Gabrielle Papillon & Mighty Oak and Graydon James & The Young Novelists Perform in Gravenhurst

Musicians and friends of Andrew and Robert Currie's Music Gravenhurst

GABRIELLE PAPILLON (WITH MIGHTY OAK - NICHOLAS MACLEAN, AND SEAN MACGILLIVRAY) AND GRAYDON JAMES & THE YOUNG NOVELISTS (WITH LAURA SPINK AND SHAWN JUREK)

THE BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL RELATIONSHIP - FRIDAY NIGHT SESSIONS CONCERT AT ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH IN GRAVENHURST

     AN OLD WRITER FRIEND TOLD ME ONCE, THAT I HAD A CHARACTER, HEWN FROM AN OLD CHUNK OF MUSKOKA PINE. WHEN I ASKED MY COLLEAGUE WHAT HE MEANT BY THIS, HE SAID "RUSTIC. TED YOU ARE A RUSTIC HUMAN BEING!" NOT WANTING TO SOUND NAIVE, OR UNAPPRECIATIVE OF BEING CONSIDERED AN OLD PIECE OF HEWN PINE, I JUST NODDED, AND BELIEVED IT HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH MY INTEREST IN NATURE. I HAVE OFTEN PONDERED THIS, AND AS THE WRITER WHO LABELLED ME AS SUCH, HAS SINCE PASSED, IT'S MILDLY BOTHERSOME NOT KNOWING EXACTLY WHY HE THOUGHT OF ME, AS "RUSTIC OF CHARACTER." MAYBE IT WILL COME OUT, THE CHARACTER OF THIS REFERENCE, WHEN YOU READ THE REVIEW OF FRIDAY NIGHT'S CONCERT, GIVEN BY GABRIELLE PAPILLON & THE MIGHTY OAK, AND GRAYDON JAMES & THE YOUNG NOVELISTS, HERE IN UPTOWN GRAVENHURST. SO I WILL PUT THIS OUT TO YOU NOW, BEFORE READING ANOTHER WORD OF THIS COLUMN, THAT MY MODEST OVERVIEW, HAS, BY MY VERY NATURE, A RUSTIC PATINA, GOOD OR ADVERSE. TAKING IT A LITTLE FURTHER, I SUPPOSE I'VE HEWN THIS EDITORIAL PIECE, FROM HYPOTHETICAL MUSKOKA PINE. WELL NOT REALLY, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. A FUSION OF NATURE, MUSIC AND HERITAGE! BUT NOT ROUGHLY HEWN.

     I WILL BEGIN WITH A PERSONAL APOLOGY, AS IS TYPICAL, WHEN I WRITE ABOUT SOMETHING OF WHICH I'M A CLEAR OUTSIDER; THAT I AM IN NO WAY QUALIFIED TO WORDSMITH A REVIEW OF A MUSICAL PERFORMANCE. WHILE MY GRANDFATHER STANLEY JACKSON, TRIED TO IMPRESS UPON ME THE CULTURAL IMPORTANCE OF MUSIC, AND ITS INFLUENCES ON HUMANITY, THERE WAS ONLY SO MUCH A SEVEN YEAR OLD KID COULD COMPREHEND. WHEN I HELD HIS VIOLIN, IT WAS AS IF HE HAD HANDED ME SOMETHING ENCHANTED, BECAUSE I SAW THE TWINKLE OF EXPECTATION IN HIS EYE. MAYBE HE THOUGHT I WOULD IMMEDIATELY RAISE IT TO MY SHOULDER, AND POSITION MY CHIN AS IF TO KISS IT, AND RAISE THE BOW WITH GREAT PROWESS AND INTENT. I THINK I MAY HAVE DISAPPOINTED HIM, WHEN I JUST STOOD THERE, CRADLING THE INSTRUMENT, UNSURE WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO NEXT.

    NONE OF HIS CHILDREN, MY MOTHER INCLUDED, HAD CARRIED ON WITH THEIR MUSIC STUDIES, BEGINNING WITH PIANO STUDIES, SUCH THAT THEY WOULD BE THE CHOICE, TO RECEIVE THE VIOLIN, AS AN EARLY INHERITANCE. IF THERE WAS NO INTEREST FROM HIS SON AND DAUGHTERS, THERE WERE FIVE, THIS YOUNGSTER HE WAS LOOKING DOWN ON, WITH UNCERTAIN POTENTIAL, MIGHT BE THE "NATURAL" ONE, TO CARRY ON THE FAMILY TRADITION; OF CARRYING THE LOVE OF MUSIC THROUGH LIFE. AS MY MOTHER GUARDED HER CLASSICAL RECORD COLLECTION, AND LISTENED TO THEM EVERY DAY, I WAS A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK, I SUPPOSE, BUT NOT IN THE WAY MY GRANDFATHER MAY HAVE WISHED. MY MOTHER DIDN'T INHERIT THE VIOLIN, TO GIVE TO ME, BUT THE LOVE FOR MUSIC, WAS MOST DEFINITELY IMBEDDED IN THE JACKSON FAMILY. MY FATHER. HE LISTENED TO NEWS AND WATCHED TELEVISION. HE WOULD FALL ASLEEP, AND MERLE WOULD SEIZE THE MOMENT, TO PUT ON HER WORN LP'S OF MOZART AND BEETHOVEN.

     NO, I AM NOT QUALIFIED TO CRITIQUE THE WORK OF A MUSICAL PERFORMER, OR GROUP, OTHER THAN TO OFFER A GESTURE OF APPRECIATION, OR NOT. THE OVERVIEW OF A WRITER, WHO HAS ALWAYS NEEDED MUSIC IN ORDER TO CREATE. MOST OF THE TIME, I AM THROWN INTO A CREATIVE PROJECT, SIMPLY INSPIRED BY THE SOUNDS OF NATURE, HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW; THE SOUNDS OF THE WIND RUSHING THROUGH THE EVERGREENS, AND THE WELCOME DIN, OF THE GEESE AND DUCKS THAT SEEK SANCTUARY DEEP IN THE BOG. YET I CAN HEAR THEM SO CLEARLY THROUGH MY OFFICE WINDOW. AT OTHER TIMES, SUCH AS LAST EVENING, AT A CONCERT IN GRAVENHURST. THE INSPIRATION CAME FROM OUR MUSICIAN FRIENDS, AND AS I LODGED IN THE BACK, WATCHING THE REACTION OF THOSE IN ATTENDANCE, AND THE SENSE OF COMMUNITY THAT DEVELOPED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF AN UPLIFTING PERFORMANCE, I WENT HOME AND FOUND MY DOG EARED COPY, OF WILSON MACDONALD'S BOOK, INSPIRED BY HIS SUMMER STAY IN MUSKOKA, ENTITLED "OUT OF THE WILDERNESS."

     THE CANADIAN POET, BEST KNOWN FOR HIS WRITING, FROM THE 1920'S AND 30'S, AS PART OF THE MUSKOKA ASSEMBLY OF WRITERS, WHO GATHERED EACH YEAR, ON TOBIN'S ISLAND, LAKE ROSSEAU, COMPOSED A POEM THAT REMINDED ME, NOT SO MUCH OF THE MUSICIANS, BUT THE AUDIENCE. THE FACT A CONCERT, AND GOOD MUSIC, BROUGHT PEOPLE TOGETHER, WHO BY THE END OF THE EVENING, WERE SOCIALIZING TOGETHER AS IF THEY HAD BEEN LONG TIME FRIENDS; WHEN IN FACT, MANY HAD JUST MET. SO IT REMINDED ME OF A VERSE OR TWO, FROM MACDONALD'S POEM, "THESE FRIENDS OF MINE," INCLUDED IN THE SAME BOOK.

     "TONIGHT I COME BACK FROM SILENT PLACES, AND ALL THE SWEETS OF LONELINESS RESIGN; AND WAITING HERE TO GREET ME ARE THE FACES, THE CHEERING FACES OF THESE FRIENDS OF MINE. I FIND THE WORDS I LONG AGO HAVE SPOKEN, SAFE IN THE TENDER GUARDING OF THEIR CARE. THEY KEPT MY IMAGE IN THEIR HEARTS, UNBROKEN, AND CLEAN OF ALL THE STAINS OF LIFE I WEAR. O LIFE, MY HEART IS NOT FOR RICHES YEARNING, MY PRAYERS ARE ALWAYS HUMBLE AT THY SHRINE; FOR THIS IS WEALTH, TO KNOW MY FOOT'S RETURNING, IS ALWAYS MUSIC TO A FRIEND OF MINE."

     WHEN I HEAR SWEET MUSIC, I OFTEN ENVISION MYSELF, FOR WHATEVER REASON, OR TRICK OF THE IMAGINATION, AS STANDING IN AN OLD FARMHOUSE, OF WHICH I USED TO VISIT IN MY YOUTH, LOOKING OUT A GLASSLESS WINDOW, ONTO A FLOURISHING PASTURE; WITH AZURE SKY BACKING A RIDGE OF DEEP GREEN MUSKOKA PINE. IN ESSENCE, IT'S HOW, AS THE EVENING PERFORMANCE CONTINUED, I LOOKED UPON THE MUSICIANS, AND THE AUDIENCE, AS IF FRAMED BY THIS SAME GLASSLESS PORTAL, OF A SCENE I CAN ONLY DESCRIBE, AS A SOURCE OF INVIGORATION; A STIMULATION OF THE SENSES, AND A WELCOME RESPITE FROM THE STRESSES OF THE BUSINESS DAY. SO PLEASE UNDERSTAND, THAT MY OVERVIEW OF THE EVENING CONCERT, IS FROM THIS PERSPECTIVE AND APPRECIATION OF MUSIC, FOR WHAT FUELS THE WRITER-ME. EVERY ONE OF US, LODGED COMFORTABLY, IN THIS SUBSTANTIAL AUDIENCE, UNFETTERED OUR IMAGINATIONS, AND EACH OF US COULD HAVE WRITTEN A REVIEW, ACCORDING TO THE WAY, AND MEANS, WE WERE INSPIRED. I WROTE ACCORDING TO MY MUSICAL APPRECIATION, IN ACTUALITY, DURING THE CONCERT. INSTEAD OF BEING MUTE, THINKING BACK TO THE OPPORTUNITY MY GRANDFATHER KINDLY AFFORDED ME, AS A CHILD, TONIGHT, IN MY MIND, I PULLED THE VIOLIN TO MY SHOULDER, IF IN REALITY, IT WAS ONLY THIS KEYBOARD. I FELT AS THE MUSICIAN FELT, LOOKING OUT AT AN EAGER, ATTENTIVE AUDIENCE. THE FOLLOWING, IS REPRESENTATIVE OF THE WAY THE ADVENTURE UNFOLDED.  

A SPECIAL PLACE WITH SPECIAL FRIENDS

     I MUST ADMIT, WITH SOME SENSE OF PERSONAL SHAME, AND A TRACE BLUSH, THAT AS I SAT IN THIS LOVELY, HISTORIC GRAVENHURST CHURCH, WITH ITS STRONG CROSSING OF HEWN WOODEN BEAMS, GIVING US ALL, IN THIS ROOM, THE FEELING OF INHERENT PROTECTION, AND SPIRITUAL ENDURANCE, I FELT A WEE TREMBLE OF CHILDHOOD. AS IF MY MOTHER WAS SITTING BESIDE ME, AT THAT MOMENT, REMINDING ME OF THE IMPORTANCE, OF BELIEVING, AND BEING RESPECTFUL. I SHOULD HAVE VISITED THIS SACRED PLACE SOONER IN MY LIFE. THINKING TO MYSELF, WHILE LOOKING AT THE STAINED GLASS WINDOWS, CASTING THE SWEET, NATURAL LIGHT, OF THE EARLY SPRING EVENING, DOWN UPON THE PEWS, THAT CERTAINLY, I OWED GOD AN EXPLANATION, FOR HAVING BEEN ABSENT FOR SO LONG. BUT ON THIS OCCASION, GOD GAVE ME A PASS, AND IF MY HEART WAS TRUTHFUL, I FELT WELCOME AND COMFORTABLE; AND LOOKING OUT UPON THE OTHER FOLKS WHO HAD GATHERED, TO WATCH TALENTED CANADIAN MUSICIANS PERFORM, I SUPPOSE, AT LEAST I PRESUME, MOST FELT KINDLY AND JOYFUL; AMIDST HISTORY AND BLOSSOMING CULTURE ALL AROUND US, IN A PEACE SO MANY IN THE WORLD ARE DENIED. THERE'S SOMETHING PROFOUND ABOUT THE WAY MUSIC AND OLD ARCHITECTURE, RICH, SEASONED WOOD, RESONATE SO NATURALLY, LIKE THE SOUND-PERFECTION OF A FINE VIOLIN, IN EXPERT HANDS.

     SUZANNE AND I WERE ATTENDING A SESSIONS CONCERT, WITH WELL KNOWN PERFORMERS, GABRIELLE PAPILLON, AND GRAYDON JAMES & THE YOUNG NOVELISTS, HELD AT THE PICTURESQUE ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, SITUATED ON A CORNER LOT, PAINTED IN TOWN HISTORY. WITH VENERABLE SHADING HARDWOODS, ON GRAVENHURST'S HOTCHKISS STREET. IT WAS A STORMY NIGHT, TO BEGIN WITH, AS A SERIES OF SMALL THUNDER STORMS PASSED OVER SOUTH MUSKOKA. INSIDE, IT WAS SANCTUARY FROM THE STORM, EASED EVER SO GENTLY, AND SPARKLING, IF THAT IS POSSIBLE, BY THE FIRST ACT, GRAYDON JAMES & THE YOUNG NOVELISTS. THE TRIO TOOK US ON A COUNTRYSIDE ADVENTURE, WITH A MOST ALLURING, HAUNTING CARESS, THAT REMINDED ME OF WHAT I LIKE BEST OF CANADA. I HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL THESE PERFORMERS, THAT THEIR MUSIC STOKED MY IMAGINATION, REMINDING ME ABOUT THE MANY TIMES, MY PARTNER AND I, TRAVERSED THE LAKES OF MUSKOKA AND ALGONQUIN, BY CANOE; STOPPING FREQUENTLY, TO STUDY THE WEATHERED OLD, STORIED PINES, CLINGING TO THE THIN SOIL OF THOSE LICHEN COVERED ROCKS; PUSHED OVER BY WIND AND TIME, AND BUFFETING STORM, TO CATCH THE ATTENTION OF PAINTERS LIKE TOM THOMSON AND THE GROUP OF SEVEN. AT TIMES, I COULD EVEN HEAR THE DRIP OF WATER FROM THE TIP OF THE PADDLE, BACK INTO THE RIPPLED WATER, IMBEDDED IN THEIR BEAUTIFUL MUSIC.

     WHAT STRANGE REVELATION THEN, TO ADMIT, IN THE FACE OF POSSIBLE RIDICULE, THAT THIS GROUP, THEIR MUSIC, AT THIS MOMENT OF CONNECTION, TOOK ME BACK TO MY YOUTH; TO RE-VISIT ALL THE PLACES, AND PEOPLE I KNEW ONCE, AS A SMALL TOWN KID, A REBELLIOUS TEENAGER, A HIPPY HUGGING THE SHORE OF A DEEP RUNNING RIVER. AS MUSIC IS SAID TO BE THOUGHT PROVOKING, AND EXCITING, EVEN IN ITS LESSER REBELLION, THIS ENABLING TRIO, ALLOWED THE VOYEUR TO REKINDLE, AND RECONSTRUCT THE TIMES OF LIFE, THOUGHT LONG LOST AS A MEMORY; REVITALIZED IN THE MOST SUBTLE, GENTLE AWAY, AS IF THEY WERE PULLING THE WRITER BEHIND THEM, WANTING ME TO FOLLOW THE LONG, UNDULATING PATH BACK, AND FORWARD, IN THE BRIGHT MORNING SUN, AND THEN, PROFOUNDLY SO, IN THE FAMILIAR MELANCHOLY OF EARLY EVENING. I THOUGHT I HEARD THE VOICE OF MY MOTHER CALLING FROM SOMEWHERE BEYOND, BUT I COULND'T SEE HER; I KNEW SHE WAS THERE ANYWAY, AND IT WAS SWEET IN MEMORY'S INTENTION, THAT I CAME THIS WAY, ONCE MORE. I FELT THE SPIRIT OF THESE PLACES, THEY WERE TRAVELLING, WITH SUCH JOYOUS INTEREST, AND SUDDENLY, PLEASED AND FULFILLED, THE MUSIC STOPPED AS SMOOTHLY AND GENTLY, AS IT HAD ALL BEGUN.

     THANK YOU GRAYDON JAMES & THE YOUNG NOVELISTS, LAURA SPINK AND SHAWN JUREK, FOR STIMULATING AN IMAGINATION I ASSUMED, BY AGE, HAD GIVEN-UP ALL THE FLEXIBILITY IT POSSESSED. HOW DELIGHTED, THEN, TO FIND I HAD THE COURAGE TO FOLLOW MY FRIENDS, TO THE ENCHANTED PLACES, THEY KNEW I'D LIKE. FOR A MOMENT, A RARE, STRANGE SENSATION, I FELT LIKE C.S. LEWIS, POKING HIS HEAD BACK THROUGH HIS ENCHANTED WARDROBE. WHAT WONDERS WERE FOUND INSIDE.

GABRIELLE PAPILLON TRIO

     THE FIRST PERFORMERS, THIS NIGHT, AS A GESTURE OF ARTISTIC KINDNESS, TO THE REVIEWER, LEFT ME SAFELY, AND INSIGHTFULLY RENEWED, ON THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED. AND I REMEMBERED ITS SEPIA-TONE HORIZON, AS WHEN, BY HAPPENSTANCE, YOU COME UPON A FADED PHOTOGRAPH, RECALLED FROM A BYGONE ERA; LEFT HANGING BY ONE CORNER, FROM THE PAGE, THE WAY IT HAS BEEN ASKEW FOR AS LONG AS YOU CAN REMEMBER. OLD THINGS ARE FAMILIAR AGAIN. AND THIS TIME, GABRIELLE PAPILLON, AND HER ACCOMPANISTS, ON GUITAR, AND UPRIGHT BASS, SEAN MACGILLIVRAY AND NICHOLAS MACLEAN, TUG AT MY HAND, SUCH AS TO FOLLOW THEM A LITTLE FURTHER, UP THE SAME ROAD. EACH SO CONFIDENT AND FAITHFUL, TO THE SPIRIT OF MUSIC, THAT THEIR FOOTFALL NEVER FAILS TO IMPRINT, SUCH THAT WE WILL NEVER BE LOST, OR SEPARATED ALONG THE WAY. I AM EASY PREY TO THE MUSIC NOW; AND WEAKNESS, IN THE SHADOWLAND OF AN OLD LIFE, HAPPENS, ON THIS OCCASION, WITH SOME IRONY, TO BE MY NEWFOUND STRENGTH.

    I WON'T LET GO OF THEIR HANDS, BECAUSE OF THE LATENT, BURDENSOME FEAR, I WILL GET LOST WITHOUT THEIR GUIDANCE. THEIR CONFIDENT JOY, AS A MOST DELICATE UNDERTOW, IS THE DEEP CURRENT, THAT NOW COMPELS MY FEAR TO ABATE. OVER TIME, I AM FREE TO FOLLOW, OR GO MY OWN WAY. LISTENING TO THESE MUSICIANS, I FEEL SECURE IN THEIR COMPANY. I SENSE THE RELAXING REVERBERATION, OF THEIR MUSIC, BENEATH MY WEARY FEET. I AM INSPIRED BY THEIR DARK, WINDING, SHADOWY TRAIL, LEADING, ON A LARK, OFF TO A FUTURE WORLD. A PLACE AND TIME, WHERE WE JUST MIGHT DISCOVER OURSELVES ALONE WITH OUR THOUGHTS; BENEATH A STARRY SKY, OR CONTEMPLATIVE, LAYING ON COOL GRASS IN THE MID-DAY HEAT, FEELING EARTHLY, TOO TIRED TO TRUNDLE ONE STEP FURTHER. SATISFIED BY THE SENSORY PERCEPTION, GARNERED BY BARE FEET ON DEW-LADEN GRASS, AT MIDNIGHT; AND THE SPARKLING CHILL, SITTING ON A HILLSIDE ABOVE THE LAKE, AT SUNRISE.

    GABRIELLE PAPILLON LEDS US ACROSS CANADA, SEA TO SEA, AT HER EXPENSE OF ART, AND EXPERTISE. WE ARE DELIGHTED AND ENTERTAINED BY THE GOOD COMPANY WE KEEP. MUSIC INSPIRES. IT RESTORES. IT MAKES US FOLLOW ALONG. AND AT TIMES, IT COMPELS US TO LEAD, INSTEAD, WITH SOME DETERMINATION, JUST TO SEE WHAT IS ON THE OTHER SIDE. IT CAN NEVER BE TRULY DARK, OR FOREBODING, AS THE ARTIST PONDERS OUR OPINION, ON OUR EYES-WIDE-OPEN TRAVERSE OF ALL THE PRAIRIE LANDS, ALL THE WHITE-WATER RIVERS, THROUGH CASCADING WAVES AND OPEN SEA, OF TRANSCONTINENTAL TRADITIONS. THE LIGHTHOUSE, HAUNTED BY FACT, SPIRITED BY LORE. I AM LOOKING AT THEM, THIS HUMBLE, TALENTED TRIO, AND THEY ARE FRAMED TONIGHT BY THESE SECURE, FAITH-BEARING BEAMS, OF CHURCH ARCHITECTURE; COMPANIONED BY STAINED GLASS AND THE SOUND OF THE RAIN FALLING ON THE ROOF. AND AS I AM OF THE NEWLY RESTORED, I BID MY MUSICAL FRIENDS, WHO HAVE LED ME FROM HERE TO THERE, A FOND FAREWELL. I THINK I CAN MAKE IT NOW. PLODDING ALONG THIS OLD AND FAMILIAR TRAIL; I FOLLOW THEIR IMPRINTED FOOTFALL. IT'S THE PATH I USED TO TRAVEL, AS A FLEDGLING WRITER; FOR LONG AND LONG, LOOKING FOR THAT SIGN, THE MARKER, TO LET ME KNOW, I HAD FINALLY ARRIVED AT THE PLACE, I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. IN COMPANY, YOU SEE, OF MUSICIANS LIKE THESE, WHO SO POLITELY INVITED ME TO COME ALONG WITH THEM, ON A JOURNEY OF REDISCOVERY. TO NOWHERE IN PARTICULAR; YET SOME PLACE REMARKABLE.

    IT'S WHAT MUSIC DOES FOR ME. I WAS RAISED THIS WAY. SEEING MY GRANDFATHER'S SILHOUETTE THROUGH THE PARLOR DOOR, HEARING HIM PLAYING HIS VIOLIN, WHILE WE DRANK OUR COLD DRINKS, OUT ON THE GRAND VERANDAH, OF THE TORONTO HOUSE HE BUILT WITH THOSE SAME HANDS, THAT SO GENTLY PLAYED THE VIOLIN. AS JUST NOW, I THINK BACK TO THOSE HOT STICKY DAYS, OF A NEW SUMMER, WHEN LISTENED INTENTLY, TO HIS MUSICAL BIOGRAPHY. SO THANK YOU, FOR THIS JOURNEY OF RE-DISCOVERY.

     THERE IS SO MUCH HISTORY IMBEDDED IN THIS CHARMING CHURCH, ON A SHADED CORNER LOT, IN A SMALL TOWN, TUCKED NEATLY INTO THE LANDSCAPE OF THE ONTARIO HINTERLAND. THANK YOU FOR LETTING US EXPERIENCE, AND CELEBRATE, IN THE SANCTUARY AND PEACE, OF YOUR OUTSTRETCHED TIMBERS, AND YOUR COMFORTABLE PEWS. THANK YOU ESPECIALLY TO ALL THE PERFORMERS THIS EVENING AND THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS, OF ST. JAMES ANGLICAN CHURCH, IN GRAVENHURST. THERE ARE MANY MORE SESSIONS CONCERTS COMING UP, IN THE NEXT TWELVE MONTHS. THANKS SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING OUR NATIONAL TREASURES; OUR MUSICIANS.

     TO THE PERFORMERS, OUR FRIENDS, PLEASES, PLEASE COME AGAIN.