I returned from CAL's West Coast tour of Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon in a strange state of psychic confusion. My spirit still fluctuates strangely between exhaustion and invigoration. The tour itself was a wonderful experience. I rode in the cargo van with the only other smoker, our road manager and bass player J.B. The epitome of the gentle giant, he is a loping Disney-Dog of a man, full of love, honour and quiet joy. He had never been to British Columbia before and was constantly uttering exclamations at the beauty of the land and seascapes: "Jeeze! My EYES have hard-ons!"
An exceptionally strong line-up performed some of the best DSOTM shows CAL has ever done. The western market is a new one, and some of the houses were a little light. While the audiences began their evenings appreciative, they were truly ecstatic by albums end, and returned from intermission to the second set eager to voice their enthusiasm, singing and clapping along. That week we were riding pretty high on well deserved pride.
An emotional roller coaster ride, indeed. Or perhaps a water slide. Poorly planned, the tour had us taking ferries to the island, back to the mainland, across to the island again, and finally back to the mainland for the last two shows. As the boat kept sailing past my beloved Saltspring Island, I was overcome with homesick nostalgia. The few occasions I was busted with glistening cheeks or smudged mascara, it was easy to blame the frigid winds on deck.
At most of the venues, I was privileged to be reunited with some of the oldest and closest friends from my formative years on the Island. I might have lost touch with them entirely had it not been for-I've said it before and I'll say it again-the miracles of internet, Google, Facebook. Twenty years multiplied by three-thousand miles equals emotional disconnection, but not in these cases. People move in, out or through our lives, and who always remain? These most important first friends between whom three decades can pass and only feel like three years. So much love! Nothing had changed. In fact, the love had only grown with time. This was a wonderful discovery, a gift to take back with me to the place I must out of necessity now call home.
The afternoon of our last show in North Vancouver was particularly poignant. Since childhood, my Western brother and I have remained estranged despite several attempts on my part over the years to establish some kind of rapport.
As a young man he was arrogant and judgmental to the point of cruelty. As a result, he alienated most of the family. Now, with his best days behind him, he is burdened with unrealized aspirations and unresolved resentments. My sister says he is trying to connect but it's been so long. He doesn't know how, and at this point no one really cares anymore. A sad example of the 'too little, too late' dilemma.
Nothing remains of the 'Golden-Boy'. His complexion is wan and ashen and he hunches over tenting fingers. My heart broke at the sight of him, cracked like a spring thaw and broke wide open. Year of bitterness rushed forth in a torrent, replaced by wonderful feelings of compassion, forgiveness, pity and yes, I'll admit, some schadenfreude. I'm only human.
Despite my ambivalence toward him, I‘ll be the first to admit in his defense, that he has been great to our Mum. He is always willing and available to ferry her anywhere, a trip to the art supply store or countless visits to doctors. An afternoon outing will bring her utmost joy, as was the case on this particular afternoon, when he brought her to soundcheck at the theatre to meet me.
The dowager thespian entered the theatre. It was a new structure, rebuilt on the site of the old North Vancouver theatre in which she preformed many times decades before. I led her across the stage, through the wings and down the stairs to take a seat out in the house. She was like a little sparrow in my hands, as fragile as a dried flower yet still as beautiful. She gleefully regaled me with tales of productions past, until it was time for me to check my mike. The band was gracious enough to indulge me, and they began the opening strains of my solo from the show: ”The Great Gig In The Sky”
And so I sang.
It is a piece of music that is not only considered one of the most technically challenging of the contemporary canon, but one that is emotionally difficult as well.
For a brother who’s love and approval I sought most of my life in vain, and my mother and friend nearing the end of her life, I sang a piece of music that expresses the anguish of death, and ultimately, a peaceful ascent to heaven.
I sang for the only two people to whom it would ever really matter.
I sang the shit out of it! I’d never been more proud of myself, or the people it is my privilege to work with. My mother was so happy.
I was no longer needed for the rest of the afternoon. My brother suggested we grab a coffee, but not before we took a tour of the old neighbourhood. I had forgotten until this moment that my family had lived in North Vancouver long before I was born. These were far more affluent times than I had known, and the old house was impressive. The landscaping was particularly stunning, and I was told my dear late father had planted most of the trees, shrubberies and hedgerows some fifty years before. I left the car to quickly pick a branch from a towering bay-laurel.
Of course our visit together in the café had to end sooner than I hoped. When I said goodbye to my mother that Christmas before, I resolved myself to the possibility that I might never see her again. This last hour was one of the greatest gifts the Gods could have ever bestowed upon me. I hope the beauty and gravitas of the situation wasn’t lost on my brother.
I was fortunate to have a few hours alone to process the many conflicting emotions brought on by our final farewell.
That night, I rested the laurel branch on the monitor at my feet, a private, loving totem, and waved it in salutation to my family during the introductions at album’s end. Later when I told my niece it had been nurtured by her “Grandgrass” her eyes welled with tears of love.
My niece-my sister’s daughter-is fairly close to me in age, and we have always been good friends. I had only met my nephew-my brother’s son-that Christmas, but we’d been acquainted through Facebook for a few years before meeting in person. He is a stunningly beautiful boy, and a gifted singer/songwriter. He brought a very strange and wonderful surprise for me that night. A good Toronto friend moved to Vancouver several years before and met my nephew in an acting class. They bonded over our rare last name, discovered they had me in common, and in the years that followed, became fast friends. Truly a small and surreal world. I was thrilled to see him.
My niece brought several friends to the show, and afterward we all went for drinks in a nearby pub. It was a large table, loud with laughter. We held out as long as we could, until it was obvious the waiting staff were growing impatient. We spent at least thirty minutes in the parking lot exchanging farewells over and over again. This will always remain one of the most magical, happiest nights of my life. It was a fitting end to a wonderful trip.
My sister’s absence was the only unfortunate blight on an otherwise perfect experience, but this is a story for another time. I love her profoundly and unconditionally. No harm passed between us, I was just sad to have missed her.
So, in many ways, this return to Vancouver in April is the end of an odyssey that began a few months ago, on my visit to Vancouver last Christmas. It had been decades since I spent any time with my sister and her daughters, with whom I had been very close growing up. It seemed that in moving across this vast country, I unintentionally severed all ties with my past. All this time I had been drifting from year to year with no real sense of connection, of identity, lineage. Despite having uncovered a few painful memories from my youth, and the realization that my mother is dying, nevertheless, I feel this is the beginning of a time of great happiness. I have a family, again. I have a past. Only with a connection to the past, can we truly move forward into the future. For the first time in decades, I see nothing but great possibilities ahead...
