the back 40 _ NOT_top 40

the back 40 _ NOT_top 40
the beginning: 1970 : Rick Hutt, Nick Paterson, Jerome Jarvis, Bob Mahood, John Lowrie, (left the band shortly after this picture was taken)

from the U of W paper 1974

from the U of W paper 1974
U of W campus paper 1974 Rick (in shadowland) Dave Bob Jerome Nick Tom (pitzing the violin)

Poster Collage 6 pc Spott Farm: 1973-'75

Poster Collage 6 pc Spott Farm: 1973-'75
(Top-bottom L-R) Bob Mahood, Rick Hutt, Dave Scott, Jerome Jarvis, Tom Holmes, Nick Paterson

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Another Canadian Band Success Story

"If we hadn't split up when we did, we'd probably have gone down to California like Joni, or Neil or Steppenwolf and ended up overdosing on something."  Luke Gibson


 Luke's statement, in reference to his Dynamite 60's combo "Luke and the Apostles" is a refreshing perspective on what is "Success" in the music industry. In Canada, musicians feel lucky just to have a chance to play for a live audience. Just living through the experience is considered the pinnacle of achievement. 

In the winter/spring of  '70/'71 the Spott Farm band went through some hard times, living together on the farm. We were down to a quartet, Rick, Bob, Nick and Jerome and there were few gigs and no money. Our phone had been disconnected since we couldn't pay the overdue bill, so we had to walk a couple of miles down the dirt road to the highway and use the pay phone at the Greenbush Snack Bar to call our manager and see if there was a gig we needed to get ready for (no cell phones or internet in 1970, remember?) We were pretty much cut off from the rest of the world. 
 There was no more credit at the local grocery stores. Ritchie (the 1st manager) used to do all the food shopping for us on account. He'd come back with sacks of food now and then and we'd build mile-high sandwiches and feast like kings for a couple of days, after which it was raw turnips and tea. Since he'd left we were reduced to living on Lorne's leathery soy flour and brewer's yeast pancakes for breakfast (and again, cold for lunch) and brown rice for dinner with an egg or wieners thrown in now and then. 
Our heating oil bill was still in arrears from the previous winter, so the oil truck driver wouldn't deliver to us any more.
 We'd heard about a government plan to pay people to cut down the dutch elm diseased trees, so we chopped down the ones which grew down the hill from the farm house. It turned out we didn't know how to apply for the grant money; but at least we had plenty of firewood. All we had to do was buck it up (by hand, two guys on either end of the buck saw. We didn't have a chain saw.) Haul the logs out of the frozen swamp and up the hill, cut them into sections with a swede saw and split them into stove-sized chunks.  With nothing but an old franklin stove we managed to keep the kitchen warmish.
   We'd often have to close off the rest of the house, except for the kitchen and big bedroom above where we'd all sleep. Sleeping bags over the doorways kept the two rooms a bit cozy and the rest of the house would freeze. Unfortunately the water line ran from the barn where the pump was across the yard to the house and the pipes would freeze solid during the frequent cold snaps.
 It was Lorne who came up with the brilliant idea of building a second wood stove out of a 40 gallon drum laid on its side, lined with bricks, with a stove door welded to the front. It was big enough to take whole logs. This went into the commodious washroom (a converted bedroom, the house had been built before indoor plumbing) next to the practice room so we could play without mittens. Stove pipe snaked through the walls and ceiling, into two rooms upstairs and connected to the chimney. 
 Often the power would go out for days at a time, until the hydro linemen could work their way out to our sideroad and repair the line. We'd light candles and sing to each other with a powerless electric guitar. We didn't have an acoustic; but at least we got to work on our harmonies. 
 My grandmother sent me $100 for a Christmas gift and I donated it to the cause to buy us all long johns and winter gloves. 
 One of my most vivid memories from that winter is of returning home early in the morning during a blizzard after a weekend engagement. The sideroad had been plowed but the driveway was plugged by a six foot high wall of snow piled up by the snowplow. We grabbed our guitars and slogged up the drive through waist high snow drifts, leaving the truck with the rest of the gear by the side of the road. When we got to the house we remembered that we had used up all the firewood before leaving for the gig. Inside was as cold as the sub-zero outside. There was nothing for it but to head down the hill with the buck saw, wrestle some logs out of the frozen swamp, cut them into manageable lengths, lug them back up the hill, two men per log, and buck them into stove-sized pieces. Frozen elm splits very neatly, but won't burn worth a damn unless you have a blazing fire already going. Of course there was no kindling, so some old furniture was sacrificed for fire starter. Elm slabs were laid around the stove to thaw and steam while we filled buckets and pots with snow to melt so we could wash up and brew a pot of tea before collapsing into our beds between frosty sheets.
 Ever since that night I've felt fortunate and so very grateful to have survived the battle against the inhospitable elements. Any trace of mildness and comfort is welcome after having been a combatant in the war against uncaring nature. We endured so much hardship that winter that strong bonds of friendship and trust were forged between us, lasting for years after our situation had improved. 
 That New Years Eve, having no party to play at, we undertook to fast together, something none of us had tried before. It would become something of an annual tradition for us. We had no conception of this as a spiritual practice, it was just another austerity we could share, bringing us even closer. We felt that we were explorers of an inner landscape, learning new ways of being better humans and giving us more experience to bring to our music. Our goal was to turn our lives and music into a force for goodness, something we could be proud of sharing with the people who cared to listen to us.
 Merely having lived through those times feels like the height of success for me.
         
  
  

1 comment:

  1. A great story of survival Jerome. The extreme temperatures must have played havock on the instruments during that period as well the band members.

    I sooo remember those days living in the middle of the snowbelt. I remember the 20' snow banks on the side of #9 highway and the sideroads that were almost impossible to navigate. Shovelling snow from the snackbar driveway for 10 hours before dad bought the snowblower that only took 5 hours to clear the lot because it would break shear pins about once an hour. The snowplow would then drive along the highway and clog the entrance to the driveway.

    Funny story from that period involving Lorne. I remember my bedroom was in the front of the building directly above the snackbar. I was banging around on my drums while watching out the window for customers. (I had to stop playing when customers showed up.) I didnt see Lorne who had walked down and came in the snackbar. Dad and Lorne decided that it would probably be a better idea if i moved my drums out into the big truck repair shop. I did it right away and about an hour later I was playing along to Green Eyed Lady (on the record player...remember those?) Anyway, Lorne pops into the shop and listens for a couple of minutes till the song is over. He didnt look too impressed but he listened anyway. I'll never forget what he said before he left and it makes me smile when i think of it as i have many times over the years. He said "wow, you drum like i f@*k, all noise, no control" I can report that i did become a better drummer over the years but i never did forget Lornes assessment of my playing back then.

    I believe that I built that drumset from the blue (painted) bass drum (with flat black hoops) that you gave me. I might be wrong but i'm sure i got it from the farm around 1971.

    Cara

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