So, to finish off the Maritime Canada tour blog (3), I played a great final NS show in the fairly magical town of Bear River at the edge of the Annapolis Valley – they make great wine down there. Then, I headed over to Moncton for the East Coast Music Awards. I played a pretty special show at The Riverview Arts Centre on the Wednesday of that week, and met some great Monctoners (is that the proper term?). If all goes well, I’ll be back to see them in the Fall.

The award for my category was given out on Thursday – I did not take it, but frankly, I didn’t expect I would. I guess you could say it was steep competition, but I don’t think ‘competition’ is the right word – how do you compare albums, really? They’re completely individual to the artist, or at least, they should be.

And so, after all that was over, another adventure began. I flew home on Monday, washed some clothes, repacked the bathroom kit (ya know, all that fun tour stuff), and on Tuesday, flew out of St. John’s again. First, we stupidly flew to Toronto before turning right back around and flying to Frankfurt (we waved to NL as we passed back over it). 28 hours from the moment we left, we arrived in Milano, exhausted but excited. Oh, and as Murphy’s law would have it, I had developed a bad head cold – I’m holding all 30 people who told me they were sick at the ECMAs personally responsible for this.

After a very quietly sung rehearsal with Ruben Minuto (an Italian songwriter I’m sharing this tour with), we headed out for our first show the following day - in a place called Morbegno, nestled in the Alps. We had a great meal at the venue that is native to the region - a type of pasta called Pizzoccheri, containing bitto (a special cheese from that area), potatoes, butter and cabbage. It’s difficult to describe the feeling of seeing those mountains come at you as you weave along small Italian roads, in and out of tunnels in the mountainside. Or the incredibly beautiful hillside towns – seeing them both in daylight on the way to the show, and then just their lights in the completely darkness on the way home was something special – distant lives and stories I’ll never know. I mentioned to N that it looked like the opening scene of Quantam of Solace, and I wasn’t far off – that scene was shot near Lake Garda, just a few km from a gig I would do some days later.

The next day, we played a tremendous show in Legnano, Milano. Great sound, great people, great vibe. I introduced ‘Red Skies’ as perhaps the most important song I would play that night, due to its connection to the region and the impact it has had on me since the first time I played it in Italy two years ago. A man in the audience later forwarded Ruben the following text and photo:

Questa foto è per Ian Foster. Ritrae il ponte tra Ostiglia e Revere quando c’era suo nonno in guerra. Complimenti x il concerto di ieri sera.

[This photo is for Ian Foster. It portrays the bridge between Revere and Ostiglia when his grandfather was at war.  Congratulations on the concert last night.]

As you can imagine, this is something else difficult to describe. Powerful stuff.

After that, we headed to Francaville Bisio – one of my favourite towns from the last tour. It’s a very small place with a big heart and amazing food. There is a castle there that fascinates me - it has been closed since the Nazis occupied the town during the war. The manager of the bar told me that they loaded their trucks up upon arrival with all the valuables in the castle and carted them out the next day, sending them back to Germany. Some of them ended up in a museum in a nearby city after the war, but most were lost to them forever. He also told me that as a child he would sneak in and play in the abandoned castle before they truly sealed it up…and also hinted that there might be a chance of getting in for the next time. Fingers crossed.

Still more shows followed, in Brescia and Milan the last two nights – it was nice to see some familiar faces in Milan from my last stay here, and we had a bit of a stage jam happening. In Brescia – as with most of the shows – I ended with ‘Orpheus and Eurydice’ and it seems to go well here. There is an interesting challenge in being an English-speaking folk singer playing original music to Italians: as you can imagine, you kind of have to find other ways to get the point across when it comes to certain stories and lyric ideas. I feel it has been working there, with lots of really great feedback from very attentive audiences. Italians are a passionate people, and I have been quite moved at the number of comments relating to ‘heart’ and ‘soul’ when discussing the show. Obviously, that’s what it’s all about in the end, but it becomes even more obvious when heart and soul are the things that bridge the language gap of a performance…that, and Ruben’s handy translation of certain stories during the show of course!

Today is the last show for a little while – I have a few much needed days off to recharge and be a bit of a tourist (and this is a pretty amazing place to be a tourist). More soon.

Of course, next week I won’t live here. And my little ‘life’ here has been interrupted many times by jaunts up and down the South Shore, and to Halifax, and beyond. This works as a great base for this tour – the next tour may be quite different. It usually is.

I’ve had a little time this tour to reflect on this lifestyle. After all, it’s a strange one not understood by most, though pretty much everyone has a vision of what they think it is. And there is nothing I will say that is new here, as I’ve read countless biographies from those on the road. But this is what it is to me, in a finish-the-sentence style:

The road is: fun. There is no other way you can enjoy constant mental stimulation every day from completely different environments. The stories, the people, the landscapes.

The road is: a job. It sucks sometimes. The distance from loved ones, the monotony of driving (which is fun at first, but after 5000 km or so is not so fun….I don’t care how many songs are on your iPod. The last few tours, I’ve been bringing audiobooks). Long hours, and careful living – if you’re heading out for a week on a mini-tour, you can be a little more careless if you’re young enough to not sleep well and still function, but weeks on end will get to anyone who is not eating and sleeping properly. I’m definitely the type of person who enjoys a drink after a set, but by far, I party the least when I’m on the road. How could it be otherwise? I tour solo. I’m the driver.

The road is: inspiring. Without a doubt, I’ve written countless songs while on – or inspired by – the road. Though when I say that, I’m talking about the array of characters and stories you learn about, and how that can be fuel for the songwriting fire. Personally, I often rally against songs strictly about “the road.” With the exception of a few good ones, they’re mostly insipid tales: You’re out there and lonely, and that motel room ain’t your bedroom…we get it. Perhaps everything has been said before anyway, but some things have been EXTRA said before…

The road is: zen. I’m not the most zen person who ever lived, that’s for sure. But when you’re on the road, you fall into a certain state that is apart from who you are at home. I’ll give you an example: after I told N that I would be touring in Italy and The Netherlands this spring, and after we’d decided she should come along because…well, it’s Italy and The Netherlands, she immediately started a frantic list of things to do. After telling me all about them by e-mail and phone, I basically replied with “cool, sounds good.” It’s not disinterest, but merely self preservation on my end. I’m endlessly excited about that journey, but at the moment, I’m on another one in The Maritimes, and I can’t think ahead of the next show, because otherwise it would be all too daunting. And so, touring becomes day to day, with enough of a plan to get into tomorrow. I try to take a little more of that attitude home with me every time.

The road is: the only real education you’ll ever get. I’ve been in this business long enough to know success is not strictly about talent. Hell, I could tell you two things off the top of my head that happened this week that would turn your stomach when it comes to how some people get the opportunities that they get. But the place where it all matters is the road. The only way to know if your songs mean anything to anyone is to take them to far off lands and play them for people who don’t care…and make them care. The only way to know if you can win over an audience is to play for an audience not loaded with friends. I am now a better player, singer, performer and songwriter because I’ve toured a lot over the last few years. I’ve played all kinds of shows, from big theatres to little cafes, but the point is I’ve done it and learned a lot. I learn something new with every gig on the road, no matter what it is. And I believe it’s the only true gauge of a successful performing artist vs. a smoke and mirrors successful performing artist. Think of any artist you know. If they seem successful, but don’t tour, then you know which kind they are.

The road is: social. You see people all the time, and in situations you’re not familiar with. Whether it’s the strangers at a show, or the people billeting you, or friends you’re hanging out with in a given town you don’t see very much – you are constantly in conversation, or drifting towards new conversation. People ask if I get lonely on the road, and to be honest, I rarely do. I like traveling alone because that time between places on a solo drive is usually the only time I’m actually alone.

The road is: perspective. Ever feel like anything in your town matters? Hit the road. You’ll change your thinking pretty quickly, and likely for the better. It’s a big world out there…luckily it’s filled with mostly good people.

And finally…

The road is: full of stories. Seriously. Around every turn…I’ve sat in a homemade sauna in the middle of the night in central Ontario, narrowly avoided Canadian cacti in B.C., had an extended argument about the bible in a tourism chalet in Hants County, Nova Scotia, eaten pumpkin pasta in the Italian village that invented it, learned that sheep cough like real people in Holland (ask for the extended version in person for the live action portion of this story), been shot with an imaginary arrow a homeless man was carrying on Ste. Catherine Street in Montreal, had a cashier at Coffee Time try to charge me $10 for directions in Toronto, met a man who believed he was a messenger of God in Windsor, ate the most amazing breakfast of my life in a place called Jesolo, got into my only (knock wood) accident in Dartmouth and wrote off my first car (…and yet still made it to the show), got so sick from a stomach flu in PEI during the East Coast Music Awards that they had to give me morphine and 3 litres of saline water, played a song I wrote about my grandfather’s time in Northern Italy during the second World War IN Northern Italy three years after writing the song…and those are just some of MY stories. That doesn’t count the stream of tales others have told me – the ones that became songs, the ones I just carry around with me in my head. Some of the above are good. Some are obviously bad. Some are just funny. But hell, they’re all stories, and that’s what matters.

Luckily, many of the shows have only been a few hours from each other this time, so with the exception of a few overnights, I’ve been sleeping in the same bed. That will change next week as I head to the ECMAs in Moncton. But for now, it’s great to take in these adventures and actually have a little time to meditate on them.

So where were we? I played a great show last Wednesday in Lunenburg. On Thursday, we took off to Halifax for a taping at Breakfast Television – in case you didn’t know, they tape at 12:30 p.m. now, which is much better than airtime. It’s not just about not wanting to get up in the morning. Who can sing their best at 7:30 a.m.?

After that, it was off to Cole Harbour, and one of my favourite shows to do. Thanks again to Vince and Pixie for the hospitality, and the giving audience. I tried out one of my newer songs, “Ethie” there – due to the fact that it was a song circle, I only did one new song. Next time, many more…

Friday took me to Hubbard’s, where I met a fellow displaced Newfoundlander – a great chat ensued. Saturday, I headed to Liverpool and did a taping with Stephen and Katy of Analog Songs – great people with a cool site (for those in St. John’s, think Nova Scotian heavyweather.ca). I had a lovely time in town that night and met some great people.

This past Monday, I was in Halifax, and was happy to reconnect with some other NL friends as I did a show with friend Matthew Hornell and new friend Sunny Chances (from Halifax) at The Carleton.

So that’s the itinerary rundown. It has been a good time so far. In terms of mental space, I have to say that it’s an interesting one when it comes to touring, as it has been since I started touring regularly 5 years ago. I’d say it’s the same as normal travel, but to be honest, I can’t remember what normal travel feels like – I’ve taken virtually no vacations as an adult: they have always been part of a tour.

Frankly, I enjoy that fact – playing music is the ultimate amalgam of business and pleasure for me. That is, it’s definitely still work when you tour – the often grueling schedule of performance can’t be confused with simple fun. But touring means that you see every place in a different way, as you meet people who will give you the “inside scoop” on a given town or city; this is not tourism. That’s why I find it helpful for writing. If you’re smart enough and awake enough to open your eyes and ears, you become part folklorist on a tour – you collect pieces of stories from those willing to tell them. You do so in a great burst, so great that it blurs together a bit. But that’s okay – the best stuff, the most compelling stuff, rises to the surface and turns into song.

Maybe I’ll write something a bit more specific about that at some point in the future – for now, I’m gonna pack up. They’re closing here and I could use another walk around town before dark.

Related show

• Artist: Ian Foster
• Tour: The Evening Light – Italy & The Netherlands 2012
• Date: Thursday, May 3rd 2012
• Time: 7:00pm
• City: Ian Foster in Quakenbruck, Germany
• Venue: Kantine
• Country: US
• Add to Google Calendar | Download iCal

• Artist: Ian Foster
• Tour: The Evening Light – Italy & The Netherlands 2012
• Date: Wednesday, May 9th 2012
• Time: 7:00pm
• City: Ian Foster in Netherlands
• Venue: Dollard Radio Live Performance
• Country: NL
• Add to Google Calendar | Download iCal

• Artist: Ian Foster
• Tour: The Evening Light – Italy & The Netherlands 2012
• Date: Saturday, May 12th 2012
• Time: 7:00pm
• City: Ian Foster in Groningen, Netherlands
• Venue: De Oude Remise
• Country: NL
• Add to Google Calendar | Download iCal

• Artist: Ian Foster
• Tour: The Evening Light – Italy & The Netherlands 2012
• Date: Sunday, May 13th 2012
• Time: 7:00pm
• City: Ian Foster in Bad Nieuwschans, Netherlands
• Venue: Workshop/Live Performance
• Country: NL
• Add to Google Calendar | Download iCal

The full review is reposted below:

penguin eggs (Issue No. 53, Spring 2012)

Ian Foster
The Evening Light (Independent)

This is the first I’ve heard of Ian Foster. It seems, despite technology, this country is still big enough for someone to make a splash in Europe, Newfoundland, and the Maritimes and still be relatively unheard of out here in the west of Canada.

Well, spread the word – Ian Foster is a good’un. Good songs, good playing, good arrangements, good singing…the whole package. A Large Crowd Gathers for the Deceased Jeff Elliott’s Encore Performance is a great title and a great song.

Although he seems square in the middle of the definition of singer/songwriter – a boy with a guitar – I love the way he sweetens up the sounds with cello, banjo, violin, and numerous other odd and lovely touches to go along with his accomplished guitar playing.

Ian Foster is a lovely discovery for me. The Evening Light is a keeper. Check it out.

- les siemieniuk

It’s hard when you do what I do, though. You have to bring CDs: that’s a small suitcase right there. I play acoustic AND electric, and it’s a part of the show I don’t like to sacrifice, so that means a second guitar, an amp, a second tuner, more cables, electric-specific pedals…it adds up quickly.

Luckily, I flew Westjet to Halifax instead of Air Canada, so all was pleasant and relatively easy. Upon arriving, I promptly rented a very sexy electric (Les Paul Studio…don’t tell my guitar back home I’m cheating on her) from the Halifax Long and McQuade, and I was good to go. And my friend Jean took some luggage up with her a few days before, so that allowed me to meet baggage requirements with ease. This is how you fit a carload of stuff onto a plane.

And now I’m in Lunenburg on the South Shore of Nova Scotia, sitting in a cafe, back in a sweater I quickly stripped off when I arrived to 27 degrees in NS this past Wednesday. That flash heatwave was brief here, but oh so sweet – a promise ring from summer.

I’ve played three shows on the tour so far, all special. I played Tatamagouche on Wednesday for some cool folks, and stayed on a farm that had three labs and a pig named Pork-Quoi. They say that he lives in Piggy’s Cove. I say that’s awesome.

I also met a man in Tatamagouche whose son (maybe grandson?) was in the band Len (remember “Steal My Sunshine”?). He now works as a carpenter in Barrie, ON, I believe.

On Thursday, I played a house concert with some great hosts who had me last September, and last night I played a Little River Folk event in Mahone Bay with friends Alex Hickey and Jim Dorie, and new friend Ruth Minnikin – a great evening with a really enthused crowd.

And today is the first day off – a typical scenario for the touring musician: not a lot of Sunday gigs. But that’s okay. There’s rest to be had, and episodes of Mad Men on Netflix to be watched. I’m in for a rehearsal tonight with Alex Hickey for a song circle we’re doing this Thursday in Cole Harbour, NS.

Oh, and I’m drinking decaf these days…it tastes the same people. Don’t be hatin’.

Cheers!

I first heard “Girl in the War” when it was posted on Canadian songwriter Matthew Good’s blog. Most who are even a little familiar with Matt Good know that he is a pretty straight up individual who writes dark, thoughtful music, and so when he posted that he’d just heard this song that made him weep, I knew I had to hear it. I was impressed, and sought out the rest of the album later that day. I’m glad I did – because I was ready.

So what does that mean? I’ve been establishing a few themes of music loving over the course of the last few installments of this series, and one is that your favourite albums sometimes become your favourite not just because they’re great. Obviously there is a lot of great music out there that I know objectively is great, but doesn’t move me. I think the other side of the coin is timing. Personally, I don’t have much more comment on this album and timing than that. There was no big moment in my life that was reflected in the music or words of this record – it was just the right time, and that’s enough.

I think I like this album so much because there is as much meaning between the lines as there is in the lines themselves. The Animal Years is about journeys to foreign lands, mystery women, the American mid-west, people and places out of time, literature. And then there are the songs.

“Monster Ballads” is an exercise in impressionistic lyrics set over a production mood that works perfectly. “Idaho” is dark and perfect – a capella unless you turn it up loud enough and stay silent enough to hear the gently plucked acoustic guitar that you can actually miss: it defies car listening, which I respect. “One More Mouth” is desire from a distance, set over mostly clean electric guitar and enough ear candy to keep the vibe interesting:

Honey why you gotta hide your face from me?

Will I starve in this eclipse while you treat every hungry kiss

Like one more mouth to feed?

In a lyrically economic song, this simple verse makes it worth it.

Clearly, “Thin Blue Flame” is the Pièce de résistance – an epic and ambitious 9:38 minute narrative with almost no instrumental breaks. It’s full of vivid images and, for lack of a better term…ideas. It’s a story, but not in the way you expect a story to be told – if ever there was a song that could be reduced to memorable pull-quote couplets, it’s this one. Check a few of these:

And the whole world was looking to get drowned

Trees were a fist shaking themselves at the clouds

and

He bent down and made the world in seven days

and ever since he’s been walking away

and

It’s a bible or a bullet they put over your heart

it’s getting harder and harder to tell them apart

and

the raw smell of horses and the warm smell of hay

cicadas electric in the heat of the day

These lines are obviously not connected – they are merely random couplets I love that stuck with me. And I’ve left others out. Like I said – incredible descriptions and thoughtful ideas mixing together verse after verse. If it wasn’t so well crafted, I’d wonder if “Thin Blue Flame” were a calling card – this is how to write lyrics.

The album ends with “Here at the Right Time” – a finale carefully chosen to follow a song like “Thin Blue Flame.” It contains one of my favourite verses about the idea of a failed love:

I was a pretty poor cure

But my love for you was always pure

The bucket was broken

But the water was pure

A quick aside about writing: I think that, historically, the best songwriters who are revered lyricists are almost exclusively voracious readers. Dylan, in his autobiography, talks about spending his adult formative years (19-22 or so) reading all of the classics. The way he tells it, it sounds like he didn’t even leave the house for two or three years. Cohen, as everyone knows, was a poet and writer first. Even Bono, who is arguably one of the better lyricists in rock music, was and is a big fan of all kinds of writers, like Bukowski and Kerouac, whose influence is clear in their 90s work. Josh Ritter recently published a novel, though his interest in the written word is clear from his earliest songs.

Are lyrics everything? Absolutely not. If the music is not compelling, a lyrically interesting album feels like an audiobook, and that’s not fun. But I think the writers I mentioned above (which includes Ritter) have endured – and will endure – because words are important. Stephen King has a great quote about this in his book “On Writing”:

If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write. Simple as that.

I think there is a lot of great music out there with shitty lyrics because the musicians have honed their skills in one department, but haven’t in another. Perhaps that’s a silly statement – no one’s perfect at everything, and there is always going to be room for improvement. I just find, in general, that there are a lot fewer true lyricists out there. Music is a surefire way into the heart, and even into the mind. The question is – once it’s in there, is it a good conversationalist? I think you can sit and talk with Josh Ritter’s The Animal Years for a long time.

But this one isn’t about Lover/Fighter, it’s about Death Cab for Cutie’s Plans, another album that takes me to a specific place.

This is a spring album for me. I’d like to say it’s because of a certain vibe within the songs, like the obvious “Summer Skin,” but in truth it’s just an album I bought and explored in the spring.

A little insight into my thoughts on DCFC: I think they are an underrated band. This may sound funny to those who know them at all, as they had a huge indie following prior to the major label release of Plans (and still do?). At this point in their career, they’re relatively mainstream, compared to their obscurity as little as five years ago. They’ve always had fans, and critics have been kind.

So why are they underrated? Because DCFC – for a while – suffered from being “cool,” and this is a big problem for a lot of bands. Because cool is a curse. Because you will inevitably go through not being cool, and you will be analyzed in relation to how cool you are or how cool you used to be. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the songs, which in DCFC’s case, are simply great.

I also think Ben Gibbard is often underrated as a writer. He definitely has his faults – sometimes things get a little too dour, but overall, I think the band has managed a career full of pop-rock songs that are clever and have depth. I also think it’s worth noting that those descriptive words can’t exist in the same sentence for most bands.  Even the successful pop-rock bands – if they’re lucky – grasp either clever OR funny, but rarely both.

DCFC manage to continue to put new spins on old ideas, which is the goal, isn’t it? Plans is an album about Loss (capital L), and they illustrate it well in word and sound. “Marching Bands of Manhattan” keeps with their consistent trend of great opening tracks, and the aforementioned “Summer Skin” is full of simple, striking imagery that captures a season and the move away from it. These guys absolutely understand the necessary flow of an album, and the record arcs and bumps in the right places – “Brothers in a Hotel Bed” is a damn near perfect late side B mood setter.

I have since fleshed out my DCFC collection, and I love Transatlanticism probably as much as Plans, and there was a period when I was on the road last summer when I listened to The Open Door EP almost too much. But, as I’ve said in a previous Record Player, you always remember your first when it comes to these things.

I feel that way about David Gray’s Lost Songs 95-98.

Now, even when I discovered this album years ago, David Gray was hardly a secret. It was right around the time that the song “Babylon” was changing his life and giving him the fanbase that allowed him to continue to make music for a living. The monumental success of that album was a blessing and a curse though, as the song was put into every movie trailer for a span of about three years, and – though the man had released 3 albums worth of good songs before White Ladder – people perceived him as a bit of a ‘one hit wonder to be.’ White Ladder also become a part of everyone’s ‘chill out’ mix, and Gray was perceived – wrongly I think – as a bit of a shoe-gazer whose vibe always stayed the same. If you’ve listened to all of his albums, you’ll know that’s not the case. But personally, I don’t think a lot of people really gave the other albums the proper chance. Gray actually speaks about that in the “Commercial Reception” section here.

Anyway, all of that context aside, the point of this is Lost Songs 95-98 – an ingenious “follow-up” to White Ladder. The album is entirely acoustic (in comparison to the loops and such that filled out Ladder). Lost Songs goes straight for vibe and sparsely solid songwriting. In fact, those are the two things I love about David Gray in general – the songwriting, and the mood it puts me in.

First, the songs. “Flame Turns Blue” is all about being a tonally welcoming first track with a brilliant lyric of loss and hope. This is not meant as a personal comparison of artists, but I’ve often felt “Sparrow,” the first track on The Evening Light is my “Flame Turns Blue” due to its ‘introductory’ qualities. “As I’m Leaving,” with pinpoint lyrics, great harmonies on the chorus, and beautifully articulated piano and drums, gets me every time. “Tidal Wave” is a go-to example for me of almost Hemingway-esque writing that articulates beautifully something simple and yet often overstated: the act of remembering.

Ever since your fingertips
Ever since your eyes
Talking with the light oh
Bluer skies

Even if I wanted to
How could I explain?
Coming through my head now
This tidal wave

Does it get any simpler (and yet more complicated) than that?

I’ve always felt like Gray understands melody extremely well – these songs stick in your head, and yet the lines don’t sacrifice the word choice – they serve it.

The other part of my love of this record is that it sets a mood for me, and I feel like that’s more complicated than most people give credit for. I think there are a contingent of people out there who think that if all the songs on a record are acoustic-based and the singer doesn’t scream, then it has “a good laid back vibe.” While that might be true on the surface, it certainly doesn’t mean it’s good. To me, Lost Songs not only puts me in a certain place, but it makes that place interesting to me. This is not background music, it’s another life in rainy London, maybe in Fall or Winter. It’s the promise of a Friday night, or the mystery at the top of a long set of steps in a stranger’s house. It’s Tuesday afternoon coffee shops when it’s raining outside, it’s about being under covers when it snows. It’s about scarves and hem lines. Am I being random? Absolutely. That is the nature of trying to describe a mood that goes beyond ‘happy’ or ‘sad.’ And that’s the beauty of a set of songs that are married to one another so perfectly on an album.

Back to the ‘music belongs to me’ thing from the beginning. I know a lot of people who say they love David Gray, and they all own White Ladder or A New Day at Midnight. I know very few people who own this album, or at least, I didn’t really know anyone who owned it and talked about it back when I picked it up. Probably because it didn’t do very well by comparison. And that made it easier to love. Not because I was being ‘elite,’ or because I’m ‘anti-commerical’ or anything (it’s still David Gray and it still sold more copies than I will probably ever sell in my lifetime, after all). But there were no other opinions or press quotes that were easily accessible about it in my corner of the world, and if there were, they passed me by. So I just listened to it as a collection of songs. And I liked what I heard. Simple as that.

Amazing how rare that kind of simple is.