got medicines, cure all y'all's ills,
I got remedies of every description
Around the corner on Rue Montclam there stood a two hundred year old farmhouse that had been engulfed by the city. The rustic stone structure was perfectly preserved but now squeezed in between the backside of our rundown tenement and another big old apartment on the other side.
The place was occupied by a performance artist/dancer named Alfred North and an erogenous creature named Nijinski who was introduced as his 'wife'. Alfred was small and waif thin but he walked tall and he was imposing; almost frightening. He had a lean craggy face with piercing, hypnotic eyes and a long jet black beard. Every movement was like a dance as if planned and choreographed.
Nijinski was a youthful boy, maybe sixteen, but he believed himself to be a she. He/she was excessively effeminate to the point of being an exaggerated caricature of a 'cupcake' wife; a spoilt, high strung woman who shrieked and cried at every little thing. However, the two of them seemed to have a strong marriage.
Alfred spoke with such fervour, such conviction - it seemed that everything he spoke of was “incredible!”
Alfred took an “incredible” liking to us. He loved that we were “incredibly” dedicated to our art form. Perhaps he saw our lifestyle as our art form and perceived us to be “incredible” performance artists like himself.
The North’s invited us over for marijuana tea. We sat around their living room in the two hundred year old farmhouse and listened as Alfred spoke to us of “incredible” art, creativity and discovery. He directed Nijinski to play us an old 78 RPM record by Charlie Chaplin. In addition to being a legendary comedian from the silent film era, Chaplin was also a composer and conductor. We heard a song called, Sing A Song; a kind of ragtime pre-swing type number from the nineteen twenties that caught our attention. They played many such songs that afternoon.
Inspired by the sound, John, Lindsay and Geoff wrote a little ditty called, Steal Away:
Would you like to steal away on a star with me?
We can sail away forever, immediately,
We can sail into the sun, never to return,
Oh, would you like to steal a-way?
The lyrics reflected the very adventure that we were embarked on; to leave behind the lives that we knew and disappear into our future. The music was a very simple swing feel. It was built around John’s piano – it started sparingly but built, during the song, into a crescendo of pounding boogie-woogie backed by my Chicago shuffle beat, Steve‘s walking bass and Lindsay‘s strong jazz chording.
We found an ancient Wurlitzer electric piano in Archambault Music on Rue Ste. Catherine that was ideal for the musical style that was fast consuming us. Lindsay was playing a Gibson J-45 acoustic guitar almost exclusively now and my drum kit had reduced to a kick drum, snare drum and hi-hat. I also incorporated a cow-bell, woodblock and other tidbits of wood and metal percussion. We began to write and rehearse night and day in the basement of the farmhouse on Montcalm.
The only hazard was the occasional spider. Steve lifted a furry black wolf spider off my back one day that was bigger than his hand. When I was a kid I had no fear of spiders but my sister used to go insane when one galloped across the carpet and that spooked me too.
The next composition was Harry Schwartz. The lyrics were all Geoff:
I met a girl today,
I took her to the bay,
And there I heard her say.
You’re leading me astray,
Don’t break my heart I pray,
Please tell me that you’ll stay.
I love you,
Yes I do,
Simple ‘cos you’re you.
I love you,
Yes I do, yes I do.
And if you tell me that you feel the same,
I’ll change your name to mine,
And you’ll be stuck with Harry Schwartz.
Hairy Shorts!?
Harry Schwartz!
She didn’t seem to mind,
She wasn’t even sad,
But she said I’d find.
That I’d have to wait,
To find a perfect mate,
With a name like mine.
After what she said,
I went home to bed,
And did it on my own.
I took myself aside,
Looked past my wounded pride,
And I was still alone
There was more of the chorus, “I love you, yes I do, simply ‘cos you’re you” and another query, “Hairy Shorts!?” which was screamed out by the whole band and then answered correctly by Geoff, “Harry Schwartz!” Lindsay had acquired an antique mandolin and he used it well in this little swing tune. I played brushes and then switched over to sticks when we got into the long tag section with everyone singing the chorus in unison and Lyn’s fingers dancing over the inlaid fret board of that old mandolin.
Lindsay and John also wrote an instrumental for the mandolin titled, Muskrat Rumble. This was a jumpin’ bluegrass two-step with a catchy melody. Each verse became faster and faster until it collapsed into itself and left musicians and dancers in a heap on the floor.
Then came a classic Geoff song with music by John and Lindsay, Candy Man. Taken literally, the lyrics were especially offensive even for us:
Hey kids, do you really know about candy?
It’s mmmmm good and it’s plenty dandy.
Would you like to try it?
Then go to Candyland
And ask for the Candy Man - That’s me.
After a chorus and another verse Geoff got into character and spoke the rest:
Hey little boy ...
Why don’t you get in my car and we’ll go for a little ride,
Maybe eat some ice cream - candy - mmmmm.
Uh oh! Here come the man!
We’d better split!
If we played this song today we probably would be arrested or lynched or both but Geoff delivered this song as if Geoff himself was the kid and the Candy Man was in fact a dope dealer looking to attract a new customer.
Geoff and Jocelyn had managed to stay straight during our trip but they were thinking about scoring quite a bit at that time. Living in extremely close quarters, the rest of us would have known if they had found a heroin connection in Montreal. Geoff teased himself by shooting up other drugs like diet pills and even Aspirin. One night we all let him shoot us up with LSD. The roller coaster car climbing the hill and then plunging down the other side beginning to most acid trips was replaced by a new beginning - like getting shot out of a cannon! The drug just exploded round my brain. There was no waiting your turn, no rounding go, no collecting two hundred dollars, I rocketed directly into space.
We decided that we were so tuned into each other that we could achieve telepathy. Inspired by our earlier composition, One Hand Clapping (That’s The Sound Of), we conceived a plan to test our powers. The five of us crammed into a dark closet and shut the door. It was so black in there that my stoned out eyes were bombarded by bright white starbursts and clusters of exotically colourful conflagrations. We all stood straight up with our backs to the walls. We