gordon lightfoot sang leonard cohen in my backyard
Unbelievable, but true.
Yesterday, late Sunday afternoon, Gordon Lightfoot arrived at the Wellesley Community Centre, on the corners of Sherbourne and Wellesley, in a black Lincoln Town Car with smoked windows. His whitehaired, suited entourage stood guard while Lightfoot headed inside the centre until his stage call.
How the organizers of the St. James Town Summer Festival ever pulled this off, I don't know. If it was meant to draw people to their fundraiser, it was barely advertised. For several weeks, plain pink and blue flyers had been posted around St. James Town, listing the ethnic dancers and local talent, and in the middle, in type not more than a quarter of an inch high: "Special guest -- Gordon Lightfoot".
A lot of people doubted it. Was there another Gordon Lightfoot? Did he live in Cabbagetown? (perhaps he does -- don't know.)
The crowd was not big, mostly families seemingly involved with the festival, and neighbourhood stragglers like myself. The audience primarily consisted of new immigrants of south Asian, Asian, and Caribbean heritage, the primary residents of St. James Town, and a handful of greyhaired native Canadians who had listened to Lightfoot in their formative years.
Did the majority of the audience know who Lightfoot was, or his music? It seemed unlikely. But if not, they knew what he represented. As one of the emcees introduced Lightfoot, after much anticipatory fanfare, she called him the voice of Canada. He was Canada, she said.
I grew up listening to the soft lilt of his voice and the pure poetry of his songwriting. I had forgotten, but I did see him once, in Detroit, at the Masonic Temple. I remember most of the male members of the audience wearing plaid, lumberjack shirts.
This performance, scheduled for 20 minutes, sandwiched between a former Canadian Idol finalist and a Filipino dance troupe, was the highlight of the day, and was free of charge. When Lightfoot arrived on the stage, dressed all in black, the master's age was a reminder of the passing of time, and the fleetingness of art.
He sang four songs. The first an elaborate 'dirge-like' and 'intense' song by Leonard Cohen. He followed it with three of his own, ending with "If You Could Read My Mind". His voice was still effective and recognizable, though thinner, as his age and past ill health have affected it. A man nearby said Lightfoot was lucky to be alive and to be talking, much less singing.
He was alive, and he was singing, and his guitar playing clear and ringing. He winced at the feedback from the not-so-professional sound system. He warmed the crowd and warmed to them. He was gracious and humoured when a young boy, preposterously overly theatrical, presented him with a framed photograph from the community centre in appreciation. It was over too soon, and he left as he came, the black luxury car slipping quietly away.
A lovely gift, come and gone, by a Canadian legend who gave time out of a life still spent primarily on the road.
Yesterday, late Sunday afternoon, Gordon Lightfoot arrived at the Wellesley Community Centre, on the corners of Sherbourne and Wellesley, in a black Lincoln Town Car with smoked windows. His whitehaired, suited entourage stood guard while Lightfoot headed inside the centre until his stage call.
How the organizers of the St. James Town Summer Festival ever pulled this off, I don't know. If it was meant to draw people to their fundraiser, it was barely advertised. For several weeks, plain pink and blue flyers had been posted around St. James Town, listing the ethnic dancers and local talent, and in the middle, in type not more than a quarter of an inch high: "Special guest -- Gordon Lightfoot".
A lot of people doubted it. Was there another Gordon Lightfoot? Did he live in Cabbagetown? (perhaps he does -- don't know.)
The crowd was not big, mostly families seemingly involved with the festival, and neighbourhood stragglers like myself. The audience primarily consisted of new immigrants of south Asian, Asian, and Caribbean heritage, the primary residents of St. James Town, and a handful of greyhaired native Canadians who had listened to Lightfoot in their formative years.
Did the majority of the audience know who Lightfoot was, or his music? It seemed unlikely. But if not, they knew what he represented. As one of the emcees introduced Lightfoot, after much anticipatory fanfare, she called him the voice of Canada. He was Canada, she said.
I grew up listening to the soft lilt of his voice and the pure poetry of his songwriting. I had forgotten, but I did see him once, in Detroit, at the Masonic Temple. I remember most of the male members of the audience wearing plaid, lumberjack shirts.
This performance, scheduled for 20 minutes, sandwiched between a former Canadian Idol finalist and a Filipino dance troupe, was the highlight of the day, and was free of charge. When Lightfoot arrived on the stage, dressed all in black, the master's age was a reminder of the passing of time, and the fleetingness of art.
He sang four songs. The first an elaborate 'dirge-like' and 'intense' song by Leonard Cohen. He followed it with three of his own, ending with "If You Could Read My Mind". His voice was still effective and recognizable, though thinner, as his age and past ill health have affected it. A man nearby said Lightfoot was lucky to be alive and to be talking, much less singing.
He was alive, and he was singing, and his guitar playing clear and ringing. He winced at the feedback from the not-so-professional sound system. He warmed the crowd and warmed to them. He was gracious and humoured when a young boy, preposterously overly theatrical, presented him with a framed photograph from the community centre in appreciation. It was over too soon, and he left as he came, the black luxury car slipping quietly away.
A lovely gift, come and gone, by a Canadian legend who gave time out of a life still spent primarily on the road.
posted by Kathy O'Brien at 5:12 pm
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