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| Bob Deans playing Mendelson Joe's famous Guild guitar in the Currie's Studio |
A BRIEF MEMORIAL TRIBUTE TO A MUSIC MAN -
"RHYTHM PALS" MUST CARRY-ON, AS A TRIBUTE TO THE LATE BOB DEANS - AND YES IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MUSIC!
BRIAN DAVIDSON AND DAVE SMITH
It may read, or sound a titch cliched, to refer to a mere mortal, as the "heart and soul," of a group. Any group? A gathering? A team? How about a band? Was this alleged "heart and soul" individual, the very length of thread that bound it all together? The vein of togetherness, that made every meeting a social highlight? Yes, it is full of cliches, just as it is supposed to, afterall.
Is it possible that any one member of a senior band, like the "Rhythm Pals," for example, can cause the earth to shatter, when they no longer suit-up for a show, or land in a familiar chair for a Saturday afternoon jam session? A severely felt "oomph" of "heart and soul;" a vigor diminished suddenly, and profoundly, by the loss of a bandmate?
It does become more significant, of course, when this band is also made up of family members. When veteran musician, Bob Deans passed away this week, from complications of a long battle with lung disease, both Brian Davidson, and Dave Smith, would cross their hearts on the premise, their guitarist / vocalist, and songwriter, oozed heart and soul every time they got together; even if it was just to jam either in Hamilton, or here in South Muskoka. But there's more to this story, than just the abstraction associated with saying someone has "heart and soul," and that we are so sorry it has left us suddenly. Music appreciation, to these three lads, brothers-in-law, was at a zenith, especially at last September's "PALAPALOOZA," held at our vintage music shop, here in Gravenhurst. It was "a happening," if ever there was one, and it wasn't conjecture, that Bob Deans, as the unofficial leader of the band, was having one of those moments, as an entertainer, that defies the simple overview and general critique. Damn he was a good master of ceremonies. Bob led the show with his famous anecdotes, and warmed the audience up with one-liners, inside-joking, and a generous sincerity that always made him so darn endearing to everyone, who called him with affection, an old "mate."
When Dave Smith, of Gravenhurst, let us know, just after eight o'clock Tuesday evening, that our old music buddy had passed away, while awaiting a lung transplant, at Toronto General Hospital, well, we were devastated, as was everyone else, who either played or cajoled with Bob Deans, over an abundantly fulfilling lifetime. It was just over a week ago, that I wrote a blog about Bob, with the purposeful intent, of boosting his spirits, while he was waiting so patiently for donor lungs. We wanted him to know, we were pulling for him, up here at his second home, in Gravenhurst, where he was more than welcome to visit, dwell, dawdle and lollygag-about, in our shop, for as long as his family would let him stay. They were kind to him this way, let me tell you, because he and his brother-in-law Dave Smith, seemed to enjoy all the music goings-on, that unfold here, as much by happenstance of visiting musicians, with time for a respite; who enjoy the spontaneous jams that would break out, in the back studio, all in good fun, all in the embrace of the music that heals. While it couldn't heal Bob's damaged lungs, it did make the last years of his life, with friends, the seniors he used to work with, (at a regional retirement home), work colleagues, family members, and musicians he had sometimes just met, so much more enjoyable and fulfilling. Bob Deans was a musician / song-writer until the end, who found being immersed in creativity and performance, even in the workings of his creative enterprise, a joyful life-preserver. He found inspiration even at some of the bleakest moments in his final days, and never truly gave up, on the plan to get back to good health, and re-visit those pals of his, for the next big Palapalooza in 2015.
Even if you didn't know Bob Deans, you have known someone just like him in your past. Someone who had an inner fountain of energy, who always, despite adverse conditions, and unforeseen obstacles, prevailed goodwill upon all those he met, and was soon to call a friend. In the years of his illness, he persevered with life interests, and used his limited time, to work harder to cover all the bases, he felt needed tending. He didn't feel sorry for himself, and never gave up hope something would happen, that would get him the new lungs he required. Yet he had the inner strength to appreciate that there were many others needing transplants, who were younger, sicker, and even more vulnerable, never letting himself succumb to the feeling he had been forgotten, or given less than full attention to remedy his situation. It would be quite easy for most of us, of lesser constitution in this regard, to simply give up, and wallow in self pity, for lack of anything else constructive to do. Bob wasn't like that, and we have a lot of corroborating evidence to prove this; even to the last days of his life, being active on facebook, and "liking" new entries the boys, Andrew and Robert, had posted on their Currie's Music page. The first visitor to our new Currie's Antiques facebook page, last week, with a complimentary review, was Bob Deans. For as long as Suzanne keeps her facebook account, she will always see that first, all important, and kindly review, from a man who was terribly ill, but still so very full of ambition and creative interest in other people's lives. I also got a wonderfully complimentary response, back from Bob, following publication of my recent blog, regarding his music writing prowess, last week; and it has been printed off, and placed in the binder, with all the correspondence I've received over the past thirty-five years, working with the media in Muskoka. This is my cherished keepsake courtesy Bob Deans.
Bob, Dave Smith, and Brian Davidson, were a tightly knit country-style band, of hobby singer / performers, who never got so full of themselves, that they planned to quit their day jobs, to take to the road as an upstart bar band, set on taming the still wild west. They got together for fun, as a social / cultural pastime, that had everything to do with the enjoyment of playing music. It was a simple arrangement, with nary a complication, and never a contractual obligation, or need for legal liaison to work out any impasse. The only impasse, was finding the time, and convenient, central location, to get together. They found that last September, when we hosted the first, of what was supposed to be an annual event, to be known ever-after as "Palapalooza." It was for family and friends, so the band could officially release their first and only CD, which was a sell-out by the way. We even got invited to attend the after-party, at the Smith family residence, and although not quite the same as a Rolling Stones event, it would be safe for the reviewer to say, "by golly, a good time was had by all!" Bob, with oxygen assistance, that night, sat on the couch with the most beautiful ear to ear grin, a long of satisfaction, being comfortably situated, at that moment in his biography, as a husband, father and band member, with those he loved, and those contemporaries, he embraced in friendship.
We're all deeply sorry about the loss of Bob Deans, who loved music as much as he loved people, and we offer sincere sympathy to all his family, on his passing. I think all who knew him, will benefit in the days and years to come, from having had access to his deep well of creativity, and his vast resource of courage, that made him a leader, even if that's not what he signed up for.
Bless you Bob, for enriching our lives, and showing us what courage means when it engulfs heart and soul.
Our first "Sessions" event, for Currie's Music, in April, at St. James Anglican Church, will be dedicated to the memory of Bob Deans. More information on this event, will be available in the near future, when the entertainment for the evening event is finalized.
NOTE: I don't know whether Bob Deans was an art lover, or knew much about Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson, but seeing as he was in good humor about most things of social and cultural enrichment, I would like to dedicate today's part 3, in his memory. It is part of my continuing profile of the book "Paddle and Palette," the 1930 biography, written by Blodwen Davies; an intimate look at the life and times of an iconic Canadian painter.
PART THREE - PADDLE AND PALETTE - THE STORY OF TOM THOMSON, BY BLODWEN DAVIES, CIRCA 1930 (THE RYERSON PRESS)
The Maturing of a Landscape Artist, on a Mission to Capture Nature's Inner Spirit
(You can archive back in this week's blogs, to read the first two part of the small series)
Every now and again, some visitor to Algonquin Park, while on a camping or hiking adventure, will see what they claim is a phantom canoe and paddler; silently traversing, without raising the slightest ripple, across the horizon of a misty autumn lake before sunset, or at sunrise, on a lake Tom Thomson used to paddle frequently, during his few years spent in the Ontario parkland. Is it the spirit canoe belonging to Canada's best known landscape artist, who died tragically during one of these canoe excursions across Canoe Lake? Maybe it is an illusion of light and shadow being distorted by the lake mist, tumbling along as silently as the artist's paddle dipped deep in the still, dark water; passing as he did in life and profession, to capture the essence of the Ontario wilds in this alluring place known for its resident enchantments and lore.
There is no doubt, Tom Thomson immersed himself in his work, and his work, of course, was studying nature. His gift to us, were his amazing art panels, which have, without question, become iconic and storied in the years since his demise. Now we should return to 1930, to appreciate what biographer, Blodwen Davies, felt about the artist, based in part, on her interviews with colleagues, friends, and the residents of Canoe Lake, who remembered his travels through the lakeland, from his base in the hamlet of Mowat. Her observations are insightful, and contemporary to the time, which was bringing about huge changes in the previously conservative, Canadian art scene, stirred by the continuing advancements and maturity of the Group of Seven artists, formed in the early 1929's; a group inspired by Thomson shortly before his death.
"A.Y. Jackson packed away his sketch-box and joined the army (First World War). Thomson always something of an Indian in spirit, moved out of the studio building into a shack which stood behind it (Now at the McMichael Gallery, in Kleinburg, Ontario). There he lived just as if he was actually in the north country, sharing the place during the day with Arthur Lismer," wrote well known Canadian author, Blodwen Davies, in this, the first full biography of the budding artist.
"Meantime, Thomson's work had already gained some recognition. Even while he was painting his early, cramped sketches, Dr. J.C. McCallum, had sensed the latent genius of the amateur artist, and had encouraged him in ways which only a deeply sympathetic and understanding friend could do. Then, his first large canvas exhibited, called 'Northern Lake,' hung at the Ontario Society of Artists show, in 1913, was purchased by the Ontario Government. The National Gallery at Ottawa, purchased one or two of them for the national collection. While he was not selling enough pictures to support himself, yet his recognition was enough to show that there was a stamp of approval for his efforts."
Davies continues, noting, "Yet Thomson's head was never turned. He was totally lacking in vanity and had little even of self-confidence. Lawren Harris sometimes stimulated his creative moods by slipping a canvas prepared for paint onto his easel without comment. Tom would be tempted and set to work on a large picture. Without doubt, some of his biggest paintings owe their origin to this friendly intrigue. Thomson became something of a curiosity in Toronto art circles. Sometimes he was disturbed and offended by too obvious curiosity; sometimes he was amused by it and might entertain himself by playing up to expectations, on his visitor's part, mumming an hour or two to puzzle or confound them. Rumour painted him a sort of wild man of the woods. However, Thomson eluded all those who would have exploited him, impatient of swank or vanity insecurity, or affectation. With a few of his good friends, his pipe or his mandolin, Thomson was at his ease, always sharing in the fun, though seldom obviously in it. Sometimes, when a book absorbed his interest, he would stay awake all night to read it, though he was not what might be called a great reader.
"When he painted he was earnest and painstaking. Sometimes he would put aside his canvases, make another trip into the north, and the following winter, work them over again from further knowledge and observation. It is said that he worked best under the stimulus of resentment. Criticism drove him back to his paint box with determination, to outstrip his previous efforts. During 1915 and 1916, Thomson painted with increasing power and freedom. Theme after theme from Algonquin Park, and the wilderness around it was laid down on glowing canvas. Once he had mastered this or that phase of the technique of painting, he leaped on with astonishing assurance, toward new heights. Once he had grasped a principle it no longer troubled him. Even his methods were swift and apparently easy. His friends tell of many occasions on which they would work and struggle with a sketch, while Thomson was apparently idling away his time. Then in a leisurely way, he would open his sketch box, set up his panel and begin painting. Presently they would find that Thomson had captured the thing for which they had been striving for hours. The picture seemed to grow and ripen in his imagination before he attempted to set it down in paint. Nor did Thomson need to travel far to seek for inspiration. Two of his friends were once camping with him in Algonquin and decided to spend the day on a sketching trip. Thomson declined to join them, preferring a quiet day in search of pictures, and returned in the evening weary and not quite satisfied. 'Well,' one of them said to Thomson, 'I suppose you've had a lazy day.' Thomson agreed, but produced a sketch, painted from the door of his tent, which excelled anything they had done on the day's journey. But in his studio in Toronto, building up canvasses from his summer's sketching Thomson suffered from doubts and depressions. His eager visions outdistanced the cunning of his hand and he never felt satisfied with the results of his work."
Davies, through her interviews and research, had a number of insights about Thomson, during the war years, up to July 1917, when he was alleged to have drowned, while traversing Algonquin Park's Canoe Lake. She writes, "The war worried him too. Jackson was 'somewhere in France.' Those who now regarded Thomson not only as a rare friend, but as a genius as well, dreaded the time when he might let his sense of responsibility outweigh the repugnance to war, and enlist. They realized that this voyageur with the spirit of an Indian would find it difficult to tolerate the discipline of army life. Thomson himself was anxious to put on khaki and take his share of defending in far away France, the country to which he was so passionately devoted. His friends, fully realizing the value to Canada as an interpreter, tried to prevent his enlistment. Thomson had little to say about it. They felt that their council had prevailed. However, Thomson was quietly making efforts to get into the army. Each time he was turned down because of some physical condition. Again and again Thomson slipped out of the park and made his way to a recruiting station, but the result was always the same. It was the verdict of the army medical officer, out of the advice of his friends, which kept Thomson out of khaki.
"However, in the spring of 1917, Thomson again packed up his sketch box and dunnage bag, and left the military city of Toronto behind him and headed for Algonquin Park. He made his headquarters for the summer at Mowat Lodge, Canoe Lake. There he painted all spring, setting himself the unique task of painting a record of the weather. For sixty days, from the middle of April till the middle of June, he painted a sketch every day, following every subtle change from the going out of the ice to the richness of midsummer foliage. At noon of July 8th he set out across Canoe Lake with his supplies for another jaunt into the wilderness. By three o'clock that afternoon, he empty canoe was seen floating on the lake. It was several days later before his body was found. During that time his friends could not believe that Thomson was dead. They hoped and believed that he was lost in the woods."
It must be understood, that the circumstances surrounding, first his disappearance, then the discovery of his body floating in Canoe Lake, after his empty canoe was found, to his burial and re-burial (Canoe Lake Cemetery first, Leith, Ontario second), there have been a lot of additions to the story embedded by numerous researchers and biographers, pursuing what has now become the Tom Thomson mystery.) Some of the details in the next paragraph have been altered somewhat by new information, generated by contemporary researchers studying Thomson.
"He was buried first of all near the spot where he was found, but shortly afterwards his body was removed to Leith where it lies in the graveyard of the little old Presbyterian Church, which he had attended as a boy. On Canoe Lake stands a cairn erected by his friends to the memory of the artist who 'lived humbly and passionately with the wild. It made him the brother of all untamed things in nature. It drew him apart and revealed itself wonderfully to him. It sent him out from the woods only to show these revelations through his art; and it took him to itself at last'." The cairn inscription came from associate artist, J.E.H. MacDonald and his son Thoreau, who are credited with the establishment of the memorial on Canoe Lake's Hayhurst Point, opposite the hamlet of Mowat.
Blodwen Davies, didn't publish her doubts about the cause of Thomson's demise, until her second book on the artist, self published in 1935, as a sort of companion text to "Paddle and Palette". She concludes her first book, by writing, "Thomson was a man who lived like a priest tending the alter fire in his own soul. Of schools and movements and controversies in art, he knew little and cared little. He was consumed with the necessity of putting on canvas what he knew of the north. Paint was his only medium of expression. Thomson made no pronouncements on the subject of Canadian art. Yet, mute as he was in every way but on canvas, he was nevertheless one of the most significant influences on Canadian thought. The shy artist had done more to stimulate love of country, in its present essence, in the hearts of young Canadians, than all the orators of his day. His work has a rare emotional quality which strikes a deep note of response from all souls that are in tune with their Canadian environment. Strangers see in his work a marvelous use of design and colour. Critics hail him as one of the few great landscape painters since Constable. But to those who know the country that he painted he is more than a great artist, he is the great interpreter.
"Thomson did not perish that July day in 1917. Tom Thomson, the legend, is one of the most influences in the creative life of Canada. If his own particular field of work was in Algonquin Park, it does not follow that his interpretation was only of Ontario. Thomson's frank approach to the problems of painting Canada is quite applicable, and has been used as freely, in the Rockies and the prairies, as in Quebec and the Atlantic seaboard. While his subjects particularlize, his methods had universal meaning. Thomson was the product of his time, the blossoming of the Canadian genius. The dramatic qualities of his career, the brief years of achievement after seven-eighths of his life, had been spent in search of a medium, have given us the only legend in Canadian art. When Tom Thomson flashed upon the life of Canada, like a brilliant meteor, he was already a man, both very young and very old in spirit. He was neither a precocious youth, nor an old man reaping what he had sowed. He was a strange store of genius, suddenly set free, a soul with a newly discovered key to its treasure chest, and he flung out its jewels in ecstasy upon an astonished world. Thomson is no longer a solitary figure in Canadian art (circa 1930). Even in the intense emotional quality of his work, there are one or two who are his equal, and several more who have climbed to heights near him. But Thomson's essential greatness lay in the genius which carried him beyond the pace of men who in patient and tenacious devotion were clearing the trails for others.
Today no other Canadian painter is so well known to the school children of Canada (paintings reprinted in textbooks). To them he is both man and artist. Thomson's pictures in many thousands of reproductions in Canadian homes, and schools, are icons of the new Canadian faith."
Join me for tomorrow's blog, profiling the second book, in this short series of articles, composed by well known Canadian artist, Albert H. Robson, entitled "Tom Thomson," published in 1937. Robson wrote his first book on Canadian artists, with a mention of Thomson, one year after Blodwen Davies released Paddle and Palette in 1930. He also had worked, for a time, side by side Thomson at a graphics company in Toronto, and provides some excellent observations about his temparment. Please join me again tomorrow.
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