Two Dollar Cover

SYNOPSIS “Two Dollar Cover” is a personal memoir that takes the reader along on a journey to discover songs. It begins with interviewing Joni Mitchell upstairs at The Riverboat, when she and the author were both young, and it concludes with interviewing Sylvia Tyson by phone when she and the author were both seniors. Along the way there are stops that include a day at Woodstock and an evening filming “Going Down The Road”. There are nights with Stompin’ Tom at The Horseshoe and working the house lights at Lee’s Palace. There’s rockabilly music way out in the hinterlands with a full moon for a spotlight, and an upstairs party at The Tarragon Theatre entertaining cast and author at the debut of a Michael Ondaatje play. There is the untold story of Mariposa 95, the year Toronto stopped supporting the festival, a tale that’s missing from the festival’s official history. The book moves breezily through the struggles and triumphs of musicians trying to break through the noise in a busy music scene, taking the reader along for the ride. Amatish Music was a will-o-the-wisp independent record label that briefly bloomed in Toronto mid-1990’s. After forays into event promotion, publicity, street journalism, and radio promotion, an independent label seemed inevitable. Overimagined and underfunded, the label released five recordings and co-released a book before disappearing without a trace. And the beat goes on. Years later in a small town on Georgian Bay, there was ample proof that exceptional talent is everywhere and those in search of a song will never disappear.

Lee’s Palace was an old vaudeville theatre converted into a rock club with a disco dance cave upstairs. The exterior on Bloor Street was a huge cartoon multi-coloured mural that seemed to dance before your eyes. Inside, things hung from the ceiling - half a machine, parts of a mannequin - and swirling murals covered the dark walls. Along with a sound system so loud it vibrated your spine, the big stage had arrays of coloured lights. It was dark and still when I went to meet him. The big empty space still smelled like beer and looked a little dingy. Craig had straight blonde hair down to the small of his back. He spoke in a bored monotone. He took the fancy package I handed him and set it aside without comment. The sound of a rock band rehearsing came from upstairs in the Dance Cave, with loud blasts of music interrupted by brief pauses. “That’s Loverboy,” Craig said wearily, “rehearsing for the Gardens.”