Fred-Head Not Dead

Fred Eaglesmith may be the most honest guy in music, or the best actor. I'm not sure which. What I am sure about is that he has the ability to write songs that stay with you. Songs that no one else could ever right, but still are able to convey a feeling we all have had, or wish we could have.

He writes sad songs about his good dog, knowing that one day he'll have to put him down (Bill Morrissey has handled the day it happens, too well for most people's tear ducts). He writes uplifting songs about white trash just getting on with life, romantic songs about cars and trains, poignant, almost poetic songs about old gas stations and girl friends, as if they were one and the same. And he performs them in a gritty, tight, manner with what is sometimes an incredibly eclectic group of musicians, normally anchored in their musicianship by Willie P. Bennett, who can play anything with strings.

Fred seems to enjoy making a point with his choices of venue as well. He is more at home in a fire station hall than Carnegie Hall, and his recent choice of the Parkside Pub, in Highfield Park, our city's "new tough place to live" is emblematic of that approach. He is loved there. And he loves it back.

I've seen Fred play 4 times previous to this gig, but had not seen him in a while. L and I got there fairly early, and I managed to scrounge a seat for two along the wall. The service was not just good, it was incredible. Our server was friendly, efficient, fun, prompt, polite, and gorgeous. We ate the specialty, Chicken wings and beer.

Fred started on time, and they stopped serving food so as not to interrupt the show, but I think it was because the staff just wanted to watch too.

The first news was that Willie P. had had a heart attack on stage two weeks prior. It happened near the start of the show, Fred said, but he played through it and then went to the hospital. Not sure how true this was, because Fred was in Fred mode. He has become a show since I saw him last, with more than simply patter between songs. His stage talk runs somewhere between a southern preacher railing against all the evil in the world, to a frustrated honky who hates hummus and everything it stands (or slumps) for.

The show was full throttle for 90 minutes. He played almost all the faves, seemingly not risking new tunes without Willie P. up there with him. With his merch-sales gal drummer keeping time, and backed up solidly on bass and guitar, the music rocked, swayed, sobbed, and rolled.

After the third, and "as announced" final encore, he sat off to the side, signing merchandise and swapping stories with about 75 lined up fans. I wanted one of the "I Shot Your Dog" T-shirts, but they were sold out. What a perfect thing to wear out for a stroll on the Common!

My only complaint was that my favourite song of his, Lucille, was not on the program.

So I played it at home, before I went to sleep to dream about perfect chicken wings, drag racin'on the back roads, and snow plow drivers out in the middle of the plain hoping they are still on the blacktop.