Mrs. Bardell faints in Mr. Pickwick’s Arms — Phiz (Halbot K. Browne) . . . courtesy of victorianweb.org

With everything else happening today, I almost forgot to wish Charles Dickens a happy 200th birthday. It was great to see In5Minutes devoted to Dickens in today’s Free Press. Northrop Frye once said Milton had a stock market career in the view of successive generations of critics, with his reputation rising & falling . . . the works never changed, just the critics’ tastes masquerading as objective ranking.

Dickens has had one of those up&down careers . . . his reputation seems to be about where it should be now, as one of the greatest novelists & a tireless champion of the truth. My favourite Dickens novels are Great Expectations and Our Mutual Friend . . . unless it’s The Pickwick Papers. Back in the MA days at Mac, JBNBlog unsuccessfully attempted to argue Pickwick Papers were what Frye would have called a comedy, with Pickwick at the centre of a joyous celebration. The correct answer was more on the lines of: picaresque & a farewell to the 18th-century.

My favourite Dickens villain is that weasel Harold Skimpole in Bleak House.

My favourite Dickens passage is this motto for life from the final pages of Pickwick:

There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast. Some men, like bats or owls, have better eyes for the darkness than for the light. We, who have no such optical powers, are better pleased to take our last parting look at the visionary companions of many solitary hours, when the brief sunshine of the world is blazing full upon them.

(Thanks to nowthatsodd.blogspot.com for typing this out & sparing JBNBlog the toil).

William Shatner as host is so clearly a joke (hahaha) it hardly matters the 2012 Junos are on April Fool’s Day. Maybe after Drake’s o-fer with the hardware as host in 2011, only Captain Kirk, clearly not a nominee in any category, was ready to beam up for the job.

Best wishes to Shatner as host & hope you can get to talksing some of yer own album with all those guitar gawd guests upon it as the evening unfolds up Ottawa way.

Less seriously, it doesn’t look like a banner year after a stellar 2011 (Caribou! Lara St. John! Shad! Meaghan Smith!) for London-tied acts at the Junos.

Based on a quick check of Tuesday’s noms, JBNBlog sees Arkells (Group of the Year, Rock Album), who have a London bass player (not sure); Terri Clark (Country Album) who lived here for a bit in the 1980s; Tafelmusik Baroque Orchestra (Classical Vocal or Choral Performance Album) with Oakridge (?) grad Charlotte Nediger on harpsichord (JBNBlog thinks) & maybe some other UWO-tied players; Good Lovelies with UWO grad Kerri Ough (Roots & Traditional: Group); the Jack Richardson Producer of the Year award (named for London icon Jack Richardson & hey k.d. lang is a nominee this year, go ms lang!); dunno if any of the Recording Engineer noms went to Fanshawe but Michael Phillip Wojewoda worked on Paisley Jura’s album & she went to UWO. So there. Slim pickings.

Not really grumping after last year’s four-for-four by the London music scene (as defined here). Did JBNBlog miss anybody in 2012?

Yeah, yeah, we know Justin Bieber is in there . . . but he really belongs to Stratford & he could ask the Shatman what is was like to be at the Festival when it was under the tent.

Once again, I have sad but not tragic news about our family. My beloved mother, Colleen Thibaudeau Reaney, died this morning at University Hospital. Mom was 86 & recovering from a stroke.

Her last hours were peaceful & quiet with a beautiful morning unfolding behind her. Thanks to everyone for their love & support. Mom knew you were there for her.

Mom would never agree when I called her “London’s greatest poet” — but she never told me to stop repeating the phrase. She had said to stopstopstop about some other details of her life, such as her gallant charge up to Irving Layton. The Montreal sage had sneered at academic poets (ie. my late father) just once too often at some reading in the 1960s. If that story of poet v. poet vs. poet isn’t quite true, it should be.

My sister in Vancouver remembered mom as the great one while we shared the news this morning. We thought of mom’s many greatnesses . . .poet, story-writer, soulmate, sister, daughter, in-law, community leader, NDP lifetime member, Acadian exile, wit, raconteur, letter-writer & much more.

Mom was/is London’s greatest poet (my dad always said so, too) & I am grateful to so many of her champions like Jean McKay, Stan Dragland, Richard Stingle & Peggy Roffey for helping me see her greatness.

Toward the end of her life, mom came to resemble both her parents . . . her scholarly, reserved & distinguished Markdale father Stewart and her dynamic, distinguished and extroverted Belfast mother Alice. She was born on Stewart’s birthday (Dec. 29) & he always said she was his best birthday present. (My parents were also married on Dec. 29, 1951.) Her mother was a brilliant bridge player & Elgin County’s most ferocious Liberal. Mom inherited neither passion. Mom & her mother argued about politics over the decades, CCF-NDP vs. Liberal, without truce or either asking for quarter . . . until they found a common foe, Brian Mulroney. Mom & grandma were delighted to discover they both detested the PM. They would still disagree . . . about which of the two worthies detested Mulroney more. Alice & Colleen, we miss you both!

The shock will have to wear off a bit more before I can recall Mom in truer detail. She was remarkably generous . . . here’s an anecdote from 2007 I complete forgot until this morning when our friend Mr. Google showed me how Mom’s generosity made her instantly identifiable, even if she were only being misidentified to her amusement as “an elderly lady.”

Mom, goodbye.

Image courtesy of silvertentacle.com

GROUP PRACTICE

OPERA.

–  Feb. 3, 1968

Bought Byrds Songbook

Church Bowling Party.

– Feb. 4, 1967

GROUP PRACTICE: 13456 SONG

GRAMPA REANEY FOR Dinner

ART LENT ME “ARE YOU EXPERIENCED?

– Feb. 4, 1968

For some reason, UPPER CASE-ITIS  took hold for a couple of early Februarys in a row. Was our group actually doing something  along the lines of an opera? Did I go to an opera . . .  we are going to UWOpera’s Die Fledermaus tonight. Should be great.

The numbers song on the group creativity list the next day is likely a reflection of our command of the chords . . . say C-Em-F-G-Am, played in a dreamy enough way the incantations of Chris Dewdney would have a home.

The borrowing of Are You Experienced from fellow Central student & occasional bandmate Art Tracy (Tracey?) did not melt away my rocklike conviction enjoying Jimi Hendrix would somehow weaken my adoration for Eric Clapton. Or betray him. Worship only one guitar god, only one, JBNBlog  . . . or else. Art was smarter or just more mature. He liked both Hendrix & Clapton.

Those Experienced songs or version of them still run around inside . . . “let me stand next to your fire” . . . “you will never hear surf music again” . . .  “manic depression is a frustrating mess”

*An occasional series based on a v. cryptic diary kept as a pen&ink forerunner to JBNBlog during the late 1960s, when our family lived in London, Stratford (parts of summers of 1966 & 1967), Victoria, B.C. (July 4, 1968-July 4, 1969) and then London again until June, 1970 when I was in Grade 13.

Mom is back in University Hospital, seventh floor, where she is recovering from a stroke she suffered earlier this week.

This is the same floor where Mom’s recovery from November’s stroke began. This time, her speech has also been affected & her frustration about that is even more apparent than last time. Physically, she is quite strong & able to use her walker which she took into the hospital after we had driven over from Windermere on the Mount.

While Mom & I waited together in one of the emergency’s  pods, two other mothers & their families (all friends of ours) were also being treated. Their kindness is greeting Mom & her happiness to hear from them touches me deeply. As does your continuing love & support & the care Mom received today.

I also take heart from Mom’s determination to sit up in bed, after putting her running shoes on, even if I know it is a concern to the nurses. As always, her spirit is strong & she inspires.

A really shiny image of the classic cover courtesy of rateyourmusic.com

Bought Chuck Berry’s Golden Decade.

– Feb. 2, 1968

Song Writing:

Doors one.

Finished words to “Cloudy Day”

– Feb. 2, 1969

Chuck Berry’s Golden Decade has perhaps the best three songs in a row of any album ever. Maybellene. Deep Feeling. Johnny B. Goode. They all sounded great on the basement turntable tonight. The other 21 songs over four sides aren’t bad either.

The only artistic knock on Chuck seems to be all his songs sounding the same . . . which isn’t true . . . Memphis doesn’t sound like any of these three . . . otherwise: his guitar is where it all starts, his singing is sly & hot . . . one of the legendary stage performers . . . & those words: Motorvating. Big old band. Coupe de Ville. Bumper to bumper.  Your name in lights.

Victoria, B.C.’s Black Light was at least the second rock  band of my youth to bow down to the Doors . . . in 1969, we were trying to write Doorsy originals while the 1968 Thermadrin 34 was rocking Huron St. with London’s answer to Jim Morrison, the young Chris Dewdney, leading us on that long walk on down the hall.

*An occasional series based on a v. cryptic diary kept as a pen&ink forerunner to JBNBlog during the late 1960s, when our family lived in London, Stratford (parts of summers of 1966 & 1967), Victoria, B.C. (July 4, 1968-July 4, 1969) and then London again until June, 1970 when I was in Grade 13.

Classic image by ace Free Press photographer George Blumson

You can see the determination in National Ballet of Canada founder Celia Franca as she strides into town on or about Jan. 11, 1965. My guess is its the old CN station. Could also be the old airport.

Anybody know where that background tunnel behind Ms Celia was/is?

Thanks in advance for any & all pointers, memories.

It was a treat to be asked to hand out some of the hardware (glassware?) at the 2012 edition of the Brickenden Awards, honouring  excellence in #ldnont theatre for 2011.

Here are 10 random moments from Monday’s ceremonies at the LPL’s Wolf Performance Hall to inspire JBNBlog & you about creativity in the Forest City as 2012 rolls along.

My favourite winner on the night was The Rez Sisters (Theatre Red & White) as Outstanding Youth Drama Production. Saw it at Saunders secondary school when playwright Tomson Highway was in the audience & it was my top theatre moment of 2011 (family-related productions not counted) . . . seeing its director Bill Hill and two of the amazing young women who played Highway’s seven sisters with their trophy was terrific. Go Rez Sisters.

The Brickendens do an excellent job getting nominees in the house & the winners on hand . . . this is something for those of us over at the Jack Richardson Music Awards to emulate.

Handing the Outstanding Supporting Actress award to former neighbour Deborah Mitchell (for Chicago) brought back memories of her offering a one-minute slice of 2008′s Les Belles Soeurs at the doorstep while I was strolling through the hood.

Among the regrets for shows missed in 2011 are Jeremy Hobbs’s The Hero (Bravest Production) and Jayson McDonald’s Underbelly (Outstanding Drama). From the brief summaries during fine acceptance speeches, it would appear these are ace additions to the great #ldnont bohemian theatre tradition which has flourished off & on for decades.

Presenting an award for outstanding supporting actor, Sarah White roused laughter by noting this year was a little different from previous presenter tours of duties as she was sleeping with one of the nominees this time . . . which JBNBlog figured out would be, ahem, John White, up for the Rocky Horror Show. More mischieviously JBNBlog looks for the chance to enliven a future awards ceremony when a similar full disclosure moment occurs by wondering aloud: “Just one?”

Favourite acceptance speech (& they were all good): Ingrid Blekys for her “Rob & Bob” enthusiasm & for reminding me how terrific was The Goat, or Who is Sylvia?

Best opening spoof ever . . . the elaborate & witty take-off on The Phantom had (Jayson McDonald?) lyrics saluting the transparency of the actual awards, leading to a running gag on the night with Jeremy Hobbs suggesting his Brickenden would look good in a giant glass of Scotch.

A salute to Jayson McDonald as emcee . . . not many hosts could handle it so smoothly when the script calls for the host to channel Kim Cattrall on the magic of theatre & also point to Mercutio as an example of the attractions of a supporting role & then be suitably humble/proud in the unscripted acceptance moments. Go Jayson (& your collaborator Jeff Culbert).

It takes a class organization to honour great Londoners such as Dorinda Greenway & Nonie Jeffery the way they should be acknowledged. Hooray.

Dorinda Greenway’s opening anecdote. She talked her daughter on the #ldnont stage when the role called on her to slap a nice young man . . . she just couldn’t but no politely noisy substitute for an actual smack worked. So it was the real painful deal show after show. The young man took it on the cheek without protest even if he did grit his teeth as the blow was about to fall. Sadly, he disappeared after the final curtain fell, taking his smarting cheek off into the night, never to be seen again. Come back, come back, little sheepish . . . the Brickendens heal all.

1st appearance with National Ballet.
Home with Sore Throat.
– Jan. 30, 1968

Paul Martin at Central.
Goat practice.
Mr. & Mrs. Beckwith over.
– Jan. 30, 1970

You didn’t know JBNBlog could dance? Neither did I.

What happened 44 years ago had me & a few others strolling on stage as pages or something similar in whatever class act the National Ballet was bringing to the Grand.

Who else will ‘fess up to sharing the gig & how we might have been granted the chance? What I do remember is trying to impress one of the crew who was a big jazz fan, knew all about Wes Montgomery (if memory serves) . . . so one night I asked if it were OK for us “to split.” Oh, the withering look. It has scared JBNBlog off such cool expressions ever since . . . can’t even say a band killed it (is that what’s said now? or is it as dated as split?)

As for 1970 on this date, good to see Paul Martin Sr. was inspiring us at a Central auditorium. Pamela Terry & John Beckwith were (are!) friends for life of my parents & dad’s War of 1812 opera with John Beckwith Taptoo! is on Feb. 24-26 at Toronto. Read about it here on jamesreaney.com

*An occasional series based on a v. cryptic diary kept as a pen&ink forerunner to JBNBlog during the late 1960s, when our family lived in London, Stratford (parts of summers of 1966 & 1967), Victoria, B.C. (July 4, 1968-July 4, 1969) and then London again until June, 1970 when I was in Grade 13.

The Fugs album cover, courtesy of undergroundalbums.com

The Fugs First Album cover, courtesy of espdisk.com

Group practice at Walters.

2 (indecipherable . . . man? mean? mom?) R&B Workshop

Bought Spasm Band & Fugs 1st

Jan. 27, 1968

Ah, The Fugs . . . might as well say “Language Alert” right here. After all, this magnificent NYC bohemian ensemble of the 1960s & beyond took their name from Norman Mailer’s coinage “fug” .  . . which in turn led to a priceless greeting from Dorothy Parker.

Here is a bit of a 2010 Howard Mandel post from nodepression.com on the background:

“I picked the name Fugs, out of Norman Mailer’s ‘Naked and the Dead,’” says (Tuli) Kupferberg, referring to the post-WW II best-seller which used an innocent “g” to stand for the salacious “ck” of the Anglo-Saxon word for the deed essential to life. “Do you know that when Dorothy Parker met Norman Mailer at a party,” he continues, “she’s supposed to have said, ‘Oh, you’re the young man who doesn’t know how to spell “Fuck.”‘ Actually, I think it was his publisher that didn’t know how to spell it.”

The album I recall buying 44 years ago today had the The Fugs cover. The songs I remember playing somewhat defiantly around my amused, tolerant poets themselves parents were from the one with the up against the wall cover. The aforementioned Tuli, then a Beat poet and later the world’s oldest rock star, is standing at left. (If memory serves).

Anyway, the songs my buddies & I enjoyed were Boobs a Lot and My Baby Done Left (& I Feel Like Homemade Shit), a C&W weeper parody. It strikes me now the canny Fugs put in such frat boy friendly items to pay for their real material . . . Tuli & Ed’s poetry set to wild, rootsy slabs of Americana.

What my dad noticed was their use or misuse of British poets William Blake (one of his heroes) & Algernon Swinburne (not a hero). I think dad was always disappointed the Blake lyrics, How Sweet I Roamed from Field to Field among them, were given the Fug drunken C&W treatment. Undeniable & prophetic words, Lower East Side country parody music. It didn’t really work for me either.

The Swinburne Stomp had one of Algernon’s delicate efforts given a ferocious beat & yowl . . . now that was funny & it worked. Dad thought so, too. One of his stage directions proves it.

When wild children are being raised on Pelee Island by some fool of a progressive educator in dad’s Ignoramus, they chant Blake’s The Tyger. The stage direction is: “a la The Fugs?” Now, dad was not thinking of the Fugs’s misplacement of Blake as a country boy. He must have had their Swinburne stomping in mind. Tygertygerburningbright. Chant & stomp. Chant & stomp.

So there it is — the surprising influence of literature loving NYC bohemians on a Canadian children’s theatre classic. Thank you, dad & mom, for putting up with me playing the Fugs & so many other irritating musics back in the day.

Thank you, Fugs, for keeping the faith all the way into the 21st-century & for representing the greatness of America along with Willie Nelson, Emily Dickinson, Dorothy Parker & so many others. If there is any justice, you will find your way into a Mad Men episode & the agency will never be the same. Or maybe it will just be funnier.

PS: You may have noticed JBNBlog also bought the first Nihilist Spasm Band album on the same day. Once again,  my father had his own insight into the joyous bohemian din. “Oriental  . . . restful,” dad would say as the London noise-meisters shook up the house.

*An occasional series based on a v. cryptic diary kept as a pen&ink forerunner to JBNBlog during the late 1960s, when our family lived in London, Stratford (parts of summers of 1966 & 1967), Victoria, B.C. (July 4, 1968-July 4, 1969) and then London again until June, 1970 when I was in Grade 13.