I t was the autumn of 1977, and in Montreal it was gearing up to become one of the colder winters in recent memory. For me, it was to be my second and last entire winter here before I was off to California and art college. I had the winter to kill while attending CEGEP Vanier on and off so I did what I always did in a new place: joined a band.
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| Rehearsing in George's basement |
It always guaranteed a minty-fresh new group of friends and heralded unforeseen adventure and camaraderie that always came with being in a band. I'd just left a band with whom I'd played over the summer as a bass player. We had been doing a lot of cover tunes, the most adventurous of which was "Carry On My Wayward Son" by the group Kansas. We were pretty good but had ended up only doing one gig, a freebie on a flatbed truck in Chateauguay at some festival. After that we drifted apart, Chateauguay being way too far for me to commute to for rehearsal and just a general lack of interest. So I either put an ad looking for a band in the Montreal Star, or the band put an ad in looking for a bass player; I don't remember which.
But I do remember a cool autumn day when I trudged downtown, accompanied by my sister and her boyfriend, a French transplant who'd been the drummer in a band I'd been in in Dakar, Senegal, two years previously, and who was just passing through.
I was going to meet the band, which called itself White Lightning and played what at the time was called "hard rock." It was a non-style of music that included everything from covers of the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, and dozens of others that were typical for garage bands at the time. It had already been together for a couple of years, and the personnel were George, who sang lead and played a double-neck electric guitar, Adrian, who played drums, and Tom, another guitarist who for no reason at all had been nicknamed "Dilton." When asked why this was so, Adrian, the main troublemaker in the band said "He just looks like a Dilton. Don't you think so?" I reluctantly had to agree that this was so.
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| Adrian getting set up for the gig at John XXIII high school |
Of the band up until my arrival, Adrian has this to say:
"We played Zeppelin, Hendrix, the Stones, a few originals, and a lot of blues. We played a couple of local churches and schools, mostly for free. We won the prestigious "Golden Burst Eardrum Award" in the yearbook. Then school ended and the band broke up. The other 3 guys moved on to college and I remained behind to complete my senior year at Malcolm."
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| George, our dashing lead singer |
"The summer of 1976 I answered an ad in the Gazette: 'Guitarist looking for musicians,' or something to that effect. It was George. He came over to my place and we jammed, just the two of us. I told my parents I was auditioning for him. My dad said 'it sounded the other way round to me.' So there we were, me and George, but we needed two more guys. I called the bass player from my last band, Greg Cameron, and asked if he'd be interested.
"He came over to George's (where my drums now resided) and while he wasn't an outstanding bassist he was adequate, and very well connected socially. He knew a lot of people and taught us how to approach student councils for bookings.
"Another ad in the Gazette for a rhythm guitarist brought a few responses but Tom was the best we could find. As I recall he actually stood out, which tells you how good the rest were.
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| Banging the drum, slowly |
"Our first gig came late that summer at of all things, a golf club. There were lots of kids there so we went over pretty well. I believe a booking agent got us that one. We made $150 between us. Brad, my friend from school, transported us in his van.
"Next gig was at some dive downtown (another agency booking) around late October '76. We moved our stuff in cars with the help of Greg's friend Douglas Stansbury. I don't remember how much we got for that one. I do remember the crowd went absolutely nuts; we thought we were The Beatles. We were playing the usual standards: Stones, American Band by Grand Funk Railroad, Bad Company, Slow Ride by Foghat . . . typical dinosaur rock.
"One of the most infamous gigs we ever did took place during the winter carnival at my alma mater in February of 1977. We had a sound system courtesy of a friend of Greg's named Brian McNab. The PA was a couple of big JBL's, but no mixing board, just everything hooked directly to the PA. No sound check, no monitors, 15 minutes to set up. We were playing a huge gymnasium in front of the whole school, maybe 8 or 9 hundred of my classmates. I really don't know how bad the sound was because I couldn't hear anything.
"George was doing his Mick Jagger impression. We had gotten a hold of a 5-foot-long stuffed wiener from somewhere and George was sticking it between his legs and rubbing it like it was a giant cock. Then I had the bright idea that to end the show we should toss cans of beer into the crowd, because I'd seen Frank Zappa do it. The yearbook entry from this date really sums it up: "White Lightning literally struck everyone dead! A few of the more slovenly students helped clean up the beer with straws." Apparently one or two people got conked on the head by flying beer cans and had to see the nurse. I hadn't thought of that. I also hadn't anticipated a two- day suspension from school for the stunt."
"After the debacle at Malcolm Campbell High we were so down we actually considered packing it in. We decided to give it one more shot with everything we could muster. This time we had a mixing board, the big PA, light show, smoke machine, strobe light, rotating cop lights, you name it. The gig took place at Father MacDonald High, April 1977.
"It went over well enough that we started to get a reputation for putting on a big show. But it cost a lot. Of the 4 or 5 hundred we got paid probably two thirds of it went to expenses.
"Later that spring came one of White Lightning's finest moments. May 1977, Vanier Snowdon. We shared the bill with a band called Chocolate Speedway featuring Ricky Rice (a mainstay on the local band scene for years) and guest starring Brian Greenaway of April Wine. We had separate stages at opposite ends of the cafeteria. They were by far the more seasoned pros to us rank amateurs, but on this night we got the better of them. The crowd preferred our loud, flamboyant, over-the-top rock to Chocolate Speedway's slick, commercial pop sound. We stole the show, we really did! This was the first time George threw buckets of confetti into the crowd, the beginning of a fine tradition -- and safer than throwing cans of beer.
"We were now rehearsing at Brian McNab's downtown loft, auditioning, once again for a bass player. It was the fall of 1977 and I'd just turned 18. In walks this guy with long black hair, a funny cap on his head, talking like a Beatle. He brought a couple of other people with him, which was unusual for someone who was auditioning for a band. I don't really recall how the audition went, but at the end of it we had a new bass player, Nick Robinson. Afterwards we went for a drink at the St. James Pub. It was there that George suggested to me "I think this guy might be gay."
"We were rehearsing at McNab's place for a few weeks before he got sick of us and kicked us out. Which he did most politely by simply raising the rent so we couldn't afford to stay. I don't blame him. We weren't just rehearsing there, we were partying. There were all kinds of low lifes from Baron Byng high school hanging around. One day Brian came in with his girlfriend in tow hoping for a little privacy only to find White Lightning putting on an impromptu concert for about a hundred kids from Byng Bong. 'Who are all these people?' he exclaimed. That was it for him, poor guy. We had definitely overstayed our welcome. Thankfully he continued to work with us. If George Martin was the fifth Beatle, Brian McNab was the fifth White Lightning.
"During that past summer I had heard God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols and became interested in the punk movement, from a musical standpoint. I saw that it represented the future and urged George to consider taking the band in that direction. He would have none of it. He wanted to stay in his comfort zone, where he was clearly in charge. Nick and I used to play it during lulls in rehearsal and it was obvious it pissed George off quite a bit."
The band went to George's basement to prepare for the next gig, Lachine High, and I started my endless freezing commutes. To me now it boggles the mind, but back then it just seemed like fun. Board the 65 bus from Cote des neiges to Guy Metro. Ride the green line, change at Berri de Montigny. Ride to Henri Bourassa. Take a bus all the way to the corner of George's street. It took about an hour if all the vehicles arrived promptly, an hour and a half if they didn't. There were no iPods back then. I'd entertain myself by sitting facing the back of the train, closing my eyes and trying to force my brain into thinking we were travelling forwards instead of backwards (try it -- it's better than drugs).
George's basement was extremely cramped and all our amps were turned up to 11; I attribute those days to the ringing in my right ear that began last summer and has not stopped since. The basement must have been insulated like a nuclear bunker, because no one ever protested.
Adrian continues: "We played Lachine High Dec. 15, 1977. By all accounts it was our most polished perfomance to date. It was one of the few times we had monitors that worked, so we could hear what we were doing. And we had, for the first time, some great backing vocals (actually better than the lead) courtesy of our new bassist Nick Robinson. He was what band needed to get to the next level -- somebody with talent. At this gig was the president of the student council from Vanier College scouting for a band for their Easter break shindig. He was extremely impressed and offered us the job.
"These high school gigs were paying us around $550.00 gross; the net was slightly less than half split four ways. So we probably ended up with about 60 bucks in our pockets each. But we all had to cough up our share of the monthly PA rental, about $15 or $20. The Vanier gig was going to pay more, $650.00 I think. We also had a couple of other irons in the fire at two other high schools totalling around $1000.00 between them. We had been blitzing the high schools with our business cards and posters, and we had a demo tape. But what really got us noticed was our reputation, which had spread by word of mouth. We had done a free concert at Lasalle Park in Lachine the previous summer which had gone over very well. A lot of the people that were at that concert, of course, went to Lachine High. That's how we got that gig. We'd always nurtured this wild reputation. Our business cards read "White Lightning: Guaranteed to Give you a Jolt." What we'd lacked was the music to back it up. With our new bassist we became a tight, professional act. Unfortunately it was all too fleeting."
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| Brian McNab at the mixing board |
We stormed the sleepy town like an infantry division. Our run there lasted for five weeks, five Saturdays, starting Dec 31, 1977 -- New Years's Eve. We put on a great show to a packed house. The weeks at The Commons went buy with good crowds, and we were developing a following. We had converted the club from a sleepy country club to a hard rock Musikpalast. Things got rowdy after we were done for the night -- we'd drive to a nearby late-night diner and wolf down bugers while swigging from scotch bottles. One night the band thoughtit would be hilarious to pull me and my mattress out onto the landing and leave me there. I awoke to a puzzled parade of hotel-goers on their way to the communal bathroom; I just moaned and turned over and went back to sleep, I was so hungover.
We were paid $150.00 a night less expenses split four ways, so we made almost nothing. The Commons was the only club where White lightning became a house band. We could've stayed longer if we'd wished, but we left of our own accord claiming we had "bigger fish to fry." All those lucrative high school bookings; we ended up never playing any of them.
I was with the band for about seven months. After that, it was goodbyes all around as I relocated to California to attend art college at the renowned California College of Arts and Crafts. I formed and broke up many a band after that, but White Lightning was my real introduction to what life in a professional band could be like -- and I wanted none of it.
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| George: Whereabouts unknown. |
"I first got a job with a singer named Shirleen Hayes. Shirleen was a powerfull black singer along the lines of a Shirley Bassey or Dionne Warwick. The piano trio backing her up were top notch. I went home that night and the next morning and pored over the tapes I'd made, learning their material. Then I went for my audition. The first thing they hit me with was Copa Cabanna by Barry Manilow. This is where the six years of drum lessons my parents had paid for paid off. It was as far removed from White Lightning as you could get, but I had been trained in all musical styles and was well prepared. I passed my audition, or so I thought, "we'll call you" they said. Then nothing for about six months.
"April 1979 I got the call for one of the best gigs I ever had, at La Diligence, a high-end bar and restaurant located at the intersection of Jean-Talon and Decarie. I had to join the musician's union and buy a new set of clothes for this job -- it was the big time. Four nights, two hundred bucks a week, (that was good money in those days) for almost an entire year. We were advertised on the radio, members of the Expos and Canadiens came in. I was part of the Shirleen Hayes Trio, Ron Jenkins on piano and Les Leroux an bass (no guitar -- how refreshing). We were playing Natalie Cole, Barbra Striesand, Dionne Warwick, Donna Summer, Shirley Bassey, Bee Gees, Captain & Tennille, Barry Manilow, Beatles, Billy Joel and Dave Brubeck, just to name a few. It was the height of the disco era and we played to that element too.
"My last job as a drummer was the best. From 1985 to 1988 I was a member of Remember When, the house band at Maz, a little bar on Sherbrooke St. in NDG. Remember When was Ricky Clyde (guitar/vocal), Peter Sutherland (keys/vocal), Doug Martin (bass/vocal), and myself. We played 50's & 60's rock & roll to packed houses every Friday and Saturday night. 150 bucks each for two nights work was pretty good coin.
"That gig finally ended in May 1988 just as I began a new job as a customs rater for Lep International at Mirabel Airport. It was the proverbial fork in the road in my life. I never worked as a drummer again.
"My musical career ended at age 28."
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