When Cathy and I left for Mexico in February 1972, we crossed the border at Tijuana, and took a bus to Mexicali, where we boarded a train for Guadalajara. On the way home, though, we crossed the border at Nogales, Mexico, approximately 600 kilometres east of Mexicali — which meant that when we entered into the United States, we landed in Nogales, Arizona rather than San Ysidro, California.
Whatever the case, we were happy to be heading home.
Once in Nogales, Arizona, we stopped in at a popular local diner for breakfast (it was approximately 8 a.m.), after which we headed over to the highway, where we stuck our thumbs out, hoping for an 85-mile ride to Tuscon, Arizona, all dusty and laden with backpacks, of course.
A kind young man picked Cathy and I up just outside of Nogales, and as luck would have it, he was on his way to Tuscon. Once we’d loaded our backpacks into the back seat, and were comfortably ensconced in his late model Ford sedan, as we barrelled down the I-91 highway heading north, he turned the radio on. After two months away, the song that follows just below is the first song we heard on American radio, a song that would soon rise to #1 on the charts, and which Cathy and I remember to this day as signalling the first jaunt of our journey home, to Los Angeles initially, and then to our home atop Burnaby Mountain, at SFU’s Louis Riel House.
Somehow a song about the desert as we trundled our way through southern Arizona on a warm, breezy, dusty sun dappled Tuesday morning seemed entirely fitting — Cathy and I just looked at one another & smiled.
Once in Tuscon, we once again put our thumbs out at the side of the highway, and soon found ourselves on the second, 113-mile leg of our journey home, this time to Phoenix, and afterwards on the last leg of our route back to our friend’s home in East LA, a 372-mile ride to from Phoenix to Los Angeles. We made it back to Los Angeles around 8:30 p.m.
In fact, we arrived in the Westwood neighbourhood of Los Angeles, where our friend Bachi (Manuel Vittorio Esquivel) was kind enough take the 22-minute drive from East L.A. to pick us up, and bring us back to his home. We stayed a couple of days, and then jumped into our Datsun 510 — a wedding present, as it happens, and a vehicle that Bachi had serviced in our absence, all in prep for our 1277-mile leisurely sojourn to Vancouver.
As the cinematic year draws to a close, today on VanRamblings — given that it’s American Thanksgiving — we take a fond look back at 2018 and some of the movie-related innovations we have to be thankful for this year.
As we’ve written previously, 2018 marked the year of the return of the romantic comedy — not at the cinema, but on Netflix, where mid-budget smash hits like To All the Boys I’ve Loved and The Kissing Booth, both mid-budget teen romantic comedies, gained massive followings on social media, while re-establishing the rom-com as a genre that should not be underestimated. Good on Netflix for reviving this near forgotten genre.
Far and away the strongest and most affecting independent film of 2018, director Debra Granik’s first outing since 2010’s multiple Oscar award nominee, Winter’s Bone (in which Jennifer Lawrence made her début, gaining a Best Actress Oscar nomination), Leave No Trace tracks a father and daughter living precariously off the grid, introducing us to an incandescent 17-year-old Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie, who lives a tranquil life sheltered with her loving, PTSD suffering father, Ben Foster, in an urban Oregon woodland, in perfect harmony with one another, despite all. Uncompromising, authentic, raw, heartbreaking, brilliant, haunting, full of grace, and riveting throughout, Leave No Trace is a multiple Gotham and Independent Spirit Award nominee — including Best Actor, Supporting Actress, Director and Feature — and a must-see film streaming on demand. Netflix Starts to Prioritize Theatrical Releases
For the longest time, Netflix refused to screen their films in theatres, which last year hurt the chances of Dee Rees’ Mudbound winning any Academy Awards, despite its four Oscar nominations.
In 2018, after allowing certain films exclusive theatrical engagements — including the Coen brothers’ The Ballad of Buster Scruggs a week before it hit its platform, and in 42 select theatres across North America, Alfonso Cuarón’s almost certain Best Picture Academy Award winner Roma, which will screen exclusively in Vancouver at the Vancity Theatre, December 14th through the end of December — while Netflix is still the disrupter it’s always been, 2018 is the year they thankfully realized theatres still matter. The Most Exciting Foreign-Language Academy Award Race in Years
Whether it be Poland’s Cold War, Mexico’s Roma, South Korea’s Burning, Israel’s The Cakemaker, Denmark’s The Guilty, Colombia’s Birds of Passage, Belgium’s Girl, Hungary’s Sunset, Japan’s Shoplifters, Sweden’s Border, or Lebanon’s Capernaum, there is an embarrassment of riches of foreign language films vying for an Academy Award this year. Lucky us.
As the year draws to a close, the thoughts of music lovers everywhere is the anticipation of the discovery of new music made extant through the publication of the various year-end lists by respected music critics of the best new, under-the-radar music releases of the previous 11 months.
Such was the case during the holiday season in 2000, when the then not-discredited Charlie Rose had on the then not-discredited longtime New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones on his show to discuss the best albums of 2000. Mr. Frere-Jones found himself able to talk about one artist and one artist alone: Kasey Chambers, a then 23-year-old woman raised in the southern Australian outback who, he insisted, had released the best album of the year, the best country album he’d heard in years. Mr. Frere-Jones could not help himself from extolling Ms. Chambers’ many virtues as a singer-songwriter, going on to insist that Mr. Rose, and his other guests around the table that evening — and everyone tuned into PBS’ The Charlie Rose Show first thing the next morning repair to their local record store to secure, or order, Kasey Chambers’ début album release, The Captain.
Enthusiasm exhibited by a usually taciturn critic is a rare commodity at the best of times — critics being a cynical lot, by nature — leaving the viewer of that evening’s episode of The Charlie Rose Show no option other than to purchase The Captain first thing the next day — which, of course, I did.
Kasey Chambers’ music is timeless, as is the case with every song on The Captain. If you’ve not heard The Captain prior to this, you can listen to each of the songs on the album through YouTube, after which I assure you, you’ll want to download the entire album, and make it a part of your music library, and the soundtrack of your life, going forward. Important, really.
Click or tap on this link to listen to & savour Kasey Chambers’ The Captain in its entirety
Kasey Chambers was born in Mount Gambier, the second most populated city in South Australia (urban population: 28,684) early on the Friday afternoon of June 4th, 1976, the younger sister of brother Nash, who was born in 1974. Kasey’s parents, Diane and Bill, were musicians, itinerant farmers and hunters, who wanted nothing to do with big city life.
Mount Gambier’s crystalline Blue Lake
As money was often tight, on the few occasions when the family came to town, given that all members of the family were fine, well-respected musicians, arrangements were made for the family to play a series of concerts, the monies earned enough to pay for supplies until the next time the Chambers family came to town. By 1986, when Kasey was only 10, the family had formed a band called the Dead Ringer Band, so-named because Nash and Kasey looked like younger versions of their parents.
From the outset, it was clear to anyone that heard Kasey Chambers that she was a preternatural talent, Kasey Jo Chambers providing vocals and writing songs for a series of albums released by her parents between 1987 and 1993. When interviewed by the press — word of Kasey’s talent spread quickly across Australia, almost from the outset — she often cited Emmylou Harris as one of her primary influences, recalling that Harris’ music was frequently played by her parents, ever since she was a child.
Kasey Chambers recorded her début solo album, The Captain in July and August of 1998, with her brother Nash producing, and her father Bill on guitar (her parents were in the throes of divorce, so mother Diane played no role in the recording of the album). Joining the family on the recording were American country musicians, Buddy Miller and Julie Miller, who added guitars and vocals to four tracks. The Captain was released in Australia in May 1999, and worldwide, in June 2000 by Asylum Records.
And, as is often said, the rest is transcendent & salutary musical history. Cry Like a Baby went on to win the country music Song of the Year award in 2000, The Captain winning the same award the following year. The next year, Kasey Chambers toured across the globe as the supporting and opening act for Lucinda Williams, who was touring to support her breakthrough, multi-award winning album, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road.
At my insistence, my friend J.B. Shayne (not a fan of country music) and I attended the Lucinda Williams concert at The Vogue in late 2001 — a three-hour concert that blew the roof of the venue — J.B. commenting to me afterwards, “That was like attending a Doors concert. I don’t think I’ve ever heard better musicianship. Lucinda Williams and her band (two drummers / percussionists, two lead guitarists, a rhythm guitarist, a slide guitarist, an organist, and a pianist) are probably the finest band I’ve heard in years. It’s maybe the most stoned concert I’ve ever attended.” And so it was.
Kasey Chambers, of course, was the opening act — and proved to be everything and more that I’d promised J.B. Within minutes, she had the audience in the palm of her hand, clapping, cheering, shouting, and head over heels in love with this Aussie girl who just knocked their socks off, not only performing most of the songs off The Captain, but previewing songs from her new album, Barricades & Brickwalls, produced by her brother Nash, the song Not Pretty Enough going on to win CMA Song of the Year.
In the autumn of 1966, C-FUN — long the A.M. rock’n roll radio giant of Vancouver — put out a call to listeners requesting applications to take on the task of organizing fan clubs for rock groups getting airplay on the radio. All you had to do was turn up one Saturday morning at 10am, meet with C-FUN’s Program Director Red Robinson — who would assign you a group to organize a fan club for, and once the fan club had been established, you’d turn up on subsequent Saturdays for an hour to secure memberships.
With Douglas Miller, recently arrived from Kelowna, working the 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift, I arrived each Saturday morning just before 11 a.m. to take phone calls in the studio next to the main control room. Doug Miller would give out the phone number, Doug Pearson — a friend of mine — and I would take calls for an hour, and after each call-in session, we’d take a break for an hour, before heading out to a local venue — more often than not a local department store — to listen to the group play a few songs, and sign up new fan club members. The group I was assigned to: The Chessmen, consisting of Terry Jacks, Susan Pesklevits, and Craig McCaw.
I know, and am friends with, Craig McCaw, to this very day.
A couple of weeks into this volunteer gig, after the call-in session, Red Robinson called me into his office and said, “You’re a good lookin’ kid. I bet you’d do well in radio.” I remember thinking to myself, “But this is radio — listeners can’t see you.” Nonetheless, each Saturday from noon til 12:30pm, Red Robinson proceeded to teach me everything he knew about radio, most particularly how to read copy for a commercial.
In addition, he signed me up for voice lessons with a woman voice coach who lived in the West End, who had trained every voice on radio in Vancouver. Within a year, I sounded like a radio announcer. I had also, much to my surprise, developed a deep bass, mellifluous voice. I’d play back tapes of me on the radio, and say to myself, “Who is that guy?”
Weekend, midday, radio aircheck of Daryl B. (Burlingham) on 14 C-FUN
During that period I became friends with John Tanner, Fred Latremouille, Al Jordan, Tom Peacock, Neil Soper, Daryl B., and Roff Johannsen, among other radio luminaries. Although I worked the occasional relief overnight weekend shift, my main job was to produce the six hours of foreground programming each Sunday evening, that was required by the CRTC. All of this work was done for free — but I was given ready access to the radio station, could “practice” being a radio announcer in the production studio, attend concerts at no charge, meet all of the traveling rock ‘n roll groups that stopped off in Vancouver as part of a North American tour of gigs to support the group’s latest hit release. All and all, I had a blast.
The Boss Radio, ‘Drake format’, upbeat radio package exported out of Los Angeles
But radio was changing in 1966, particularly when classical music Lion’s Gate radio, CKLG Vancouver, adopted the hit Drake format that had catapulted KHJ Los Angeles from a last place radio station in the market to #1 in a matter of months: CKLG adopted the Drake format, the jingles, the 17-song-an-hour ‘hot clock’, talking over the intro, upbeat radio format, by early 1967 stealing away C-FUN’s listenership, and catapulting CKLG to #2 in the Vancouver radio market, just behind powerhouse Top Dog radio, CKNW 98. One announcer after another left C-FUN for CKLG.
In early 1967, in a last ditch effort to save C-FUN (which to that point had refused to play The Rolling Stones, and any Motown music — which CKLG just thrived on) — Red Robinson hired a deejay out of Regina by the name of Terry David Mulligan, giving him the 7pm to midnight show. I sat with Terry, and his wife, CarolAnn (who everyone called Angel, and with whom I fell head over heels in love) in the studio on his first night on 1410 C-FUN. But it was too late. Within three months, Terry moved over to do noon to three on CKLG, CFUN folding to become CKVN, The Voice of News.
Soon enough, I was over at CKLG, as well — working on the FM side (CKLG-FM), six to noon Sundays on both CKLG-FM & A.M., as well as operating throughout the week in the evenings, for Bill Reiter and his Groovin’ Blue program 6pm to 8pm, as well as operating for Tim Burge. Occasionally — because absolutely no one listened to FM in those days, CKLG-FM Program Director John Runge would give me a midday shift, requiring me to skip school — my voice all hushed baritone, playing whole album sides during any given shift. I was in radio heaven — working daily with radio legends Roy Hennessey, Daryl B., J.B. Shayne, Stevie Wonder, Michael Morgan, Don Richards, John Tanner, Bob Ness, Rick Honey, Stirling Faux, Terry David Mulligan, and a raft of others. I had found my family.
Aircheck, J.B. Shayne, overnight, 1am til 2am on 73 CKLG Vancouver, April 11, 1968
Working in radio, going to concerts, being on air, hosting various public events for CKLG, hanging out with J.B., Fred, John, Terry, Rick, Stirling, Jim Hault, Daryl B., John Runge, Bill Reiter and more was the gift of a lifetime, a gift I will cherish forever, a gift which keeps me young to this day.
There are a great many stories to tell, all of which I’ll leave for another day.
