to join Cris Cuddy and Abi ('Snake Eye Jake' - now deceased) Nathan in their 'Cowtown' escapades... I bought an old Valiant for twenty-five dollars in a bar one night, and drove it all that winter (with no heat)... scribbling song scraps in little notebooks with cowboy images on the cover, old relics bought inn a funky little shop in Calgary named 'David's Dry Goods', where I outfitted myself in vintage 'pearl snap' western shirts and trousers from a bygone era... ("I see by your outfit, that you are a cowboy...) ... the beginnings of my 'western adventures' that would lead me to ty on just about every aspect of 'cowboy culture' (with thhe exception f the drugstore' variety, though that could be disputed by those of the 'real deal' at the time I'm sure...) eventually I would do 'real' cowboy work, and even train as a 'farrier', when I came to the realization that I might fare better under horses than on top of them, but that, of course; is at least another story... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62178602020-02-17T10:37:56-05:002020-02-17T10:37:56-05:00The Heart of the Matter<p><span class="font_large">hotel walls so thin... like the set from a theatre stage...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">conversation so stilted and stiff...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">through the drapes... a piece of a small town sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm tongue-tied and tempted to quit</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what remains to be said... is just the heart of the matter</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the blossom won'r bloom ... in one afternoon</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and it's surely the essence I'm after</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">though I'm hurting... and it all seems so soon</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I walked by myself... and I tried to understand...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I stayed gone for nearly a year</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">high and dry...and still lacking the sand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to accept things as they might appear...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and leave it all... for the heart of the matter</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lay down one's wings for a while</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let the chill winds come and scatter</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">all your plans, pleased to sing for a smile.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now they'll all say... that your time spent in limbo</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is surely the sweet side of hell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and pushed to the point of confession</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll contend that I've had my fill</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">could she not see through... t the heart of the matter</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how my love was strong and true</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that anything less sure would shatter</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">all the plans that we'd made... just we two.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this s definitely an old lyric... the title came to me while writing a letter to Ian Tamblyn this weekend past; and as so often with songs (not just mine own), remembering the title will trigger the lyric in it's entirety. This little song brings back fond memories of people and places that figured strongly in my early days playing the bars in small towns, still finding the romance in dingy hotel rooms and the furtive attempts at seduction that still seem 'stilted and stiff' all these years later. I think this is the complete lyric, though it has never been recorded; and I was 'reaching' for the third verse. With Valentine's Day just passed, love and the past have figured in my thoughts. A lot of years singing 'love songs' and writing not a few myself... one has to wonder what has been learned... and yet I still sign off a letter with 'love, d.' or a post with 'love to all, d.' ... and I guess I've learned a little, and am thankfl for the love that is in my life; and the chance to learn a little more... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62129432020-02-12T09:23:24-05:002020-02-12T09:23:24-05:00Lone Gunman<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in america... hair trigger tempers flare...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in America... you can get caught in the cross-fire stare...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how in heaven do you stand a hope in hell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">f breaking this godless law-abiding spell?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it can turn on a dime... anytime... in America.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in America... haunts the ghost of a beautiful dream...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in America... you see it coming apart at the seams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a lone gunman in the shadows; tremblin' with wicked rage...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">stepping from the wings... suddenly he's center stage</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he knows he's going to be on the late news and the front page</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and he looks like you and me, and he could be...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in America.. tonight...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">anywhere in America... you take your life into your own hands...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">at the shopping mall, the public school hall... the corner porno stand...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(and these stories we've been told about 'the end of the world'; they're at hand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">in an automatic assault scope sight... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I wouldn't want to be, among the 'fearful free' ...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... anywhere in America... tonight....</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...well... this song is my response to the 'gun culture' south of the border, down Amerika way... the original line of 'lone gunman in the shadows' came to me one night in Dublin, many years ago... I was lying awake in a B&B, listening to the the sirens wail as the city quaked under threat of another bombing; but it was time spent in California one winter ('78?) that realy brought home the reality of a society inured and immersed in violence, and it certainly hasn't gotten any better in the intervening years; with 'mass shootings' having become commonplace. Far too many weapons, military grade instruments of 'mass destruction' sold with impunity... I fear it is too late for the U.S.A. to tun things around; particularly under current administration; and I fear what awaits Canada as the weapons seep across our all too porous border. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62120522020-02-11T13:42:06-05:002020-02-11T13:42:06-05:00Assassin's Hotel<p><span class="font_large">'...(friends...let me tell you about a dream I had...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I dreamt Mark David Chapman met that coward Robert Ford</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they became fast friends on Mark's very first day in hell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Chapman talking trash, and expecting to be taken at his word...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he was the new 'fish' in the Assassin's Hotel...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... and Bob said: "Welcome, Mark... you'll see... it's a measure of our infamy that we</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">should be condemned to replay this tableaux, time and time again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now every day at three, for eternity you will join me on yon gallows tree</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and we'll take our turns... twisting in the wind..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">yea, the Assassin's Hotel... it's a blood rare slice of Hell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where many a wayward soul may come by happenstance...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but like as not they'll stay... for the daily matinee...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">don't we all love to watch a dead man dance?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and Bob whispered: "Tell me Mark; no lies... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">did you see something in John Lennon's eyes;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">beyond shock or fear; some glint of resignation?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">me. I took the true coward's tack; when I shot poor Jesse James in the back;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to earn my share of scorn, of unborn generations..."</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">...(yea, the Assassin's Hotel...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I dreamt Mark David Chapman partnered up with that coward Robert Ford</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">kindred spirits they... two bad seeds in a pod...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and for evermore they'll dwell... down in the Assassin's Hotel...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">beyond the purview of man or god.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">...well... this is most certainly NOT a 'love song'... no love lost for either Chapman or Ford; though in an earlier version Ford quipped to Chapman:..." I shot a thief and murderer to earn my notoriety... you, sir... blew a hole in the heart of history...".. now I'm sure it could be argued that 'poor Jesse James' deserved a better fate, and I would contend that John Winston Lennon, for all his faults and foibles was entitled to leave this world in his own good time (and preferably after leaving us more music). I've been tempted to contact Chapman. at the 'correctional' facility where he still resides, after numerous refusals at parole. Ron Hynes wrote a great ballad from Robert Ford's perspective; 'Judgement' I believe it is called. Ken Tizzard does a fine job of that one (and many other Hynes compositions). I don't intent to go out of my way to give Chapman any degree of satisfaction, miserable son of a bitch that he is (or was). He made his play for 'fame'; and in doing so, robbed a woman of her husband; two sons of their father; and the world of a man who should still be making music and comment on the human condition. love to all (well, most everyone), d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62120172020-02-11T13:14:40-05:002020-02-11T13:14:40-05:00Eye of the Beholder<p><span class="font_large">if beauty is in the eye of the beholder</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I'm beholden to her... for giving back my sight</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">no matter how many times I might have told her</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">what she means to me; I never quite get it right...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it runs deeper than the well of our emotions...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">wider than the gulf; of from now 'till then...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">stronger than the pull of moon on ocean</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">truer than the steel rails... that once bound this land...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(it's a deeper, wider, stronger, truer love...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'd both agree that the honeymoon is over</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">on a good day we'd say...we know each other well</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when we're trying to define just what we mean by 'lover'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we're party to the secrets; that only time can tell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">intimacy transcending pride or passion</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">comfort culled from countless kisses; so much shared sleep and dreams</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love transforms our very selves in it's sweet fusion</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sets our souls on high; straining at the seams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(it's a deeper, wider, stronger, truer love...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if beauty is in the eye of the beholder</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">this beauty I've been holding, I am blessed by and indebted to...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">carry me through 'till I am wise or older</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">buttressed by this love; a fortress for me and you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">running deeper than the well of our emotions...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">wider than the gulf... of from now 'till then</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">stronger than the pull of moon on ocean...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">truer than these steel strings... beneath my hands...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">( it's a deeper, wider, stronger, truer love...)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well.. this is one of my more favourite of my many 'love songs'... perhaps for the defining love of my life, the mother of my son; a relationship of more than thirty odd (some very odd) years... now as long gone as the boy himself... and yet 'love is alive ...magic is afoot' (as Leonard Cohen did opine all those years ago in 'Beautiful Losers' )... and in my 'twilight years' (or at least this later, if not last 'act' of my life); love continues to grace me with its' presence (and presents; the gifts that stop us in our tracks and have us rejoice in being human)... yes, I am an old 'romantic'; but romance has been good to me, and who am I to question a little love at this stage of the game? (" at this stage of the game.0..... this game of the 'stage'...becomes more and more real.... like these lines upon the page...")... love to all (even, perhaps especially; to those that have graced me with their love through the years...) d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62120072020-02-11T12:44:03-05:002020-02-11T12:44:03-05:00Tell Me That You Love Me<p><span class="font_large">tell me that you love me... tell me that you care...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tell me that you love me... I need to hear it again and again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">darlin' I know that we can't always live in...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the heat of the moment, the heart of the song</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the flush of passion... can't hold out that long...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I need to know that when we're making love</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's a gift for the future.. a rock to stand on...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">an anchor to hold us; through tempest or storm...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...so tell me that you love me... tell me that you care</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">tell me that you love me... I need to hear it again and again...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">here we are, all wrapped up in the moment;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with a gift for the future, a song unsung...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and it's perched like a whisper; on a waiting tongue...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's not just marking time; this clocking our progress</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">the hours and the minutes; the dusk through the dawn</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">the waking dreams that keep me hanging on (you keep me hanging on...)</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> so tell me that you love me... tell me that you care...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">tell me that you love me... darlin' ... I will be there...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... this most certainly a 'love song'; and though it is 'past it's due date' , I'm hoping that it's 'shelf life' will stand the test of time... I've had the great pleasure of singing it at a few weddings over the years; most recently my nephew Brendan Sutton's marriage to the lovely Valerie. Originally the only song recorded on my old Gibson ES-335 12 string electric guitar, ( now long gone ); though for Brendan and Valerie's nuptuals, sung acoustically in the doorway of a little restaurant in Ottawa on my Martin D-35 12 string; (never to part). love to all (so long as it may last), d.</span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62119802020-02-11T12:21:38-05:002020-02-11T12:21:38-05:00Think it Over<p><span class="font_large">you're asking me to 'think it over'... seems that's all we ever do</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I don't want another lover; ...if I can work this out with you</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">times it's hard to believe; the things we put each other through</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, I ain't asking you to leave... and I'll stay if you want me to.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">think it over and decide... get on board, or let it ride...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I don't want you to feel you're tied... or stay if you ain't satisfied...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">think it over and be sure... before you walk out of that door</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">make sure you know the odds and score...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you may not see me anymore.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">step out and have yourself a drink... check out the men in the room</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">have a dance or two and think (you better think about it, babe...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you could be single again, real soon...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if one of them should strike a flame... rekindle things you think we've lost</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">go on, then,, shift the blame... I stand prepared to pay the cost</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...(think it over and decide... repeat chorus...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love needn't be a running battle... as of late, things just ain't right...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">do you feel you're standing in my shadow...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">or am I just between you and the light?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... ( think it over and decide... repeat chorus and fade... )</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... I guess this is also a 'love song'... but from a different point in the relationship; a line drawn in the sand... very much a 'honky tonk' piece; in the Waylon Jennings tradition... it was the 'B' side of the 45 rpm recording featuring 'Love Ain't Blind' (1987?); and I recall taking great pleasure when someone fired up both sides on the jukebox as we were setting up for a gig in one of the many little joints that are long gone, now... I was fortunate to 'come of age' in the last gasps of country music as it once was... 'six nights and a matinee.. we were honky tonkin' night and day...'... </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62119672020-02-11T12:04:26-05:002020-02-11T12:04:26-05:00Love Ain't Blind<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">if you could tell me, what's on your mind, darlin'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">maybe I could be of some assistance...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">they'll all try to sell you that old line about </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">'love being blind', baby... we could prove that all nonsense...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I believe that love is... wide awake and hoping...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">and it's staring us down with it's eyes wide open...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">love ain't blind... love could see us through these times...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">if I could hold you... slip into your dreams, darlin'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">maybe I could make this all make sense...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">no matter what they've told you; </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">love's not always what it seems, and I...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I'd like to say a few words in love's defence...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">though I'm convinced... that love ain't blind...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">love's under no obligation to be simple or kind...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">no, love ain't blind... love will see us through these times...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">if you could tell me... what's on your mind, baby...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">maybe I could be of some assistance...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large"> ...well... this song dates back to the 'Bandanna!' days... it was a </span></span><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">popular 'slow dance' number, and appears on the 'Seven Songs' recording, which was six tunes from a F.A.C.T.O.R. grant, produced by Prairie Oyster's Keith Glass at Andy Thompson's Northumberland Music Studio... the seventh song, 'Tell Me That You Love Me' on that effort, was from a CKPT 'Homegrown' radio contest, also recorded at Andy's. This is one of many 'love songs' that haven't had a whole lot of play in my world of late. Times and situations change; but a song is never just meant to just pertain to certain individuals and relationships, I suppose. </span></span></p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62119112020-02-11T10:54:02-05:002022-04-03T19:42:12-04:00Man of a Thousand Songs (Ron Hynes)<p><span class="font_large">he's got a crimson red tattoo,,, keeps it hidden up above his T-shirt sleeve</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's a broken heart, and the inscription reads: "No Love songs, If You Please"</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but he don't really mean that, no, it's only cheeky tongue...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he stands up and sings for them every night; he's 'The Man of a Thousand songs'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he knows the street like he knows his last name, he knows the city from the wrong side out</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he knows that time is cruel; and any man's a fool; to hide the truth behind his mouth</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he knows 'The Duke of Earl'; he knows 'My Girl'; and 'The House of the Rising Sun'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the opening line on the marquee sign; he's 'The Man of a Thousand Songs'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he knows an old hotel, where the desk clerk will sell you;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">your soul back; reasonably cheap... and this guy you can call, </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when you're crawling the walls; and the whole town's asleep...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he don't promise what he don't deliver; he keeps it all in the 'easy keys'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he don't dream beyond his expectations; he's got the 'stance' down to a 'T'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's got a friend in a backstage alley; got just the thing to make the night move along;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the opening line on the marquee sign...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's ' The Man of a Thousand songs..."...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...well... this is the last song I've recorded that falls into the back half of the category: 'Songs I wrote or wish I had...' in my humble opinion, not only Ron Hyne's greatest composition, but the definitive tune to address the daunting task of standing in front of a crowd with nothing but a guitar and a song... I 'opened' for Ron at the venerable Ship Inn in St. John's once, and had him as house guest when he last passed this way; but never got to know him well... I have had opportunity to get acquainted with his last manger, Charles Macphail; prior to his relocation 'down east'. There is a great biography 'Wonderful Grand One Man Band', but both it and my copy of the documentary 'Man of a Thousand Songs' have gone missing. Both highly recommended, though. Ron is most often associated with his popular tune 'Sonny's Dream'; but I prefer the 'darker' material; like 'Killer Cab' or 'The Ghost of Dana Bradley'.. check him out, good people... Ron Hynes was 'the real deal'; and now he's gone... love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62093422020-02-09T11:25:05-05:002022-04-03T19:45:09-04:00For the Sake of a Dollar (William Patrick Bennett)<p><span class="font_large">once there was a miner... who held down his job...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'tll one day he was struck down... by the fate of his god...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now his wife, she did morn him... 'till the collectors came around</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and they stole all his possessions... before they'd bury him down</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now his wife and his children... pay the rent with their tears...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they live alone with one another; wake each night with their fears...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the money ain't nothin'... to the rich men in town</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but for the sake of a dollar; they let the whole family drown</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now the old man had wrote out... all the things he had saved...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">said he's saved them a gold mine... but it was all in his head...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and one solemn child.... who had been born that year</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">was brought up with the memories... of the feelings and the fears</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now his wife and his children... pay the rent with their fears</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they live alone with one another... wake each night with their fears</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">'cause the money ain't nothin'... to the rich men in town...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but for the sake of a dollar; they let the whole family drown.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now the bartender's arm shook... as she poured one more round...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">said she'd heard many stories... and was I long in the town?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I paid up my dollar... and I laughed as I did...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">said: "I'm one of the family... though I've long kept it hid...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I'm older and wise, now... I've travelled around...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I've slept in many a dark city... I've been jailed in small towns...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and my father would tell you... if he'd lived to this day...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that if life be a gamble... then blood be... the stakes...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> well... this is the only song of Willie's that I have recorded (on The Brave Work); though there are many I consider 'favourites', and a few more I'd sing on occasion. When I was headed up to David (Hollis) Morgan's studio to lay down the tracks, I called Willie about a line I was unsure of,(for the life of me I can't recall which), and his response was to go ahead and sing it the way I heard it... so I guess I did. I don't generally mess with another songwriter's lyric; but that was pretty much the way Willie was... humble and accepting... and songs are fluid in nature, I believe... the last time I put 'Ode to Willie P," down, there was a serendipitous switch of wording; and it will stay that way (until next time, I suppose). Today is 'Blue Valentine' at The Garnet, here in the 'Patch; and folks will gather to sing his songs and remember him. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62080022020-02-07T15:41:34-05:002020-02-07T15:41:34-05:00Honky Tonk Heart<p><span class="font_large">each night you cake the make-up on, stare into your bedroom mirror</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">slip into your high heels, and feather out your hair</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you head on down to the local lounge; and you're always tere by nine</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to get a seat close to the stage, where you stay 'til closing time.,,</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">you'll be making eyes at the guitar man; you're not ashamed to be caught staring</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's like to do the same himself, with those skin tight clothes you're wearing</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he\s lonely and bored, out on the road; he slips you an offstage wink</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as soon as the band takes their first break, he'll ask to join you fr a drink</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">and your honky yonk heart keeps bouncing back, time and time again</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where a wiser woman might wait a while, you just wade right in...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">t's another man, anther country band, one more week long romance</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you'll think he's singing just for you...while he's watching all the women dance</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've had your share of shallow affairs; a long string of one night stands\</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's been five years of the night life, since you took the ring off your left hand</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">ypu'll only half believe the lines, you've heard so many men before</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still you look for better times ...behind those swingin' doors...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">(and your honky tonk heart keeps bouncing back, time and time again...)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">he's been working that backwoods circuit, waiting on that one big break...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">wishing there ws some sure fire short cut, to frget a man's mistakes</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's the whisky talkin' when he whispers words of love into your ear</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but you're well used to second best; it's all you need to hear...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">(and your honky tonk heart keeps bouncing back...(...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this song was my 'take' on the scene that I spent many nights (and afternoons)n playing the taverns and beer parlours where I learned hat little it is I know about \the music business'... my time spent learning and pursuing the 'honky tonk life' mst successfully (and that is a very relative term) wit my country dance band 'Bandanna!'... it could be seen as rather chauvinistic (and I'm sure it would be by some)' t seemed a reasonably accurate amalgam of many people (both audience and band members) that I encounteredi in my travels. I've heard women describe touring bands as \easy pickins' in that a week or two was as long as they would be in town. It was all a little over (or under) whelming for a folkie cowboy such as myself; with a few notable exceptions; and some precious few regrets. Leonard Cohen's line from 'Night in Santiago' comes to mind..."Although I've forgotten half my life; I still remember this...' I do remember a couple of the gals that sparked this lyric. I forgot the middle verse to this song this morning; but then I don't think I'd sung it this century.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62058582020-02-06T12:13:54-05:002020-02-06T12:22:09-05:00Spadina -Heart of this Town John (Johnny Pearl) Burshaw<p><span class="font_large">the summer was passing... the leaves on the ground</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">closing it's gates... and moving uptown</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I looked for tomorrow... when I came here today</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but I'm in no hurry... to find my way.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Spadina... heart of this town...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">did you leave someone waiting... no place to lie down?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I am a poor boy... college I've none...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">but I've worked in your factories... and I've lived on the 'bum'...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">this town is so cold... when you're out on the run...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">shall we stand in the doorway... and wait for the sun?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">....</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">Spadina... heart of this town...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">did you leave someone waiting... no place to lie down?</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">,</span><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">.. this song always reminded me of my brother Peter, who spent most of his life just a step away from 'the street' in Toronto...rooming houses in Parkdale, catching an extra meal at The Good Shepherd; attending a friend's funeral in 'potter's field'... in and out of 999 Queen Street for ongoing mental health issues... we finally became close in his later years, and I was at his bedside when he 'crossed over' (see 'Jesus, My Brother'... and the comments to that)... time spent with my brother always reminded me of just how fortunate I was in my own life. He was very supportive of my musical interests, and I would play old country songs for him when I'd go to visit, he could always tell me the month and year that they were released. Not too very long before he passed, he tasked me to write him a song; and only gave me the title: "Just Another Rainy Sunshiny Day'... I didn't get around to that before he died, and in the intervening years have only come up with this much:</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> it's just another rainy sunshiny day</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> clouds of my own making, keeping blue skies at bay...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> I suppose, I surmise; that these tears in my eyes</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> come with just another rainy sunshiny day</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...perhaps it will show up in a more complete form further down the page(s)... as this project catches up with itself, and I've managed to transcribe all of the complete lyric to the songs posted from the three recordings included for free download on this page. I'm trying to do a little every day, but I have to admit that playing with computers most certainly takes a backseat to playing guitar; and it's high time I did a little of that. later, d. </span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62056672020-02-06T09:11:01-05:002020-02-06T09:11:01-05:00Hero from the War (Michael Behnan)<p><span class="font_large"><strong>I had a conversation... with a hero from the war</strong></span><span class="font_large"><strong>...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>'Irish' was his name... he'd lived in P.E.I. before...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>he said " the soil is red there... just as red as red can be..."</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>I asked him was the sand as red... on the beach at Normandy...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>he fell in love in England... he fell in love in Italy...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>he never brought no woman back, abd back home, they'd all got married</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>so he sat down at this table, he's been here twenty nine years...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>every time he tells his story... his eyes well up with tears.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>I never fought for my country... never sang those soldier songs...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>I look out at this crazy world... I can't tell right from wrong...</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>when I look into this dead man's eyes... one thing I can see...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>he never found out who put him there; was it you, or was it me?</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>what can I do for you, old man? ... to ease your misery...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>if war had broke out yesterday, it surely could have been me...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I know I've had more chance than you, to make better of my days...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>but I'm sitting at this table, too... let's forget our yesterdays...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I had a conversation, with a hero from the war...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>'Irish' was his name; he'd lived in P.E.I. before...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>he'd say "the soil is red there...just as red as red can be...</b></span><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>"</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and I'd ask him: was the sand as red... on that beach in Normandy?"</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b> ...well... this song opens 'The Brave Work'... written by the late Michael Behnan (for </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>whom I wrote 'Portrait of the Artist') and has long been 'up there' on my list of songs 'I </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>wrote or wish I had'... those of us that came of age' in a certain era, knew men like this... </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>the ones holding down corner tables in taverns that had entrances and rooms for men </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>only and </b></span><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>perhaps 'ladies and escorts'; or rooms split down the middle... 'beer parlours'..,</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and we who chose to learn the trade of 'saloon singer' would meet older fellows who had </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>never really 'come back from the war'... eventually they died off, as did the 'honky tonk </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>'scene'... I certainly met some sad and damaged characters, and perhaps this was a </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>curiously Canadian phenomenon; as we have not been engaged in the perpetual wars </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>afflicting our friends south of the border. Recently I read that more veterans have </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>committed suicide in the past decade than died in the entire Vietnam conflict. I guess 'my </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>generation' was fortunate indeed to not have been conscripted into war... " I know I've had </b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>more chance than you, to make better of my days..." indeed. </b></span></p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62043572020-02-05T09:35:11-05:002020-02-05T09:35:11-05:00Lonely in the City (Peter 'Dr. Moonbeam/Scroads' Cragg) <p><span class="font_large">she said we'd stay together... at least a month or two...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I thought I could persuade her to stay...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but what can a poor boy do today?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lonely in the middle of the city...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I bought a new guitar... but that won't take me far...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">perhaps I'll hit 'the big time' with this love song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and a radio will bring her back to me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she said she didn't love me... but she must have liked me some...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I thought I could make her care some more;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">but now all that's for sure is this double rum...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lonely in the middle of the city...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I bought a new guitar... but that won't take me far...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">perhaps I'll hit the big time with this love song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and a radio will bring her back to me.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... (...recitation...)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"I can't help it if I'm lonely... there's no one here but me...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and a few soft things she left behind...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they keep me real bad company..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">lonely in the middle of the city...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I bought a new guitar... but that won't take me far...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">perhaps I'll hit the big time with this love song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and the radio will bring her back to me.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well... one of the few lyrics my old pal Peter Cragg wrote... he was a gifted guitarist and his work with Cris Cuddy in the 'old days' was amazing... 'Hot Knockers' was a great local rock band as well. Pete was a revered guitar teacher, and a 'communard' ( a term I used to describe him in an obituary/remembrance piece I wrote after his untimely passing. A real 'hippie' in the truest sense, Peter taught on communes and shared his love of life and music freely. His son Matt is a life coach/motivational speaker (for lack of better terms) and author, sharing his insights on life at 'Inner Diamond' online, and in person for individuals and groups. Matt kindly gifted me Pete's Steinberger guitar some years back, and I have been exploring 'life above the 12th fret' on that remarkable instrument. Matt also allowed me to purchase Pete's old Guild hollow body electric guitar and a bass. It brings me great pleasure to play on his instruments, and to have recorded this song, which otherwise might have slipped into total obscurity (as opposed to the partial obscurity that comes with being part of my repertoire). David 'Hollis' Morgan (my late pal and drummer Lee Bryant Morgan's older brother) laid down some exquisite guitar on the recording (on 'The Brave Work' effort); I hope Dr. Moonbeam would approve. One of a very few songs that I have taken to be my own (with humble regard to the author) in respect and recognition of old and true friends. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62043282020-02-05T08:33:00-05:002020-02-05T08:33:00-05:00Find Out for Yourself (Brian 'Buzz' /'Mr. Soul' Thompson)<p><span class="font_large">I can't tell you... where to go...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can't tell you... what you should know...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to find out for yourself</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you can't depend on no one else...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to find out... for yourself...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can't tell you... who to be...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can't tell you... what you should see...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to find out for yourself;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you can't depend on no one else...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to find out... for your self.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I can't tell you... what to do...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to keep on 'keepin' on'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">until you see it through///r7b'</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you've got to find out for yourself;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you can't depend on no one else...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you'v got to find out... for yourself.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I hate to go... and leave you all alone</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to fight this battle... all on your own...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(but) you've got to find out for yourself...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">you can't depend on no one else...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">you've got to find out... for yourself...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... a simple and direct lyric from my old friend and former neighbour 'Buzz' Thompson; written for his brother Barry, who took his own life many years ago. Barry was an electrician with a keen interest in recording and scuba diving, especially underwater photography; back in the pre-digital days. Barry bought the first Fender Telecaster guitar ever to come to Peterborough (Buzz once told me); through the old fellow (Noe Duranceau, also a published Napoleonic scholar, I believe), who ran the Orpheus Music store in the little space that now houses The Garnet on Hunter Street in downtown Peterborough. Barry had one of the first 4-track tape recorders to come to town, as well. I made my first attempt at recording in 'Ma' Thompson's living room (with my teen musical partner Wendy Davis), Barry at the controls. I suspect many of us that loved Buzz might have assumed that his nickname came from his long standing affection and association with cannabis, bu this is not the case. 'Buzz' came about when his (slightly) older brother Barry could not pronounce 'Brian' properly; and 'Buzz' stuck. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> The boys came by their musicality honestly; their dad Hector being a self taught guitarist and singer in the 'western' tradition. Buzz told me that 'back in the day' in Warsaw; Hector and his pals would lay music into an open telephone, and all the folks that shared the service would listen in. A true 'party line'. Hector had long standing issues with alcohol, and in his later years the boys would often buy him a cheap guitar that would more often than not end up being pawned or swapped out. Hector died a tragic death, when a younger fellow offered to carry his beer up to his apartment for him (above 'Hatton's Fun House' on George Street). Hector was robbed and murdered for a box of beer and very little cash. He lay in the summer heat a couple of days before being discovered. Buzz and 'Ma' were about to depart on a western vacation to see friends Buzz had made in Calgary (this being not too very long after Barry's suicide). My partner and I sent them on their way, and took care of emptying out Hector's sad dwelling on Buzz' behalf. We had troubled brothers, he and I, and Buzz was one of the very few fellows in my life who I called 'brother', and knew he was 'there' for me, as I was for him; always. No favour ever refused or questioned. He was a died in the wool 'soul brother', and a great interpreter of 'R&B' music; a long standing member of Ronnie Hawkin's band 'The Hawks'.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> I can't say that our version of Buzz' tune compares to his incendiary rendition; (not by a long shot!); but it is my humble tip of the hat to a dear and departed friend. I often sang it to troubled youth in my years as a Child and Youth Worker and counselor; and will include it in any show I play in the time that remains :between here and the haze..." rest in peace, old friend. love, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62029342020-02-04T09:32:05-05:002022-04-03T19:43:26-04:00Ode to Willie P. (William Patrick Bennett)<p><span class="font_large">Willie said it well enough, (as he always could)...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"Sometimes it's rough, but it's always good"...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I guess sometimes 'good enough' is as good as it gets...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sometimes you roll the dice, and there's cause to shout...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">other times it's not as nice, and you just crap out...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sometimes you're well advised to hedge all your bets...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Willie was the crown prince of 'hoot'n'holler'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">never once just for the sake of a dollar;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a trouper troubadour, inspiration to us all...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Willie P. Bennett left us a legacy, of heartfelt lyric and melody</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the hobo's taunt, echo of the wild goose call...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I asked Willie once for advice on playing mandolin;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Willie blinked twice, fixed me with that grin... said</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">"of course, it's a matter of opinion, but if you really want mine...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's not about speed or ability; more about soul and melody...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">just play it half fast, man; everything will work out fine..."</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(insert half-assed mandolin break here, if desired...)</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Willie was the crown prince of 'hoot'n'holler';</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">never once just for the sake of a dollar...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a trouper troubadour... inspiration to us all...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Willie P. Bennett left us a legacy, of heartfelt llyric and melody...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the hobo's taunt; echo of th wild goose call...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... a simple, silly ditty; as easily delivered 'acapella' as with any instrumentation... the first quote is directly from Willie, scrawled on a hand painted poster that I had made (with a rough portrait of Wlilie in the 'Lucky Ones' period, for a concert at Peterborough's Market Hall...) "Sometimes it's rough, but it's always good" scrawled on it in ballpoint pen when I asked him to scribe it... I have that poster still; and always will... the 'advice' on mandolin approach is paraphrased, but essentially accurate... in recent years, there has been a trend in various towns (and most certainly this one) to hold a 'Blue Valentine' memorial concert to 'Willie P.'... this song was originally debuted with myself and Willie's old touring partner Washboard Hank (Fred Eaglesmith's band, back when Ralph was on bass) on dual (not dueling) mandolins, (half-assed instrumental break guaranteed); at an early Blue Valentine show here in town. love to all, especially William Patrick Bennett. He was the real deal. d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/62023942020-02-03T20:26:45-05:002021-09-04T07:09:51-04:00Portrait of the Artist<p><span class="font_large">if in the art of being human... the palette is the heart...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where do we begin to draw the line?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and if we are assuming... that the end can be a start...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is it too much to be asking for a sign?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can accept the subtle nuance... of a sad song sung as seance</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I can see you smiling through this vale of tears...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a portrait in my mind's eye... of you silhouetted against a sunset sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and it's all I've got... to see me through the years...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the canvas stands on the easel... they still canvass for the sails;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they say a seaman's songs are written on the wind...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">rope of hemp and sisal... a hull battered by the gales...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">hungry hearts... hope to see home port again.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">the pleasures of the harbour... echo in my mind...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">my memory clouds, like the morning mist...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">friends and neighbours gather... wondering how life can be so unkind...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">still, knowing you... has made mine blessed...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">in essence, I guess it's selfish... like some sort of penny-ante well wish;</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">but there's a hole in my heart that you used to fill...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and this 'portrait of the artist'... just a thumbnail sketch with a cruel twist...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">vivid enough, to make the time stand still.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">if in the art of being human, the palette is the heart...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">can you see this song... etched blood red as wine....</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...this song came to me all of a piece, as fast as I could write it down, many years ago one morning when I had been asked to sing a tune or two at an art exhibit opening at the AGP (Art Gallery of Peterborough) ; posthumous for Michael Behnan (for whom this song was written) but also for his longtime companion Lynda Lapeer, also some years deceased as of this writing. I 'petitioned the vapours' and was presented with this song, which I gladly presented some hours later. Michael was a true renaissance man, a powerful visual artist (specializing in 'monoprints', a process by which he would coat a sheet of glass with ink, and subtract from that with Q-tips, more often than not. The image would then be printed to a sheet of heavy paper, one copy only.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> Michael was also a talented singer/songwriter (with two strong albums of original material utilizing the talents of local musicians such as JP Hovercraft (bass, of course), Jim Leslie (drums) George Bertok (keyboards). Michael gigged regularly in a duo format with Marty Hepburn in a more acoustic setting. He was a huge fan and solid interpreter of the songs of American singer Phil Ochs, hence the references to 'Pleasures of the Harbour'; arguably Och's masterpiece. </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> The title is also a tip of the hat to Irish author James Joyce, Apparently book and song titles are not subject to copyright limitations. This song came to mind when a picture of Jim Joyce appeared on FB today, cradling a lovely little guitar that I mooned over (under glass at Joyce's former tower residence south of Dublin) many years ago when I was a young man, transparent self portrait looking back at me, with James' guitar underneath. I've read somewhere that Joyce was a fine tenor, and also somewhere else that there was never an Irish tenor not destined for hell. (see ya there, J.J.)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61981752020-01-31T09:00:33-05:002020-01-31T09:00:33-05:00Where Dreams Take You<p><span class="font_large">where do your dreams take you... when you sleep?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">does my memory wake you... and make you weep?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">does your conscience catch you unawares?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">do you long to hear my footsteps n the stairs?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">are you enjoying your affair?</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">your love was my lifeline, I was strung our like a kite</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">prepared to spend a lifetime... in those dizzy heights</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">now, I;m whipped upon the wind, heart on my sleeve...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I must have been blind to believe...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how was I so naive? ...(so young and naive...)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">now the final die is cast... we've gone our separate ways...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm living 'way too fast.... but these are desperate days</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">love has expired, from burning at both ends...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">too much has transpired, to ever make amends...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how could we ever be 'just friends'...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(we'll never be 'just friends'....)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">so tell me now...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">where do your dreams take you... when you sleep?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">does my memory wake you... and make you weep?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">does your conscience catch you unawares?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">do you long to hear my footsteps on the stairs?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">are you enjoying your affair...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ...well... this is also a very old song, though the nature of human relations and the 'human condition' tends to maintain it's personal relevance to me... not to be found in a recorded version on this site as of yet... a simple rocker from the early days that was on my mind this morning as I woke from a dream in which I spent time with my recently departed old friend James Dean Rees. Trying to explain developments in the past few years to him, and why I was unable to attend his memorial service this past weekend... where dreams take one, indeed. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61970372020-01-30T10:56:29-05:002020-01-30T10:56:29-05:00Jesus, My Brother...<p><span class="font_large">Jesus, my brother... swore he was best friends with you...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">said you reached out when no other gave a damn or would do...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">for that I'm eternally grateful, though we may never meet...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Jesus, my brother and I walked down different streets...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">raised in the Mother Church... washed in the blood of the lamb...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">baptized, and conformed; both condemned and damned...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he to his darkness, broken by shafts of light...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">me to my weakness, the temptations of night...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">the ten years between us, seemed a century...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a decade of distance, a broken rosary...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he had his 'voices', me; vices and song...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we each made or choices... believed the other wrong.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">Jesus, my brother; believed in you most...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">knew he was getting closer, as he gave up the ghost...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I watched him as he died...so surreal and serene</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">played guitar at his bedside, wondering what it all means...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">Jesus, my brother, swore he was best friends with you...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">said you reaches out when n ther, gave a damn or would do...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">for that I'm eternally grateful... though we may never meet...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">Jesus, my brother and I marched to different... beatitudes.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...well... I think that is the whole lyric to that one... I haven't sung it in a very long time... I did in fact play guitar while my brother Peter William Emmett O'Toole lay dying in a bed at St. Michael's in Toronto. ...ten years between us... we shared a second floor room in a war time house... Peter had a paper route and a record collection with a portable player like many of us would recall. In the days before headphones he would play albums at low volume and pace while I slept in the other bunk uncle Pat had made for us. If one puts any stock in sleep learning, I sure got an education in popular music... the Everly Bothers, Buck Owens, Ricky Nelson, Roy Orbison (and on and on...)... in lter years I would make the trek to the city to see him in his nursing home and play for him. He could tell me the date that each of those old songs appeared on the charts, and it was as close as we ever got, I guess. Pete had been a heavy smoker (three large packs a day) nd was dying of congestive heart failure when he came upon a dog eared bible on a bench in Trinity Bellwoods Park while living in a rooming house n Toronto's seedy Parkdale area. He opened it to the passage that read: " Ask of me and ye shall receive,.." ...he cast his tired eyes heavenward and petitioned the Lrd to save him from his deadly addiction. He never smoked again. Believe what one will, but that bought me an extra decade to get to know my troubled brother... and for that, Jesus... I am eternally grateful. lov to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61970182020-01-30T10:27:40-05:002020-01-30T10:27:40-05:00W.G.'s Waltz... (believe in Dreams)<p><span class="font_large">he's an old, old man... but he's my old man...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">easily he forgets, and he's quick to tire...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and he can't understand, how it is he is still my biggest fan...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and I've yet to set the world on fire...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">but he let me dream my dreams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and he was there, when they fell through</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when my cloud lost it's silver seam...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">he was the one I could take my troubles to.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">she's a woman of the world, she is my world...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">my port in storm, anchor on these seas...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she's got an eye for the truth, and what things are really worth;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">times I wonder what it is she sees in me...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">but she lets me dream my dreams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and she is there, when they fall through;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when my cloud loses it's silver seam...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she one I can take my troubles to...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">they are children of tomrorow, they are my children...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'll help them be what it is that they wish to be...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">let them reach for the stars, get their bumps and their scars</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they will always have a friend in me...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I'm going to let them dream their dreams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I will be there, should they fall through...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">if their clouds lose their silver seam...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they can come home, and bring their troubles, too...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I believe that dreams are the future, I still believe in dreams</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">though at times they are as hard to catch as rings of smoke...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">still, if lovers share a dream, surely nothing can come between...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">they may not go far, but the'll never go broke...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">so darlin', let us dream our dreams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we'll have each other, should they fall through;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and if only, if only in our dreams...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">that which we have, will always hold true...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I believe dreams are like an open door...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">step into my dream.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"> ... my old man was a great friend to me... in a time when many of my friends were at loggerheads with their parents, (fathers in particular) my dad was a gem...many of my friends sought and received refuge in our home. Perhaps because my brother Peter had extreme emotional issues, my dad was more than willing to help when he could. He loved poetry and songs, and was very supportive of my early efforts. Once, when I had a little gig at The Commoner, a folk club at Tent University; he presented me with slab of plywood that he had painted with the legend: "Den's Stomping Board" on in house paint. A reference to Tom Connors, of course; whom I held in no high regard at the time. I suspect my definition of 'folksinger' was perhaps a trifle narrow at that point. I've no idea what became of that gift, but I know it didn't make it to the gig. love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61970122020-01-30T09:58:46-05:002020-01-30T09:58:46-05:00Echoes ... (faces in the fire)...<p><span class="font_large">I see faces in the fire... there's echoes in the smoke...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> suspect wood and flames conspire...to have me believe that you just spoke.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">be it a message down the wire; or just what I think need to hear...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I see faces in the fire... they're grinning ear to ear.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">I see figures in the trees... limbs upstretched to the sky...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">silhouettes of surrender by degrees... hear them moan and sigh...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">see them swerve and sway... in servitude to the wind...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">trapped in their passion play... they're dancing once again...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I carve cavalry in the clouds... ghost riders in the sky...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">still hollerin' my name out loud... as they go thundering by...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and my dreams they do stampede... across a landscape so surreal...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">where I conjure what I need... and hope to cope with how I feel...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">there's spirits in the water... rain to river, lake to sea...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">echoes of the ancient's daughter...beckoning to me...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">"when you give yourself to smoke... and your ashes need tor rest...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">the invitation is invoked... come to the ones who served you best..,"</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I see faces in the fire... there's echoes in the smoke...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">wood and flames conspire... to have me believe that you just spoke...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">be it a message down the wire... or just what I think I need to hear...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I sit serenading faces in the fire... and we're grinnin' ear to ea...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> ...well.. I woke this morning with another lyric in my head, but when I checked my messages there was a note from my old friend and (virtual) pen pal Peter Cullen way up there in the dark days of winter in Yellowknife... Pete had been sending a note about how he would like to hear of a tribute concert to our mutual pal Cris Cuddy, with various friends and artists covering his material, and out of the 8000 songs on his playlist, Cris' version of this song popped up... synchronicity, indeed. I titled it 'Echoes' (the original title to Fred Neil's 'Everybody's Talkin',,,, a big hit for Harry Nilsson and the theme from 'The Midnight Cowboy'... one can't 'copyright' a title, I'm told... so occasionally I'll pilfer one that appeals for whatever reason... Cris switched some lyric around and chose 'Faces in the Fire' as his title... he said " this lyric speaks to me...".</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">... well ... it speaks to me, as well... echoes in the smoke... wood and flames conspire... many the night I've sat and stared into the embers of a hearth or wood stove and let my imagination run wild... across a landscape so surreal... of course I'm pleased to have Cris sing any of my songs, and to him I would extend greater latitude than to anyone else... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61962332020-01-29T20:20:34-05:002020-01-29T20:20:34-05:00Pills and Potions<p><span class="font_large">...we had our heads thrown open to the sky; we were high...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it seemed 'love' was on everyone's lips...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">far more concerned with truth than consequence; </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">when we lit out on some of those trips...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">resorting to pills and potions, looking for love, hard pressed...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">putting our emotions to the acid test</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">trying on our roles like children parading in their parent's clothes...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we were young and restless, eager to play our parts... </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">to throw the dice and guess at what was in our hearts</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">stripping down to our souls as though naked wasn't far enough to go...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(how could we know?)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">that time was waiting, to kiss and tell;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">dawn was breaking in a P.O.W. cell...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it was all somehow connected; so hard to accept or explain...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">resorting to pills and potions we wonder how we got second guessed</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is the time for those emotions truly passed?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">how can we face this new complacency?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we were the ones born to change the world!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(there;s still a few flags unfurled!)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we left our martyrs on the altar of the revolution</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">as though cutting and hiding were some brand new solution...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">we took our ideals underground, as though they could grow</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">without the sun... and it just can't be done...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">resorting to pills and potions, now our own children go...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">in search of true love and devotion... rumours and relics from long ago...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">raising the same questions and banners, </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">looking for answers only we could know...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">and it just might be so ('cause I believe that...)</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">time is waiting to kiss and tell ... </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">pride is hiding in our hearts, ready to swell...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's still all connected, accept and let your actions explain...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">it's still all connected, just accept and let your actions explain!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">come on people, now... smile on your brother...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">come on brother, now...respect your sister...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">come on children... protect your mother earth...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">come on children... yeah, yeah, ... ,,, ,,,</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">...well... you just can't get away with three 'yeahs', now... can you? ... this song dates back to the live 1990 Artspace recording... a retro hippie anthem, even then... time for a re-working of this in the duo format... the songs in this effort will not be sequenced in any particular order... I was thinking that perhaps the whole effort could eventually be in some sort of hard copy form, with the chords scratched in over the words, maybe even some doodling and sketches... small run of print, while it is still available... I bought a very simple songbook from Joe Hall's earlier days at this celebration concert @ the Tranzac last year, and was quite taken with the format... </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> truly passed</p>
<p>how can we face this new complacency</p>
<p><span class="font_large">resorting to pills and potions</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">we wonder how we got second guessed</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">is the time for those emotions</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61951842020-01-29T08:58:32-05:002021-07-16T16:41:18-04:00Anna of the Old Guard<p><span class="font_large">Anna was with the 'old guard'... in the days before the war...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">before your brass buttoned uniform ...made her peasant's garb look poor</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">what made you think that you were so brave?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">why did you laugh when you saw her shoes?</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's men like you, that have made... my Anna come to choose...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">(she's come to choose...)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">Anna sighs, and she rubs her thighs... she wonders how you came...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with your soft and your childlike eyes. to play at a warrior's game...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">she remembers the men, how they were then...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">how they laughed in the face of death...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you scrawl your number on her wall, and leave with fear on your breath...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(with her on your breath...)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">night time falls, and Anna calls... as though she has nothing to lose</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">you go out searching for her, you become quite confused...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">to find her death notice written. in a skid row 'who's who'...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">a few words n the crumpled page... of yesterday's news...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">(she's yesterday's news...)...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">Anna is gone, but her memory lives on...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I stand in her place in the line...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I remember her song, and I wish she were here...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">to make everything seem fine... just one more time...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> this is a very old lyric... the better part of a half century, f'sure..( 'f'sure' being a regular comment from Kyle/'SeekWhence')... I recall playing it for John Cisco up in the garret/studio that eventually became Joe Stable's Acme Art and Sailboat Company when it was 'fresh' and John was the only artist I had ever met (and the first fellow to play 'The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down' on the guitar... I'd never heard of The Band...)... John looked at me with his quizzical glint and remarked: "Seems So Long Ago, Nancy"... nailing me on the Leonard Cohen appropriation of theme and subject matter... weren't we all far too enamoured of the 'soldier/whore' stereotypes of 'romantic' war...? I've only just heard the (recently) late David Olney's epic ballad 'Paris 1917', and I think this song may have been sparked by a second world war poster I'd seen with a voluptuous siren (with death's head) in a doorway beckoning a young man in uniform to "Come on up, I knew your father..."... probably a cautionary warning of the dangers of social diseases. And now we have 'social media'...</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> My old friend and mentor Cris Cddy (Jeremy Dormouse/Max Mouse) recorded this song years ago in Montreal, I believe, and though that version is most likely lost to the sands of time, he included it in his sets with Benj Rowland (Mayhemmingways) last year (2019) at The Slab here in the 'Patch. Perhaps it will surface on the resultant recording. I have never gotten round to 'releasing' this song (nor has it ever really 'released' me), though it may have been covered on my very first Artspace effort many years ago (with the late Peter Cragg/Scroads/Dr. Moonbeam) and George Bertok). There's a copy of that somewhere in the mess that I loosely refer to as 'the archives'. I remarked to Cris a while back (when he had maintained that it was a 'good song') that in intervening years, my personal experience has provided me with no shortage of life events to write about. At the time, I was equally in awe of Leonard Cohen and Gordon Lightfoot, though ol' Gordie surely seems a trifle shallow compared to our L.C. in retrospect. 'That's What You Get For Lovin' Me' or 'Rich Man's Spiritual'as opposed to 'The Story of Isaac'? ... no contest, in my books... I've always been drawn to the 'darker' material; and have only just worked up a version of 'Isaac' in recent days... maybe 'Anna' is due to be exhumed... love to all, d.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61919822020-01-28T13:08:23-05:002020-01-28T13:08:23-05:00The Ballad of Emmett Guerin<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">my name is Emmett Guerin, I've been a ghost these many years; </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I suppose I'm all but forgotten, across this vale of tears...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I was cut down in my prime, a long, long time ago...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">an angel caught 'tween earth and sky... In Italy, near Anzio.</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">brothers and sisters we raised as our children, </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">when our folks were too early gone...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">made it clear through the 'Great Depression'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">with the help of my sister, Marion...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">it was she I flew to, to touch that night;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">in the moment of my death...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">no footprints in the snow at her porch light...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">half the world in my dying breath.</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">they called us 'Black Devils in Baggy Pants'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">those that ran and lived to tell the tale</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">poor boys hardened into heroes, into 'giants'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">with the 'sand' to tip the scales...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">from all points of the union, and we Canadians, of course;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">and elite unit of fighting men...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">the First Special Service Force...</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">it was with best intent I went to war;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I don't torture myself asking 'why'</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I lay at rest, if not at peace; on foreign shores...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">one more angel fallen from the sky...</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">my name is Emmett Guerin...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I've been a ghost these many years...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">I once turned my hands to the guitar;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">sang away my doubts and fears...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">but life don't read like a story, shame...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">all those young dream came undone...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">my world changed the day that I exchanged;</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">the guitar for the gun.</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">my name is Emmett Guerin, and I hope to live on...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">in the legends of my loved ones...</span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">the songs of my sister's son.</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large"> ...this song has a couple of factual inaccuracies, the result of faulty </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large">memory, family stories not properly retained... Emmett was indeed an aspiring guitarist, and volunteered for the First Special Service Force, a crack combined unit of both U.S. and Canadian commandos used to spearhead offensives and take on 'suicide missions'. One in five hundred men made the cut. Emmett was one of those. He did not get shot down while parachuting into Italy, as I recalled from family lore, he was mortally wounded by machine gun fire on 'the road to Rome'. My mother always maintained that it was Emmett that came pounding on the door in East City one night. She was coming down the stairs and had flung the door open in short order. to find no one there. There was, however, no snow on the ground; as it was springtime. The date and time was later confirmed when the local priest came to deliver the news some time (days, weeks?) later. </span></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><span class="font_large"> I grew up fiercely proud of my 'war hero' uncle whom I had never met' but as an older, wiser man; I sure do wish he had survived that great global tragedy and been here to show me my first few chords on the guitar. "...and so it goes...", I suppose. love to all, d.</span></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61915792020-01-28T12:30:32-05:002020-01-28T12:30:32-05:00Ageless Lullaby<p><span class="font_large"><strong>too ra loo ra loo ra... que sera...sera...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>I don't know just where you are... </strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>so I'll wish upon a star...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>somewhere asleep in my soul... there rocks a lullaby...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>it's cradled like a baby, in my memory...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>and it still brings a tear to my eye...</strong></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>even now, when I'm all grown up and 'wise'...</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>and I've had children of my own</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I hugged them and I held them, kissed the tears from their eyes...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>still, at times I feel lost and alone...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and I've heard that somewhere, over the rainbow...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>bluebirds soar high the in the sky...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and if dreams do come true, I'll sing again for you...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>when we meet, in 'that sweet bye and bye'</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>until then, I'll sing too...ra ..loo ...ra ...loo ra...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and recall my mother's eyes...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>whatever will be, will be...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>(thank god the future's not ours to see)</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>still there's strength... in those old lullabyes...</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>...the last song on the first (eponymous) compact disc recording...featuring the lovely pedal steel guitar of Dennis Delorme (Prairie Oyster's resident musical master, and an old friend and inspiration... he and Dennis Pendrith, bassist exraordinaireand I once joked we should form a trio and call it '3D'... now, that would be a treat for a fellow such as myself; but unlikely in the 'real world').</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b> this song is dedicated to my own mother, Marion (Guerin) O'Toole, who, along with her brother Emmett raised a large family of younger siblings when they were orphaned while still in their teens. Emmett went on to become a member of the First Special Service Force. Perhaps 'The Ballad of Emmett Guerin' should be the next lyric to be presented in this collection of poetry and memories. He was an 'East City' boy, who had a keen interest in music and the guitar in particular. Emmett died in Italy, cut down by German machine gun fire.</b></span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61846412020-01-27T18:13:57-05:002020-01-27T18:13:57-05:00Two small poems... to 'bookend' The Boon of Memory<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I don't know where to start... </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">nothing is as it seems</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I will hold you in my heart... </span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">hope to see you in my dreams...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> I wrote these lines twelve years ago to the day... the morning after my son Kyle William O'Toole left this plane and planet. The beginning of the 'new normal' as his mother would often refer to the strange surreal state of bereaved parenthood. Our only child, though she did a fine job of being a 'step parent' to my daughter Willow (no easy task for anyone) in the times that 'reasonable access' saw both my children under the same roof; and continues to be part of the lives of Willow and her two children, son Rayne and daughter Celeste. Try as we may (and we did) our marriage and relationship did not survive. " and so it goes", I suppose. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">I kissed my one blood son goodbye</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">in a failed attempt to revive him</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">many's the tear has crossed my eye</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;">in my efforts to survive him...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"> these two little poem do indeed 'bookend' the lyric to 'The Boon of Memory'. I'm amazed at times, the amount of lyric and poetry that I've retained, both on paper and in my head, though I sure do wish I had been better organised (and I'm trying to implement a degree of archival organization in this 'blog' experiment). There are many notebooks and journals in storage, and I guess I'd be wise to 'back up' this whole experiment as well. I've posted these little poems to facebook and gotten a fair bit of response in the last day or two... I'm not sure just how I feel about that whole approach; or if I should be wearing my heart on my sleeve ( a broken one at that) on social media...but... I'm a writer, a singer/songwriter; and hoping to finally get comfortable with performing in public once again.c...comfortable... well, at least 'able'; the 'comfort' factor is yet to be sorted out. I mentioned in a 'FB' post that I had come up with the title 'Agoraphobic Folk' (for a separate page dedicated to music and poetry , archival footage and photos etc.) in part as a self deprecatory 'jibe' at the fellow who was so prone to tears when unearthing emotion... ('perpetual emotion';as the song goes...)... well.. I'm working on that. </span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61845042020-01-27T17:44:20-05:002020-01-27T17:44:20-05:00The Boon of Memory<p><strong><span class="font_large">I suppressed a shiver, as I watched the wild geese take wing</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">I prayed to the river, to send me a song I could sing...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">blue in the face, of autumn ablaze...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">struck by the sadness of the shortened days...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">brought to my knees, by the majesty manifest to me.</span></strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">I often go walking, seeking some solace, serenading myself with my songs;</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">wonder, devotion; poetry and emotion weave patterns that carry me on...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">how I long to believe, in these autumn days;</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">when just like the leaves, I get blown away...</span></strong></p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">rolling and tumbling, stumbling and fumbling for rhyme...</span></strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong><span class="font_large">I was raised on this river; I've lived on both banks;</span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I often return here, to stroll and give thanks</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I walked these paths with my father, and as father to my son...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>how I long to lay here, when my race is run...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>won't you scatter my ashes, where the current passes the bridge...</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I stood stock still and I shivered; as I watched the wild geese at wing...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I gave thanks to my river, for the gift of this song I can sing...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>and for the 'boon of memory'; though at times it brings pain;</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>what would we do without it; to replay again and again</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>nursing our history, keeping our lost loves alive...</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I was raised on this river; I've lived on both banks;</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I'll often return here, to stroll and give thanks...</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>I walked these paths with my father; and as father to my son;</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>how I long for to join them, when my race is run;</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>won't you scatter my ashes, where the current passes the bridge?</b></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>...scatter my ashes...</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span style="font-size: 16.8px;"><b>...'the boon of memory', indeed... at times a mixed blessing, but priceless nonetheless. I wrote this song somewhere in between the next two bits of poetry (?)... the two major blocks of my life spent on either side of the Otonabee river at the London Street footbridge and hydroelectric dam (pictured on the cover shot of the first cd recording (photo credit Wayne Eardley, Brookside Studio). As a young man on the east side, as a grown man on the west. I no longer live within easy reach of my river and bridge, and often meet folks who say they miss hearing me play guitar as I would walk the spaniels. One day, I met a young man walking a Husky cross we were familiar with, and said: "Hello, Cortez" (to the dog), and "But you're not Dave..." to the young man, who was indeed not Dave, Cortez' regular companion (and a Neil Young fan)... he responded with: "You must be Old Man River..."... well... (and I was some years younger than I am now).</b></span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>I </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61841422020-01-27T17:32:10-05:002020-01-27T17:32:10-05:00Willie on the Wind <p>my people always thought I was old for my age...always dreaming... they took me for strange... <br>I heard your song of Crowfoot; and I shared his tears of rage... <br>I heard the demons scream out on the buffalo range... </p>
<p>oh, Willie; what you done to me then... opened my ears and eyes so very wide... <br>oh, Willie... is it gone with the wind? ...why must men always be drawing sides? </p>
<p>it seems to me we had our chance to live in harmony... <br>some always succumb to greed when comes the time to share... <br>some would sooner steal than dance... and praise nature's symmetry... </p>
<p>oh, Willie...what you done to me then... opened my ears and eyes so very wide... <br>oh, Willie... is it gone with the wind?... why must men always be drawing sides? </p>
<p>I stood upon the western streets...saw the sorrow in the people's lives... <br>I knew I bore the weight of my forefather's sins... <br>saw the echoes of defeat at the hands of the 'black robes' and 'long knives'... <br>they may be my blood, they are no longer my kin... </p>
<p>oh, Willie... what you done to me then... opened my ears and eyes so very wide... <br>oh, Willie... is it gone with the wind?... why must men always be drawing sides? </p>
<p>my people always thought I was old for my age... always dreaming... they took me for strange... <br>when I heard your song of Crowfoot... I shared his tears of rage... <br>I heard the demons scream... out on the buffalo range... </p>
<p>oh, Willie... what you done to me then... opened my ears and eyes so very wide... <br>oh, Willie... is it gone with the wind? ... and why must men still be drawing sides? <br>oh, Willie... Willie Dunn, my friend... when you sing Crowfoot and Dan George dance again! <br>('Willie on the Wind') </p>
<p>they keep talking and taking... until there ain't nothin' there... </p>
<p>...well... I' not sure how the last line of the second verse ended up on the bottom f the page, but there it is, and there it shall remain, I guess. This \blog' thing is very new to me; and I'm learning as I go. My keyboard skills are minimal (even worse on the piano), and I'll try to correct my mistakes before I hit 'share', but there's bound to be errors. This song (above) is the result of an epiphany I had while skipping grade school and watching CBC's 'Take Thirty' programme ( I refuse to spell 'American', by the way) many years ago... maybe grade eight, as we were still in the little war time house on Ross St, in East City; the old B&W TV got one channel only. Paul Soles and Adrienne Clarkson (later to become Governor General) introduced a young firebrand by the name of Willie Dunn; and he sang his 'Ballad of Crowfoot' (made into Canada's first true music video in collaboration with the NFB). It literally tore the top of my head off; and suddenly playing the guitar and singing held possibilities far beyond my limited scope at the time. The song itself took many years t finally come about, and I had tracked Willie Dunn down in Ottawa when I was up that way attending college to learn the farrier's trade (horseshoeing). I don't recall much of that afternoon's visit; other than he was gracious and encouraging. I suppose I sang him a few of my songs, but this one was not yet birthed. Years later I put up sound for he and Willie Thrasher at Trent University's Wenjack Theatre ; a remarkable (if somewhat poorly attended) performance . (both Willie Thrasher and Willie Dunn can be found online) Willie Dunn first brought Charlie ('Chaney) Wenjack's story to the public in song long before Gord Downie lent his talents to the tale. Some time later, (the lyric more or less complete, ) I found Willie Dunn online and asked if he would like to have the as yet unrecorded lyric. He didn't get back to me, and I assumed he chose not to. It was some time after that his widow Liz Moore contacted me to say he had passed, and she was going through his emails, contacting folks he had not gotten back to. <br>Since then , Liz and I have exchanged letters and email, and have had a visit or two when I was in her area. I was pleased to have her respond favourably to not just this song, but others as well. We have become friends, and I value her insight and opinion. I'm never sure how First Nations folks will react to my music or my interest in their issues, but hope that presenting as a sincere ally will stand me in good stead. As mentioned, I'm Irish/Canadian, through and through. But as such, I'm well aware of the historical impact of British Colonialism; the ethos upon which this land was built (stolen). This little song is written from the perspective of that young man, who got more history out of one fellow singing a song than he ever did in school. An 'epiphany', indeed; and the start of a lifelong avocation to try and make 'music that matters', however many wrong turns may have occurred to get to the point I am at today. I can only hope that there remains sufficient time to leave my mark. love to all, d.</p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61841412020-01-27T17:31:36-05:002020-01-27T17:31:36-05:00Red River Blues <p>we all now women don't just 'disappear'... it's a fact that they're 'out there' somewhere... <br>some sleeping restless, in a shallow grave... a semblance of 'justice' all that's left to crave... <br>mothers, daughters, aunts and sisters, too... what would you do? <br>what would you do?... if they were kin to you? </p>
<p>I sense a choir of voices falling on deaf ears.... an oh, so distant drumbeat, a new 'trail of tears'... <br>a highway of heartache cutting through the land... broken promises sifting through empty hands... <br>some lost to 'herstory', but for DNA... tell me, who's looking for them, anyway? <br>what would you do? what would you do?... if they were blood to you? </p>
<p>I'll cry on the shoulder of your 'Highway of Tears'... listen for ghost whispers, in my inner hear... <br>we all know women don't just disappear... they haunt the hidden hills and hollows out there... <br>some lost to herstory, but for their DNA... tell me, who's looking for them, anyway? <br>what can we do?.. what can we do?... surely, they\re all our sisters, too </p>
<p>this small square of moose hide, that I wear... shows I stand at your side, as a man; I care... <br>I'll sing to break the silence, and as my own prayer... to end the cycle of violence; <br>to women and children everywhere... what can you do? (you ask me) what can you do? <br>well, you could wear one, too. </p>
<p>we all know women don't just disappear... it's a fact that they're out there, somewhere... <br>still sleeping restless in their shallow graves... some semblance of justice all that's left to crave... <br>some lost to herstory but for DNA... and just who's looking for them, anyway? <br>now I hear that they're dragging the Red River; looking for kin, looking for clues... <br>smudging cedar, sweetgrass and sage; singing 'the Red River Blues'... <br>(highway of heartache... highway of tears... Red River Blues...) </p>
<p>...well... above is the lyric (more or less) to the song 'Red River Blues' that appears below in the 'listening band' (shall we call it that?)... this is not the version from the recording, but rather the arrangement that Sherine Cisco put to the very powerful video she constructed for the song long before cousin Michael P. O'Toole recorded the take that appears on 'Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel' I enjoy the addition of the keyboards, and hope that the video will remain on YouTube for a long time to come. It is of course, Serine's property; and as such subject to her wishes. One might find minor discrepancies in the printed lyric; but I consider songs to be fluid works in progress, and as such are apt to change from recording to performance, day to day. The reference to 'this small square of moosehide' is a tip of the hat to www.moosehidecampaign.ca ; the grassroots organization formed in B.C. some years back yo raise awareness of issues of violence towards women and children; not just in First Nations, but everywhere. One day, (October 04th, 2016?) I came out of PCVS (the artsy high school here in my hometown, where I was employed as a Child and Youth Worker (CYW) to find a demonstration/event transpiring in the park adjacent to the school grounds. First Nations drummers and dancers, speakers and prayers. I was given the small square of moosehide to pin on my old doeskin bush coat, where I wore it for a long time. Now it resides on my favourite guitar strap; a woven wedding sash that my friend Rob Roy gifted me after returning from teaching in the kingdom of Bhutan years ago. I would encourage one and all to check out the www.moosehidecampaign.ca site. I've offered them this song; but have had no real response. I'm just putting the songs 'out there'; what becomes of them beyond that is anyone's guess, I guess. <br>I come from pretty solid Irish stock; and as such, have my own take on 'Colonialism'; but it seems high time (and then some) that we as Canadians, come to terms with the treatment of our indigenous peoples. Our history texts most certainly do not reflect the bloodshed and broken promises; yes, the genocide; upon which this land of ours was built. I'll share a snippet from my tribute to the late, great Willie Dunn ('Willie on the Wind'); activist; playwright, film maker, singer/songwriter and true Canadian: (check his work out, folks!)... </p>
<p>"I stood upon the western streets and saw the sorrow of the people's lives... <br>I knew I bore the weight of my forefather's sins... <br>saw the echoes of defeat at the hands of the 'black robes' and 'long knives'... <br>they may be my blood.. they are no longer my kin..." (love to all, d.)</p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61841402020-01-27T17:30:57-05:002020-01-27T17:30:57-05:00An Ounce of Possession; A Pound of Flesh<p> ... Satan sneered and said " I've sure got something special for you, brother..." <br>... he had whisky in one hand, and cocaine in the other... <br>... I stuttered out the strains of some old sacred song; tried to start a cigarette... <br>... said: "I don't intend to stay too long with 'friends' I can't trust yet..." </p>
<p>... I called on Jesus, just to jam the airwaves for a while... <br>... Satan's voice grew softer, broke into a sinful smile... <br>... said: "Don't go asking favours of Him you chose to refuse... <br>... it's time to pay the piper, now... you're gonna hear some blues!..." </p>
<p>... I stood whisky-whipped, broken and stripped; of every ounce of human pride... <br>... I should have seen it comin' when my first woman up and walked away from my side... <br>... but I wanted my dreams, and now it seems some of them are comin' true... <br>... I wake up from hellish nightmares, and the 'real world' is just as blue... ( oh, so blue...) </p>
<p>... I cried: "Satan, show some mercy; take that cold hand off my arm... <br>... I couldn't feel no worse, you can't do me no more harm... <br>... my fever couldn't grow no higher, were you to heap on the coal... <br>... I've nothing you desire, now... that woman stole my soul!... ( oh, my soul...) </p>
<p>... so pack up all your whorish trappings, take your business someplace else... <br>... don't hang around to see what happens; I can take my own pulse... <br>... I owe the Good Lord a few apologies; it's high time I looked Him up... <br>... hat in hand, down upon my knees; spare me this bitter cup..." </p>
<p>... Satan laughed at me; and said: "We'll see..." - vanished in a cloud of smoke... <br>... left me wondering if feeling 'free' was some sort of unholy joke... <br>... when out of the night, a shaft of light; broke upon me, warm and kind... <br>... and a voice said: ..."Son... there's no harm done... take your time... and make your own mind..." </p>
<p>...well... the lyric to "An Ounce of Possession; a Pound of Flesh"... a little cryptic apocalyptic ditty from the old days on Vancouver's 'Lower East Side'... playing the dives for the junkies, hookers and pimps... before crack cocaine hit big and heroin (and booze, of course) reigned supreme... leaflets nailed to back alley posts that read: "There is more to life than needles, jails, and pills..." ... the band was called "Stand and Deliver!"; after the old highwayman call... not strictly autobiographical, of course; but you get the drift... yet another instance of making it through dire circumstance with " a clear cut case of more luck than brains..."... (sometimes I think that is the story of my life...)... Christmas in the Blackstone Hotel, where the elevator opened to my floor and a blood red inscription on the wall facing declared: "KKK RULES!"... the irony of being involved with three women whose names all stared with the letter "K" not being entirely lost on yours truly... the setting for the short story that salvaged an English credit at a later college situation: "Fuck Christmas, Carol!"... but that, of course; is 'another story'. <br>This song can (can't?) be found on the 1990 'O'Toole and Friends- Live at Artspace'; which will be 're-released' at some point when my ever so helpful producer pal (and bassist in the 'Assassin's Hotel Orchestra') Andy Pryde gets around to running the original tapes through whatever digital re-mastering gear of the moment. Eventually those songs (and lyrics) will show up on this page. The song came to me the other night like a succubus in the shadows... so I thought I'd 'share'. love to all, d.</p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61540902020-01-23T12:39:59-05:002020-01-24T17:17:50-05:00The Wind in Willow's Hair...<p><span class="font_large">from a child to a woman, she's more than passing fair</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with laughter like music, and a smile so rare</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's magic of morning, the lark in the clear air</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sure, it's breath of the angels; the wind in Willow's hair...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's echoes of Erin, running in your blood...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">a taste of the gypsy's bare feet in the mud;</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's 'luck of the Irish' that you're even here...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">as though I've been granted one fine wish; the wind in Willow's hair</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">so walk with me, darlin'... 'neath this twilit sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">knowing we need not always see eye to eye...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">there's a bond between us, that time cannot break...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and nothing I would not attempt for your sake.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">if I am blessed with the grace of old age</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">I may be hard pressed to appear wise or sage</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">you may see me shiver, as into time I stare...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">remembering the river... the wind in Willow's hair.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">so waltz with me darlin'...'neath this starlit sky</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">knowing we need not always see eye to eye</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">the bond that's between us; time cannot break</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and there's nothing I would not attempt for your sake...</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">from a child to a woman, she's more than passing fair...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">with laughter like music, and a smile so rare...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">it's magic of morning, the lark in the clear air...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">sure it's breath of the angels; the wind in Willow;s hair.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">...well... maybe this is the lyric to launch this whole enterprise with... I wrote this song in my sleep, many years ago. Willow and I had been canoeing on the Pigeon River, northwards from Omemee on a 'reasonable access' weekend ('reasonable' was always a bit of a misnomer) and I had delivered her back to her mother and had a rare afternoon nap. I woke from a dream wherein I was seeing my hands play the chords, and the lyric came as fast as I could put it to page. The only song I ever recorded with my late pal Lee Morgan (on the kit, Brian Wakelin on guitar, J.P. Hovercraft on bass, George Bertok on keys? and to date the only song recorded and engineered by James McKenty, very early on in his career). That version is somewhere...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large"> I had the great pleasure of dancing the first dance with Willow at her wedding some years later (to that recording); and when asked to play a tune at her graduation from her hair stylist program last year, Mr. Fiorio (the fellow behind the Fiorio chain of salons in Toronto) raved about it and exclaimed: "I must do something with this!"... well, we'll see what comes of that, but cousin Michael P. O'Toole and I recorded a simple version of it yesterday, and if the original turns up, I'll send him both. Much has gone missing in my life, but I am blessed to have my daughter and grandchildren. This lyric is me waxing 'Irish', I guess... 'the lark in the clear air' references a book from my father's library that I kept for years and never got around to reading. Maybe it will turn up as well, someday. Recorded on my old Guild nylon string guitar (yesterday), a finger picked rendition; also a departure for me. love to all, d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61527532020-01-23T11:43:58-05:002020-01-23T11:43:58-05:00...still working on it...<p><span class="font_large">... well... still working on this whole thing... as mentioned; any revious work should show up in the 'comment' section, and I'll either re-visit that;or just let it slide and start 'fresh'...bear with me; this is a 'bear', indeed. love to all, (my usual adios) d.</span></p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/61525692020-01-23T11:19:19-05:002020-01-23T11:37:40-05:00left hand side of the learning curve...January 23rd/2020<h4><span style="color:#000000;">Welcome friends... I started to 'blog' last week; but my efforts ended up in the 'comments' area as opposed to a proper posting, so here we go again...</span></h4>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>dennis O'Tooletag:dennisotoole.ca,2005:Post/58756612019-08-30T14:44:28-04:002020-09-18T07:39:12-04:00Welcome to my blog...<p> dennis O'Toole has been writing and performing original songs for decades in various genres and formats while staying active in solo, duo and band work in nightclub and concert venues. Having come up through the rough and tumble world of 'honky-tonk' music, his first recording (supported by a F.A.C.T.O.R. grant) was in 1987 with his C&W dance band 'Bandanna!". </p>
<p> Four 'Independent' collections of original material later, O'Toole's music has wound through 'folk-rock' to settle into the 'singer/songwriter 'Canadianna' ( it's 'roots'. but not 'Americanna;, by any means) genre that he describes as ' songs I wrote or wish I had'. The 'wish I had' component includes material from such northern luminaries as David Wiffen, Ian Tamblyn, Willie P. Bennett, Ron Hynes, Cris Cuddy, Michael Behnan and Buzz 'Mr. Soul' Thompson. Whether playing with his talented cousin Michael P. O'Toole on acoustic lead guitar or solo, dennis O'Toole delivers heartfelt, compelling and relevant lyric in powerful performance. </p>
<p>His latest release 'Lone Gunman at the Assassin's Hotel' attests to the success of said undertaking.</p>dennis O'Toole