ROOTS MUSIC IN CALGARY, ALBERTA: AN ETHNOGRAPHY

GILLIAN TURNBULL

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES

IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS

FOR THE DEGREE OF

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

GRADUATE PROGRAM IN MUSIC

YORK UNIVERSITY

TORONTO, ONTARIO

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M Canada Abstract

This dissertation examines the ways in which local roots musicians in Calgary, Alberta practice independence, and is based on ethnographic research conducted from 2002 to 2009. The position Calgary occupies as a city in Canada is a complicated one: its vast wealth during recessionary times for other cities, its predominantly conservative politics, and its associations with western culture often contribute to a particular view of the city. At the same time, Calgary strives to overturn those perceptions, presenting itself as a friendly, easygoing, downhome town at times; as a sophisticated metropolis which houses many of the country's corporate headquarters at others; as a gateway to some of the country's most spectacular landscapes at still others. It is a city that has seen unprecedented growth throughout the 1990s and 2000s, and its self-perception is changing to accommodate the accompanying diversity. All of these factors have contributed to how local roots musicians operate in the city. The central argument of this dissertation is that the roots music scene of Calgary is principally defined by the independent practices of its participants more so than any particular sound or style. As such, musicians have adopted some of the qualities so frequently ascribed to western identity; a stubborn, survivalist mindset has determined a self-reliance felt by many local musicians. Independence has also influenced musical choices: artists record, release, design, promote, and sell their own albums, generally without the assistance of a record label; musicians also use compositional techniques, performance practices, and production styles that are viewed as accessible to many listeners and stem from a long line of established genres. In roots music radio and venues, independence is also highly valued, directly influencing programming practices and the social relationships that emerge within the industry. Finally, the geographical layout of the city contributes to perceptions of roots music, how audiences map their experiences of local music, and how economic centres of power govern music consumption. Calgarian roots musicians construct complex and conflicting musical identities of marginalization and independence, regularly shifting their practices to align with Calgary's collective urban identity and a regional western and prairie identity.

iv Dedication

This dissertation is dedicated to two people who are no longer with us:

My grandmother, Mabel Turnbull. Your educational achievements at such a young age in the 1920s have been a continual inspiration for generations of Turnbull women. Your support during my degree is always remembered, as is your wonderful, generous spirit.

My grandfather, James Clarke. I have vivid memories of you playing steel guitar for me when I was a child, which began my love of country music. 1 wish that I could share this work with you. I will continue to research country music in your memory.

v Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the Ontario Graduate Scholarship Fund and York University for providing financial assistance for this project and for this degree. Thank you to Rob Bowman, my supervisor, for a rewarding learning experience and for your infinite patience, assistance, and advice. I would also like to thank my committee members, Louise Wrazen and Bob

Witmer, for challenging me, expanding my knowledge of the field, for solid personal and professional advice, and for your feedback on my work. Thank you to the other members of my examining committee, Rob van der Bliek, Anne MacLennan, and Brian Rusted, who all

contributed valuable and thoughtful comments and advice. Thanks to Tere Tilban-Rios, whose incredible and tireless work eases the process of finishing a graduate degree for all music students. Thanks to additional faculty members, Dorothy DeVal and Irene Markoff, for your professional advice and efforts to create an enjoyable experience in the music program.

I would also like to thank several colleagues who became friends during the

completion of this degree, and whose thoughtful comments, support, and intellectual talents were continually valuable. In alphabetical order, these are Sean Bellaviti, Kim Chow-Morris,

Tim Falconer, Leslie Hall, Intan Murtadza, Phil Rose, David Snable, Paul Swoger-Ruston,

Terry Walker, and Geoff Whittall. Thanks to my colleagues whose close friendship and

shared experiences made my time at York very meaningful: Kristin Force, Monique Giroux,

Jen Taylor, and Sija Tsai. Thanks also go to my wonderful, dear friends who gave me support

in various ways during my time in Toronto: Jane Batson, Deborah Berwick, Siphiwe Dube,

Allison Myler, Noel Patten, Gord Ross, Marie-Eve Sarrazin, and Jenn Selby.

This project is the result of many years of fieldwork in Calgary, Alberta. I was

inspired to write about the roots music scene there after spending time watching some of my

vi favourite performers in the city. To all who participated in the project by agreeing to be interviewed, by sending recordings and helping me make further connections, and who have since become friends, thank you: Dave Alcock, Jenny Allen, Myke Atkinson, Vic Bell, Alison

Brock, Suze Casey, Ryan Clarke, Steve Coffey, Consonant C, Tom Coxworth, Jim Cuddy,

Tony Dekker, Kris Demeanor, Lin Elder, Mark Hamilton, Jane Hawley, Tim Hus, Jerry

Keogh, Sharon Keelaghan, Dawn Loucks, Scott MacLeod, Neil MacGonigill, Pat Maclntyre,

Matt Masters, Dave McCann, Kent Newson, Tom Phillips, Neville Quinlan, Lori Reid, the

Rockergirl Camp Staff, Gordon Ross, les siemieniuk, Aimee Strong, David Ward, members of

Widow Maker, Tim Williams, and John Wort Hannam.

I would like to thank my extended family for their support. I would especially like to thank my mother and father, Susan and Jim, and my brothers, Blake and Rory (and Nicole), for your understanding, support, and love. This degree would not have been possible without all the help you have given me in various ways and this dissertation is also dedicated to you as both a wonderful family, and as my reminder of what Calgary and home really means.

Finally, I would like to thank Gerry McGoldrick, who is a fantastic editor and whose brilliant mind has shaped my thinking throughout the writing of this dissertation. Your

willingness to listen to me and challenge my ideas and your unwavering love and support

means more than you will ever know.

Vll Table of Contents

Introduction: Discovering Calgarian Roots Music I. Ethnographic Setting P 1 II. Study Objectives P 2 III. Description of Ethnographic Setting P 5 IV. Methodology P 7 i. Fieldwork at Home P 13 ii. Gender and My Fieldwork P 14 iii. Reflexive Ethnographic Writing P 18 V. Literature Review P 21 i. Alberta Music and Culture P 21 ii. The Music Industry/Independent Music P 24 iii. Country and Alternative Country P 28 iv. Place and Music P 32 v. Community Radio P 34 VI. Overview of Chapters P 36

Chapter 1: "You Better Like the Rodeo": Alberta Roots Music History P 43 I. The Parade P 43 II. Discussing Early Alberta Music P 49 III. Alberta: A Brief History P 50 i. Calgary P 53 IV. Calgary and Western Culture P 55 i. The Stampede.Its Contested Symbols P 57 V. Research on Alberta's Folk Music'Traditions P 69 VI. Roots of Calgary's Current Scene: 1970-1990 P 72 i. Alberta's Camelot: The 1970s P 73 VII. Post-1990: A Current Roots Scene Overview P 81 VIII. Conclusion P 83

Chapter 2: "Only You (And You Alone)": Independence in Practice P 85 I. Introduction P 85 II. What is Indie P 88 III. Indie as Ideology P 94 IV. Indie as Community P 98 i. Community in Calgary P 102 ii. Creating a Community Online P 104 V. Indie as Innovation P 108 i. Studio Technology: Home Recording P 111 ii. Promotional Technology: Online Marketing P 115 VI. Calgary: Independence in Practice P 117 i. Managing Oneself P 117 ii. Managing Home Life P 120 VII. Conclusion: No Day Job: I've Made It P 121 Chapter 3: "Curse of Hank": The Sounds and Images of Alt-Country and Roots Music in Calgary P- 124 I. Introduction P- 124 II. Country Music Literature P- 127 III. Alt-Country: Current Definitions P- 130 IV. Alternative=Authentic P- 136 V. Vocal Performance: Academic Foundations P- 142 VI. Intertextuality and the 'Grain' of the Voice P- 145 VII. Musical Examples P- 149 /. Example 1: Tom Phillips, "Blue Yodel No. 1" P- 153 ii. Example 2: Tim Hus, "Hotel and Saloon " P- 161 iii. Example 3: Matt Masters, "Centennial Swell" P- 166 iv. Example 4: Jane Hawley, "Trick of the Trade " P- 171 v. Example 5: Steve Coffey, "Stanley's Hope " P- 177 vi. Example 6: Dave McCann, "Grain Car" P- 183 vii. Example 7: Scott MacLeod, "Broken Heart" P- 188 VIII. Roots Examples Beyond Alt-Country P- 192 i. Billy Cowsill/The Co-Dependents/Sorrow Bound Band P- 193 ii. Tim Williams P- 195 iii. The Fates P- 196 iv. John Wort Hannam P- 197 v. Kris Demeanor/Chantal Vitalis P- 198 vi. Widow Maker P- 199 IX. Musical Iconography P- 200 X. Conclusion P- 216

Chapter 4: "Land of the In Between": Nostalgia, Gentrification, and Desired Landscapes in Calgarian Roots Music P- 219 I. Introduction P- 219 II. Nostalgia P- 222 i. Nostalgia and the City P- 225 ii. Nostalgia and Heritage P- 230 III. Gentrification: The Soundtrack to Transformation P- 232 i. Gentrification in Calgary: The East Village P- 235 ii. The Ironwood Stage and Grill P- 240 iii. Folk Clubs P- 246 iv. The King Eddy Blues Bar P- 248 v. Summary: Gentrification and Music in the East Village P- 251 IV. Creating the Country and the City in Composition P- 253 i. Place or Space? P- 253 ii. Example 1: Steve Coffey, "Valley of Wildflower" P- 257 iii. Example 2: Dave McCann: "Pocket of Love " P- 260 iv. Example 3: Scott MacLeod: "This Old Farmhouse" P- 260 v. Example 4: Steve Coffey, "Lydia's Land" P- 263 V. Conclusion: Music, Desire, and Imagination P- 265

ix Chapter 5: "Trick of the Trade:" Venues and Industry in Calgary p. 269 I. Introduction p. 269 II. The Calgary Folk Music Festival p. 270 i. History and Background p. 270 ii. Music: Programming the Festival p. 274 v. Alberta Content at the Festival p. 278 vi. The Festival: A Summary p. 281 III. Folk Clubs in Calgary p. 282 i. The Calgary Folk Club p. 282 ii. The Nickelodeon Music Club p. 286 iii. Constructing Community at the Folk Clubs p. 288 IV. A New Roots Music Centre: The Ironwood Stage p. 290 i. Programming the Ironwood p. 293 ii. Constructing Community at the Ironwood p. 295 V. Money, Money, Money: Lucrative Gigs at Other Venues p. 297 i. House Concerts: A (New?) Venue p. 303 VI. Summary: Roots Music Venues p. 304 VII. Independent Local Labels p. 305 i. Saved By Radio Records p. 306 ii. Ruby Moon Records p. 308 iii. Constraints of Independence p. 311 VIII. Conclusion p. 316

Chapter 6: "Pennies a Play": Calgary Roots Music on the Radio p. 320 I. Introduction p. 320 II. Radio and Theories of Community p. 322 III. CKUA p. 327 i. Music: Programming CKUA p. 330 IV. 97.7 FM p. 339 i. Commercial Radio in Calgary p. 339 ii. Rawlco Radio History p. 340 iii. Music: Programming 97.7 p. 342 iv. 10K20: Merging the Marginal and Mainstream p. 346 V. Campus Radio: CJSW p. 353 VI. Conclusion: Calgarian Radio Online (Expanding the Community) p. 358

Conclusion p. 363 I. Overview of Study p. 364 II. Principal Conclusions Reached p. 369 III. Summary and Directions for Future Research p. 375

Appendix A p. 379

Bibliography p. 380

Discography p. 399 Interview Bibliography

CD and DVD Track Listing List of Tables

1: Legend of Vocal Occurrences P- 151

2: Vocal Occurrence Chart, By Artist P- 152-53

3: Calgary Folk Festival Audience Demographics P- 273

4: Alberta Content at the Calgary Folk Festival 1999-2009 P- 279

5: Programming Percentages, CKUA Radio P- 335

6: Alberta Content on Wide Cut Country, 2005 P- 337 List of Figures

1. Map of Alberta P- 6

2. Mini-parade in downtown Calgary P- 44

3. Mini-parade in downtown Calgary P- 45

4. Taking a break between dance pieces P- 46

5. An audience watches the dance competition P- 47

6. A gathering of cowboys P- 48

7. Entering the city P- 55

8. Matt Masters emceeing the folk festival P- 203

9. Tom Phillips P- 204

10. Tom Phillips in concert P- 204

11. Cover of Tim Hus's Alberta Crude album P- 205

12. Inside of the Alberta Crude album P- 205

13. Inside of the Bush Pilot Buckaroo album P- 206

14. Inside of the Bush Pilot Buckaroo album P- 206

15. Tim Hus in live performance P- 207

16. Cover of Jane Hawley's Ordinary Dream album P- 208

17. Back of Jane Hawley's Ordinary Dream album P- 208

18. Back of Steve Coffey's Passion Town album P- 209

19. Steve Coffey and the Lokels in live performance P- 209

20. Cover of Scott MacLeod's debut album P- 210

21. Scott MacLeod P- 210

22. Dave McCann and the Ten-Toed Frogs P- 211

23. Dave McCann and the Ten-Toed Frogs P- 212

24. Cover of Steve Pineo's A Perfectly Good Friendship album P- 212

25. Inside of John Wort Hannam's Two-Bit Suit album P- 213

26. Cover of Tim Williams's album P- 213 27. Steve Coffey Passion Town album cover P- 214

28. Dave McCann Country Medicine album cover P- 214

29. Kris Demeanor album cover P- 215

30. Matt Masters Centennial Swell album cover P- 215

31. Tom Phillips Downtown Cowboy album cover P- 216

32. Promotional advertisement for Alberta's $25-million re-branding campaign P- 219

33. Map of Calgary's East Village P- 238

34. Front of the Ironwood Stage and Grill P- 242

35. Storefronts across from the Ironwood P- 242

36: Ironwood's website P- 243

37: Ironwood's website P- 244

38: Cover of Scott MacLeod's album P- 261

39: Liner notes of Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights P- 266

40: Liner notes of Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights P- 267

41. Mainstage at the Calgary Folk Festival P- 271

42. Backstage (the "Green Room") at the festival P- 272

43. Sidestage at the Calgary Folk Festival P- 274

44. CKUA Radio Advertisement P- 332 Introduction: Discovering Roots Music in Calgary

Ethnographic Setting

On November 28, 2002,1 attended a CD release party for the band Tom Phillips and the Men of Constant Sorrow at Ranchman's Cookhouse and Dancehall in Calgary. I had driven in that Thursday afternoon from Edmonton just for the concert, and had to return the following morning for classes. I hoped that late fall blizzards would not descend on the

Alberta prairies before I made it back home.

I parked in the back lot and hurried towards the front entrance as the strains of

Phillips' standard opening number, Merle Haggard's "Silver Wings, "filtered through the foggy windows. Sitting at the stools lining the back end of the dance floor, I watched the band work their magic, drawing the substantial crowd up from their beer-covered tables to two-step eagerly across the floor with their friends. While I nursed my own pint, I made friends with a group of young geologists who were discovering the bandfor the first time, ecstatic at the resurgence of honky-tonk ("old-time country" to them) in the midst of what they felt was a scene consisting of disappointing mainstream country music.

Phillips and his band kept the energy high in the large club, selling numerous copies of their disc, introducing their parents and wives in the audience, and playing late into the night.

As the crowd diminished, I found Phillips, who pulled me backstage to meet the band and other friends. They gathered around, eager to ask questions, regale me with their own stories of the scene, and discuss upcoming shows and recordings. I had known Tom since 1999, and had regularly attended concerts that he held in my hometown of Calgary while I was completing my undergraduate degree there. Tom and I had grown friendly, talking about country music when we encountered each other. He had become interested in, and

1 enthusiastically agreed to participate in, my research on country and roots music-making in the city.

I realized at this moment, as many ethnomusicologists likely do, that there was a hidden and underacknowledged group of musicians, fans, and participants who had never imagined receiving extensive media coverage, let alone scholarly study. Their excitement at the thought of someone taking the time to discuss their lives and works at length led me to make this the subject of my dissertation research. Through attending these concerts, volunteering at the Calgary Folk Festival, and getting to know local musicians, I discovered that the alternative country and roots1 music scene has long existed in Calgary. It often functions as a subculture that is embedded in the well-established practices of country music and the western culture that are rapidly growing and changing alongside the city.

Study Objectives

This dissertation is an ethnographically based examination of the production and consumption of roots and country music in Calgary from approximately 1999 to 2009. My fieldwork has revealed that there exists a complex web of relationships and expectations in the roots scene of the city. While numerous artists have emerged from Calgary to become successful in the mainstream country music industry (for example, Paul Brandt), a smaller but significant underground scene of alternative country, folk, and blues music drives much of the local industry. Initially, I assumed I would centre my study on those artists that fell within the stylistic bounds of these genres and the web of activities that extended from their music. I have since discovered that it is in fact these webs of activity that define such genres, rather

1 "Roots" is a highly contested and complex name for a genre; here it broadly includes acoustic singer-songwriter music, non-mainstream country genres, blues, folk, and bluegrass. Jazz and forms of world music are excluded from my definition in this study, as there are separate scenes dedicated to these styles in Calgary. 2 than particular sonic identifiers. And while this was particularly challenging to my initial conception of the study, a reconfiguration of this framework has enabled a new approach to my examination of the scene. In fact, these artists define themselves primarily by their relationship to the industry and secondarily by their musical sound.

This study has thus become a participant-driven ethnography, wherein interviewees have determined the research direction and enabled a new conception of what roots music means in Calgary. By relying on the narratives and authoritative voices of local musicians, radio programmers, and industry participants, I will argue that the roots music community in

Calgary is chiefly defined by an independent approach towards music-making, yet there are also many common musical elements across subgenres of roots music that connect seemingly disparate styles. Moreover, the geographical layout of the city contributes to perceptions of what roots music means, how audiences map their experiences of local music, and how economic centres of power govern music consumption. Finally, I will tie these ideas into a review of local media and venues, arguing that a fierce independent spirit directly influences programming practices and the social relationships that emerge within the industry. These ideas all serve to anchor my larger thesis that Calgary roots musicians construct complex and conflicting identities of marginalization and independence by using innovative and traditional practices.

Calgary's history reveals a deep connection to cowboy culture, the result of immigrants arriving in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries from the southwestern

United States. Many of these immigrants established ranches on the outskirts of the city and contributed to the growing urban space with cowboy music and culture through the creation of the Calgary Exhibition and Stampede. Calgary's history has been defined by the presence of

3 such western ideals of individualism, freedom, conservatism, and entrepreneurship along with a strong presence of countiy music and the influence of rural lifestyles (see Foran 2008 in particular for essays on the connections between these ideals and the Calgary Stampede).

Moreover, Calgary is situated in the region between the Rocky Mountains and the Canadian prairies, providing the city with a unique and unpredictable climate and a distinctive landscape. Those who move to the city for work opportunities afforded by the booming oil industry often stay for its close proximity to the mountains, the so-called "western hospitality," and the welcoming atmosphere of its arts scene, defined principally by the perpetual presence of country music.

Despite such intriguing characteristics, Calgary has rarely been the subject of academic study, particularly in the arts. This may be due to a number of factors: the forceful presence of

Toronto, Vancouver, and Montreal in the national arts scene; often misguided notions of

Calganans as a regressive, overly conservative population ; and antipathy or general disinterest in country culture, among other reasons. The recent growth of literature on country music in the United States will assist in documenting Calgary's musical and cultural growth in the past decade. Furthermore, country music scholarship has lagged behind popular music studies, in part because of the perception that it is simplistic music not worthy of concentrated attention, although a few recent studies have attempted to recognize its cultural relevance (Fox

2004). Thus, an examination of the Calgary alt-country3 and roots scene would help to address this gap, bridging anthropological, popular music, geographical, and media studies.

2 Literature on the city often acknowledges the forceful influence of politically and socially conservative values (see for example, Foran 2008; Fraser 2003; Reasons 1984; Tyler 2004; and Wiseman 1992); this was also evidenced by casual conversations I had throughout my time living in Toronto (2003-2009). 3 Alt-country, short for alternative country (alt.country is a commonly used substitute for this spelling), is a genre categorization used since approximately 1990 (due to the release of what is considered to be its seminal album, No Depression, by alt-country band Uncle Tupelo) for all forms of country music that either draw on a mixture of 4 Calgary has also suffered from a lack of attention from the mainstream North

American and Canadian music industries, despite having continued to foster vibrant local music scenes. Local record labels, music festivals, folk clubs, and other venues have grown in size and number, while the number of artists from both within and outside the city has increased dramatically, all within the last ten to fifteen years. The Calgary roots scene still continues to largely escape national media attention, and those artists that choose to stay in the city are signed to local independent labels, if they are signed at all, rather than international majors. The reasons for this lack of industry attention are not entirely clear. Such oversight is particularly baffling when one considers the similarity the music has to alt-country in other cities such as Austin or Toronto, which regularly receive concerted attention. A brief description of the city itself, and its developing roots music community, will help to provide a foundation for my ensuing analysis.

Description of Ethnographic Setting

The city of Calgary, located in the southern-central section of Alberta, the second-most western province in Canada, houses a growing and vibrant roots music scene. Calgary (see

Figure 1) is situated in a geographically advantageous part of the province—to its east, south, and north sides lies a wide expanse of prairie; its west side borders the Rocky Mountains, which are only an hour's drive out of town. The diverse landscape, combined with mild sunny summers, relief from the cold due to its unique mountain-driven Chinook winds in the winters, and the most sunny days per year in the country, make Calgary a desirable location for newcomers. Recently, Calgary's economy has grown substantially, attracting workers to all sectors from across the country. This growth has created a substantial rise in salaries, rapidly influences including punk, rock, jazz, and pop, or that do not receive mainstream attention or airplay. Further discussions of the stylistic particularities of alt-country can be found in Chapter 3. 5 expanding housing (which encroaches on the surrounding prairie), and a population boom, unprecedented for the city (some figures suggest 15 percent per year since the 1990s [Tyler

2004:1]). The extra disposable income gathered by Calgarians is increasingly spent on arts events offered in the city, many of which are informed by its western roots. Country music is regularly featured at western-themed bars such as Cowboys, the Ranchman's, and Outlaws, while the city's central event, the Calgary Stampede, draws tourists from all over the world to its rodeo, chuckwagon races, and western fair and exhibition.

Uranium City0 Peace Point 0

o Meadow b

iuif.il I!wpr c Kamloops

Figure 1: Map of Alberta (Source: http://www.canadamaps.info/maps/albertapoliticalmap.ipg)

Having grown up in the city, I returned anywhere from two to four times per year after

I moved away in 2001. I frequented the sites where roots music was prominently featured.

This scene has grown significantly in the last ten to fifteen years, with increased support from the Calgary Folk Festival (which has recently reached record attendance), local venues such as the Ironwood Stage, Mecca Cafe, and Mikey's Juke Joint, and folk clubs like the Calgary Folk

Club and Nickelodeon Folk Club. All of these regularly feature both local and visiting acts, and the live scene is quite active as a result. This support is echoed in thriving local radio, first seen in the province-wide community station, CKUA, and expanded to campus stations 6 like CJSW (at the University of Calgary) and CJSR (at the University of Alberta) in the 1970s.

Recently, commercial radio has joined in, supporting local musicians financially and with airplay, as seen in the example of 97.7 FM.

The music industry in Calgary is still small and quite localized, but promises to grow.

Because the venue and radio support is solid, local record labels have emerged and become successful. Although these labels are generally financed by individual assets and are thus on somewhat tenuous ground, their efforts to promote and assist local music-making is important for a city like Calgary, which is somewhat removed from Canada's mainstream music centres.

Methodology

This dissertation uses multiple approaches in order to best elucidate what roots music means for audiences and artists in Calgary. I combine discourse analysis (from ethnomusicology, geography, popular music studies, communication studies, and anthropology) with the results of my fieldwork and music analysis. I examine some discourse in the press, presented mainly in two different publications, The Calgary Herald, Calgary's main newspaper, and Fast Forward, a free weekly arts and culture publication. The literature

I explore provides either theoretical foundations or ethnographic models for this study. I analyze the structure of concerts I attended in Calgary alongside analyzing video I recorded at these shows and photographs I took at concerts and festivals. These sources are examined in terms of performance styles, interactions between artists and their audiences, the physical construction of venues and other live music sites, costuming, and interactions between band members. The purpose of both photographs and videos are to frame the Calgary roots scene from my own perspective as both a fan and researcher, illuminating, for example, my experiences working in the backstage area of the Calgary Folk Festival. Thus, where my own

7 perspective as a participant or observer seems absent and is replaced by the views of interviewees, the accompanying visuals serve to act as my eye or my voice and are intended to complement the narratives of those involved in the scene. The perspective of these visuals varies throughout the dissertation, as I was reluctant to make myself visible while documenting performances in particular. As my fieldwork progressed, I became bolder and would sit at the front of venues, record video from what I deemed to be the best possible location, and attempted to secure the best view of the overall event.

Music analysis plays a significant role in my discussion of the recordings and live performances by Calgarian musicians. While I have transcribed some melodies for the purpose of exploring how musical devices are used and interpreted, I recognize that the use of western notation in transcription is often under scrutiny in the field of ethnomusicology due to its inability to properly convey subtlety and a variety of performance parameters. Moreover, musical transcription is not foundational to popular music studies, a young field that draws equally on methods developed in sociology, anthropology, musicology, ethnomusicology, and communications studies (see Crafts and Cavicchi 1993; De Nora 2000; and Levitin 2007;

2008) to analyze the meaning and audience interpretation of music (although notable exceptions include Fast 2001; Moore 1995; and Walser 1993). With this in mind, I examine parameters such as instrumentation, production values, form, melody, and vocal performance practice to interpret the music of Calgarian artists. Inspired by previous attempts to categorize aspects of singing, such as Wicks (1980), I will combine melodic analysis with my own model for analyzing vocal performance practice (which includes articulation, rhythm, declamatory style, vocables, and other vocal noises) to act as the central focus of my musical discussion,

8 and, as I demonstrate, vocal performance practice acts as a unifying stylistic marker for roots artists.

This study is predominantly based on fieldwork conducted in Calgary between 2002 and 2008. Because of the nature of the genre and its participants—a largely professional urban music scene—the process of gathering data was mostly interview-based. Musical participation on my part was limited, since playing with participants would require an interruption of their normal rehearsal or performance habits. Furthermore, my own experience performing country music on mandolin and guitar is somewhat limited, aside from leading my own amateur country band for a short period of time in 1999-2000, and it is likely that I would not be quickly accepted as an equal player among full-time, professional instrumentalists. I initially intended to gather information regarding audience reception that would complement the information provided by artists and industry professionals. Unfortunately, several attempts on my part were met with dead ends. I submitted surveys to the Ironwood Stage and Grill early in my fieldwork, which were to be given to patrons to fill out when they received menus or purchased concert tickets. I left a box in which the surveys could be dropped, but when I returned to collect them, the box and surveys had been either lost or thrown out. I also tried to coordinate an audience survey with the Calgary Folk Festival, but realized that their surveys were conducted by an outside firm. While the information was available to me as a researcher, and is presented in chapter five, my own surveys were incompatible with their process of collecting information, which was difficult enough for them to gather while audiences were engaged with the shows. Time constraints prevented me from finding other ways of gleaning this information, so I made the decision to limit this discussion to the views of industry and artist participants. As a result, as I conduct future research on this topic, I will

9 explore alternative methods for gathering information on reception, including personal interviews with concert attendees and online surveys linked to popular venue websites.

I participated in the Calgary music scene in a number of other ways. I volunteered for the Calgary Folk Music Festival for eleven years in the Artist Hospitality and Green Room areas, where I regularly worked among local artists, managers, radio station personnel, label owners, and festival staff. This position also required that I volunteer at local music events through the year, often backstage, where I got to know performers as they waited to go onstage. Additionally, between 2002 and 2005,1 hosted radio programs on CJSR in

Edmonton and CHRY in Toronto. These programs were roots-based, and centered mostly on

Canadian music, including a wide range of Albertan performers.

My work in radio led me to act as a sort of promoter for the music and artists I was studying. I conducted on-air interviews, booked performers for concerts whenever possible, played their recordings regularly on my shows, and promoted live acts coming through town.

In the absence of a musical collaboration with the artists, this work allowed me to develop a reciprocal relationship with them. This was particularly helpful to Albertan artists who were not always receiving regular airplay in Toronto and needed to be exposed to a new audience.

My radio work also helped me to develop relationships with many independent record labels, in particular Saved By Radio in Calgary, which started operations just as I was beginning my show in Toronto. Most importantly, my programming and hosting duties, along with my employment as Assistant Music Director at CHRY, allowed me to witness the inner workings of a community radio station over a long period of time. Not only did I learn much about the practices of this kind of station, but I found this experience helped me to better connect with

DJs and radio staff during my fieldwork in Calgary. Interviews were conducted on a fairly "loose" basis. I intended to make participants feel as comfortable as possible, and while artists were generally comfortable in interview situations, I aimed to make interviews very conversational in nature. As a result, most interviews lasted from one to two hours and took place in bars, coffee shops, in participants' homes, or over the phone whenever I was not in town. I transcribed interviews directly from digital recordings, and, with the exception of unclear phrasing or inconsequential tangents that have been removed, have presented those direct quotes throughout the text. While I had a general set of questions that guided interviews (and I asked all interviewees the same set of questions regarding issues such as radio and representation, venues and festival programming, songwriting, rehearsal, and recording practices, and general opinions on the Calgary scene), I did not always adhere to these questions exactly. Instead, I let participants take the lead wherever they were willing, and consequently interviews could often move in unanticipated directions, with participants speaking freely about their opinions on the music industry and their role in it.

Despite my seemingly reciprocal and friendly relationships with participants, my fieldwork was necessarily rife with problems, all of which regularly forced me to question the validity of this research and whether or not I should continue. Not the least of these was conducting research on a popular, professionally based music scene, which already receives minimal attention from the local press, if nowhere else. The nature of the scene presented a number of problems. Participants did not always want to speak with me for a variety of reasons, most frequently voiced as feeling like they did not have enough knowledge to share with me. Despite my insistence that I just wanted to hear about their experience working in

Calgary, knowing that I was doing research made them feel pressured to reveal specialized

11 knowledge of the music. Participants also occasionally questioned why I was doing the project—why was the city or the roots genre of interest to the academic community? What was I planning to do with the data I gathered? What sort of job would I get out of doing this

sort of work?4 These sorts of reactions were manifested in a reluctance to meet with me, postponing or canceling interviews (which was equally attributable to hectic schedules, family

obligations, and work), or ignoring my requests entirely. The people that I did speak to often

derided me for getting into issues they had not thought about or did not think were relevant—

one outright said, "Gillian, you know better than to ask that," after a particularly analytical

question—or struggled to find what they hoped was an intelligent answer for a question they had never before considered.

Nicole Beaudry notes similar frustrations in her discussion of fieldwork issues in

Northern Canada. For her, research was not a priority to her participants, and they would

frequently reschedule, fail to show up, or become unavailable for long periods of time. She

had to reconcile privately felt anger over this neglect for her work with the realization of

different cultural values—northern Native cultures value autonomy and independence, and her

assistants or participants assumed it was of no consequence to her when they left her on her

own (Beaudry 1997:68, 73). In my case, I was quite familiar with the occasional unreliability

of musicians and their schedules, and the tendency for those in the industiy to have concerns

not related in any way to my research. I also recognized the reluctance to subject one's own

artistic output or life experiences to the somewhat threatening nature of academic analysis, and

tried to underplay that aspect of my work wherever possible.

4 This was a favourite question, particularly among participants who became good friends. I assumed this was generally because they were equally curious about the person studying them and my own life, but I grew out of that egotistical assumption to wonder if many of them could see themselves doing the same kind of work, given the opportunity. 12 In total, I interviewed 37 people, some multiple times, during the course of my research. All were enthusiastic participants at some level, and many of those eagerly answered questions, offered additional information, connected me to other participants, and kept in touch with me. I found many interviewees to be used to interview situations, especially artists who regularly interacted with the press, and all of these interviewees were well-educated in music and happy to share that knowledge with me. Those reluctant ones mentioned above were usually the exception, and many of them either did not end up participating in the project, or came around to enjoy their role once discussions got going.

Fieldwork at Home

Cooley suggests that previously unproblematic examinations of one's own environment are now equally subject to scrutiny, given the tendency towards Othering found in early works. He notes that the lack of national or cultural borders enabled the creation of evolutionary and developmental borders between researchers and informants (Cooley 1997:9).

Many of the authors in his and Barz's edited volume, Shadows in the Field (1997; new edition

2008) problematize reconciling the disjuncture between everyday life and field experience, especially when it comes to the writing process, and particularly when faced with the unique problems of researching at home. Beaudry wonders where the bounds of participation are drawn—at what level is she considered to be participating? Is watching musical activity enough, is one's presence considered to be sufficient (Beaudry 1997:73)? Those who research at home cannot draw lines so easily, as their daily experience blurs the lines between participation and observation, and it is probably the rare case that the at-home ethnographer seriously analyzes their ingrained cultural habits and interactions. Similarly, this lack of

13 awareness may engender a lack of distance and prevent the ethnographer from seeing things as

an outsider might, at the same time that it affords advantages that come with insider territory.

My own at-home experience has been noted briefly throughout this introduction, but a

few additional notes will help here. While I attempt to consistently be cognizant of my positionality, my biases, and my relationship to my participants, there will be moments where

I may assume others understand my references and familiarity with the city. My fieldwork was further complicated by the close ties I maintained to family and friends in Calgary, and the expectations that came with those ties. I often was bound to family events, and both

family and friends would frequently plan activities with me without regard for my research.

They assumed I had come home to visit, and any work that I was doing was "just for fun."

This became such a problem in later years of my fieldwork that I either refused to visit friends

or would not tell them I was home, while I rejected family events and strictly maintained my

own schedule as much as possible. This often put an incredible strain on our relationships,

compounded by the fact that I was staying at my parents' house, sharing their cars, and

helping them out whenever I could. In turn, this greatly affected my perception of the city, the

way I structured my fieldwork trips, and my decisions regarding when I could be there and

how I would participate. My identity as a Calgarian was increasingly challenged as I spent

more and more time in Toronto, a city often considered to be the polar opposite of Calgary in

Canadian discourse. I began to recognize how my Calgarian identity had been moulded by my

experience of growing up in the city, and spending time away from Calgary in a more

populated and diverse urban area made me simultaneously long for the aspects of home that I

loved and see Calgary from the perspective of an outsider. Had I gone elsewhere, I no doubt

14 would be faced with a host of other problems, but I would have had the freedom of autonomy

and detachment in several ways not possible in Calgary.

Gender and My Fieldwork

Another problem that arose in my research was my gender identity. For some reason, I began my fieldwork with the assumption that I would appear gender neutral to my informants

(that is, I never gave much thought to my femininity). Because I was entering the field with a certain amount of insider knowledge, I would be familiar enough to comfortably speak with my participants, but removed enough to avoid emotional attachments beyond congenial

friendship. This assumption was shattered early on when one of my participants asked me to

stay over at his place. From that point and for the duration of my ethnographic work, I became increasingly aware of my gender and age, and how those two factors would ultimately

impact my research in a meaningful way.

Babiracki (1997) writes about gender roles in her discussion of ethnography in India.

By attempting to participate in group performance as a dancer and musician, Babiracki

assumed she could upend the traditional gender roles she encountered during fieldwork. She had entered the community as a researcher and thus assumed that her identity would not shift

as she began to perform. In fact, it did, and despite initial knowledge of her role (and her racial identity), her informants did not shift their own perceptions of dancers as prostitutes to

accommodate Babiracki's complex identity. Instead they shifted their perceptions of

Babiracki to construct her as a promiscuous performer. While I cannot say the same types of

extreme perceptual shifts occurred in my own fieldwork, I found over time that my conception

of my gender identity did change to accommodate how informants may have been viewing

me. Beaudry's experience of the field likewise reveals the difficulties faced by female

15 ethnographers: her male informants occasionally refused to speak to her, maintaining their belief that only men have access to particular (privileged) information (Beaudry 1997:81-82), although this certainly did not become a problem for me to the same extent.

This issue of gender roles is one that is addressed thoroughly in popular music literature as well. Authors such as Bayton (1998) and Garber and McRobbie (1990) document women's experiences as professional rock musicians, young girls' exposure to particular paths of learning and playing music, and the shifting expectations of female musicians in the industry. As I came to know this literature throughout the course of my fieldwork, I became progressively aware of how I might be perceived by male participants. In an effort to be seen as a professional, I entered interviews armed with banks of knowledge on Calgary, the music

scene, and the industry, in case anyone should question me. At the same time, I remained quiet on these subjects until questioned, fearful that I would prevent informants from speaking

openly about their experiences. To be fair, there were many male participants who did not

explicitly acknowledge my gender, but would also occasionally assume that my relative youth

meant that I was generally uninformed. Those who did notice my gender were typically

musicians, and sometimes thought I was a groupie of some sort using the "interview" in order

to get closer to them (and to get their "autograph" on my consent forms!) and treated me as

such. It frequently took a large portion of the interview to change that perception with these

informants. To this day, these participants will be sure to bring up their girlfriends or wives at

the start of the conversation, or arrange to have the girlfriend waiting nearby or appear

partway through the interview, despite any reassurances I subtly make on my part. It is quite

possible that this initial tension has affected their responses to my questions: I often noticed

longer answers and more relaxed responses as the interviews progress.

16 My femaleness became a problem in other ways. Certain areas of Calgary are quite dangerous; the downtown area empties after businesses close and it took several incidents of being chased and threatened by men on deserted streets before I revised my routes and transportation plans. I often had to be dropped off by a family member to avoid particular regions, or convince a friend to attend a venue with me in an unsafe neighbourhood (my

Calgary friends quickly tired of my taste in country music!). In fact, most of the bars that present roots music are in neighbourhoods in various stages of gentrification, and the original population often fights against the ensuing changes. That said, I believe that these experiences were not necessarily to the detriment of my overall fieldwork. In fact, I think that particular aspects of my personality, along with any perception of my youthful eagerness, generally opened up research possibilities for me. Even those who might have initially assumed I was a groupie have become my friends and keep in touch with me about their musical activity. That friendship needs to be cautiously trodden and places the researcher in a precarious position of balancing the presentation of (sometimes unfavourable) data with the maintenance of a meaningful relationship. I remain cognizant of the impacts those friendships have on my writing throughout and either will attempt to write as transparently as my own perspective allows or make those biases obvious to the reader. Extended sections of direct quotes from participants will help to alleviate this, along with detailed descriptions of performances and analysis of recordings. I will also map the description of my own experiences onto my storytelling of the participants' lives, alongside a critical analysis of the issues that manifest themselves in the independent scene of Calgary.

17 Reflexive Ethnographic Writing

There has been a substantial increase in literature dealing with the crisis of representation in anthropology and ethnomusicology over the last several decades. Of paramount importance to the discipline of ethnomusicology is the edited volume on fieldwork and ethnographic writing, Shadows in the Field (Barz and Cooley 1997). Cooley notes in the introduction that this crisis has morphed into a preoccupation with the ability of the scholar to accurately represent the Other in his or her writing, rather than a concern with the quality of research conducted in the field (Cooley 1997:3). Indeed, this preoccupation has dictated the shape of much recent ethnography, with researchers knowing their writing will be under

severe scrutiny. How does one properly write academically, biographically, representatively, about others when the fieldwork experience is temporally limited, sheltered from one's normal

"reality," and the complex nature of human relationships often intercedes? How does the author filter the field experience through his or her own lens, integrating personal biases and

experiences with those of the informants?

These are not new questions to anthropology; Clifford Geertz's analysis of seminal

ethnographies raised these questions as early as 1988, drawing on texts from the early part of the twentieth century that attempted to place the researcher inside the work. Geertz notes that

the presence or absence of the author in a text emerges from "a clash between seeing things as

one would have them and seeing them as they really are" (Geertz 1988:9). He reviews highly personal accounts of research produced by Levi-Strauss, Malinowski, and others,

contextualizing them in a rapidly shifting discipline which favours the visibility of all potential barriers to fully knowing the researched Other. Geertz writes:

The difficulty is that the oddity of constructing texts ostensibly scientific out of

18 experiences broadly biographical.. .is thoroughly obscured. The signature issue, as the ethnographer confronts it, or as it confronts the ethnographer, demands both the Olympianism of the unauthorial physicist and the sovereign consciousness of the hyperauthorial novelist, while not in fact permitting either. The first brings charges of insensitivity, of treating people as objects, of hearing the words but not the music, and, of course, ethnocentrism. The second brings charges of impressionism, of treating people as puppets, of hearing music that doesn't exist, and, of course, of ethnocentrism. Small wonder that most ethnographers tend to oscillate uncertainly between the two. (Geertz 1988:10)

Thus, the answer to this perpetual dilemma seems to be finding a precarious balance between reflexive writing and objective description of what one witnesses. The contributors to

Shadows In the Field acknowledge that this is no easy task, and seek to find alternative models to "performing" fieldwork and writing about the experience afterward. Malinowski's published diary seems to mark an acknowledgement of the point at which the author stepped down from his pedestal of objective and empathic representation, and fully embodied the inherent upsets, discomforts, and unpredictable nature of fieldwork (Cooley 1997:13).

One might wonder what sorts of upsets or discomfort I might have experienced in returning to my hometown, staying at my parents' newly built house in the suburbs, and driving rented cars to country music gigs in bars and interviews in cafes. I do not claim to have suffered through the level of uncertainty fostered by foreign languages, extreme climates

(unless Calgarian winters count), complicated political barriers, and cultural divisions felt by many ethnographers in the field. I did, however, experience a number of upsetting moments during the course of my research, and, more importantly, began to see Calgary the way an outsider might. All of the romantic notions and nostalgic memories of my hometown were revealed to be not so rosy under the light of my short and often busy and frustrating trips there.

These coloured my perception of the city and its culture, and will become apparent throughout the course of this work. Fieldwork at home presents a unique set of problems, ones that are

19 not frequently addressed by existing anthropological literature. For many, it blurs the divisions between regular life and fieldwork trips, while concurrently presenting the associated problems of an unexotic subject matter, expectations of constant participation, and personal/professional conflicts that are not easily resolved. Michelle Kisliuk asks, "Are we using the term 'fieldwork' to bring us closer to—or distance ourselves from—our 'real life?'"

(Kisliuk 1997:24). At "home," it often seems as though it is a simultaneous process of both returning to, and making foreign, the familiar.

The main problem with recognizing our positionality as authors is reconciling the presentation of the self with a necessary focus on the research subject. Here, many scholars

run into the dangers of self-indulgent ethnography (acknowledged by many in the Shadows in

the Field volume), wherein a personal agenda and self-celebration take precedence over proper and informative scholarship. Of course, as Kisliuk notes, readers are suspicious of

writing that neglects to examine one's ethnographic authority, but a coinciding "fear of self-

indulgence and the label of unprofessionalism [which] created an implicit taboo against

writing that seemed too personal" did not help to resolve matters for ethnographers (Kisliuk

1997:33,39). Her suggestion is to "ask ourselves whether an experience changed us in a way

that significantly affected how we viewed, reacted to, or interpreted the ethnographic material

(and to write with those connections in mind)." (Kisliuk 1997:39). Here, I attempt to use that

advice to find such a balance, keeping in mind that my own narratives construct the

framework of my ethnography while also overlapping (or conflicting with) the narratives of

my participants. It is my aim to align with the current anthropological drive to deconstruct the

boundaries between researcher and subject while moving towards a framework in which

multiple viewpoints are possible.

20 Literature Review

In this section, I will review the relevant literature for my research topic. Because the chapters of this dissertation vary in approach and theme, a variety of topics will be addressed by the literature review. I thus organize my review by each chapter's topic, providing a discussion of some of the key works that provide a foundation for my analysis of the Calgary roots music scene.

Alberta Music and Culture

Given its relatively short history and peripheral location to the more populated central

Canada, literature on music and culture in Alberta is limited. There exist many works on the history of settlement in the prairies, the development of cattle ranching, and the history of the

Calgary Stampede, all of which are peripherally related to this study (for example, see Artibise

1992; Dempsey 1978; Norrie 1992; Reasons 1984; Wiseman 1992; Ward 1995). Certainly, the Calgary music scene as it exists today is the result of such settlement patterns, the city's economic development, and the growth of the Stampede as the central cultural event for the city. Calgary's western identity is inextricably tied to the emergence of massive cattle ranches, both British- and American-owned, in the late nineteenth century. Scholarly works detailing this history include Breen (1982) Robert and Tamara Seiler (1998; 2001), and

Thomas (1975).

In addition, more general histories of Alberta and Calgary are numerous, including

Friesen (1995), Francis and Palmer (1992), Leighton (1995), Palmer (1980), and Shiels

(1974). While the approaches behind such histories vary, as in Leighton's emphasis on visual

images, Shiels' critical look at conventional depictions of Calgary's history, and Friesen's and

Palmer's more general portrayals of Western Canada, all of these texts emphasize the western or cowboy nature of Alberta's identity. Notably, this identity is essentially derived from the nineteenth century boom period in cattle ranching, and since the industry's decline in 1907, this western identity has surprisingly persisted. Since then, Alberta's other industries such as oil and gas production and agriculture have grown and sustained the province's economic growth. Nevertheless, extensive migration from states south of the Canadian border during the nineteenth century proved to be massively influential in Alberta's development, more so than in any other Canadian province (Wiseman 1992). This, combined with the enormous popularity of the Stampede and its emphasis on the image of the cowboy and western culture, meant that idealized notions of "the west" and the conquering of frontier lands in the prairies

figured prominently in the creation of an Albertan identity.

Histories of the Stampede abound, highlighting its continued presence in Calgary as

well as its role in maintaining such a western identity. Examples of this include Livingstone

(1996), Reasons (1984), and Tivy (1995). More focused and critical examinations of the

Stampede and its associated symbols and rituals can be found in the works of Foran (2008)

and Robert and Tamara Seiler (1998; 2001).

There are also a handful of works that address contemporary Alberta issues, such as

Gill's (2004) analysis of current arts in Calgary. Similarly, authors such as Tyler (2004) and

Wood (2000) examine development and expansion issues with respect to Calgary, considering

the lifestyles and interests of the city's inhabitants in their discussions. However, these

authors do not devote much space to particular musical trends, artists, or venues emerging

within the city. Finally, Fil Fraser's (2003) excellent history of the arts in Alberta during Peter

Lougheed's tenure as Premier documents government support and arts development

throughout the 1970s and 1980s, but fails to consider Calgary and focuses only on Edmonton, the province's capital. He also chiefly examines theatre, dance, and film, noting that his experience and expertise limits his discussion to these disciplines.

These histories, however, rarely look closely at Calgary's culture and its relationship to music beyond cursory mentions of the importance country music plays in maintaining the city's western identity during Stampede. Exceptions to this include Edith Fowke's (1962) efforts to document the oral folk traditions of the prairies and accounts of the state of prairie folk music scholarship at various times (i.e., Henderson 1973; Rogers 1978; and Taylor and

Wayland 1996). In addition, authors such as Cox (2002), Lehr (1994), and Marquis (1988) problematize the overbearing presence American country music has had on the Canadian industry, using specific examples such as Ray Griff, whose lyrical content focuses on

American place names, to support their arguments. Furthermore, there are no studies that attempt to document the contemporary music scene of Calgary, particularly in terms of genres such as metal, punk, rock, or hip hop, despite these scenes' substantial growth in the last twenty years. Exceptions to this include Barclay, Jack, and Schneider's 2001 tome on

Canadian independent music from 1985-95 which highlights some elements of music-making in the west during that era. Other examples of literature on music in the prairies include

Lyon's (1999) excellent survey of community music-making in Alberta throughout the first half of the twentieth century. Lyon discusses the varying uses of music in Alberta using ethnographic accounts, numerous photographs, and examples of pieces played to support his discussion. Most histories and collections of Canadian folk music reveal significant gaps when it comes to music in the west, and varying reasons for this are explored by authors such as Henderson (1973).

23 The Music Industry/Independent Music

Much of the literature on the music industry at large takes at least one of four approaches to analyzing the industry: historical, economic, technological, and social. While the historical approach tends to focus on changing styles, media responses to recordings, biographies of individual entrepreneurs and artists, and overall chronologies of the industry, economic perspectives tend towards, but are not limited to, the interpretation of quantitative data including sales figures, mergers and acquisitions, staff changes, and general industry categories and structure. The social approach varies widely between individual accounts of involvement with artists and labels to wider generalizations on the roles of specific industry participants; the technological approach, often embedded within historical accounts, discusses the opportunities and shifts brought about by changing technology. Despite concerted efforts to maintain defined methodological trajectories, studies of the industry are necessarily messy, allowing sociological, economic, historical, and technological perspectives to bleed into each other. This is an advantageous aspect to the greater part of the literature, as the combination of approaches allows for the complications of the multiple aspects of the industry to become manifest.

There are no comprehensive studies of the entire history of the music industry as of yet; Chappie and Garofalo's (1977) detailed history is perhaps the best example of such an attempt. Similarly, other authors have endeavoured to examine specific genres such as rock and roll, blues, or jazz; specific labels; the role of the executive or manager in pop music history; or the general development of the rock/pop industry in North America.

These studies should not be faulted for their potentially limited scope; however, it is often apparent that they are driven by personal tastes or associations with the genre or label studied. Such biases can be beneficial in that efforts are made to thoroughly document the development of particular labels, as in the case of Gray (1988), or the relationships between a collection of entrepreneurs of a particular era (i.e., see Kooper, Kennedy, and McNutt, 1999).

Moreover, attempts at exposing the "dark side" of the industry are ubiquitous, exposing shady promotional tactics, payola schemes, mafia interest in the industry, and the exploitation of performers in the interest of deconstructing the integrity of a seemingly innocent arts industry

(see, for example, Dannen 1990 and Goodman 1997).

As one of the perspectives that may fall under a broader historical framework, the economic approach to examining the industry is rarely limited to discussions of hard data and quantitative analysis. Inevitably, the economic angle will reveal complex social relations that either determine or are determined by business structures. Nevertheless, endeavours to portray the explicitly business functions of record labels continue and an excellent example of an economic overview of the industry is Hull's The Recording Industry (2004). Developed for studies in music business programs, the book reveals the complex structures governing record labels, including a detailed look at publishing, marketing, A&R, royalties, contracts, and the changes in record production, with a specific focus on the method in which business decisions are made and these decisions' dependence on the current state of the market. Studies such as these are beneficial for research on independent music-making and non-mainstream genres such as alt-country, as they provide a detailed examination of industry operations at many levels. Understanding how marginal genres such as alt-country and roots fit into this economic framework helps to explain why independent labels and artists adopt particular practices or are not supported by major labels and distribution channels.

25 Even sociological accounts are likely to incorporate an economic discussion, as Negus does in his explanation of corporate restructuring and mergers in the 1990s (1999; 1992).

Finally, authors such as Belinfante and Johnson (1982) and Rothenbuhler and McCourt (2004) take a more formal approach to the economics of the recording industry, looking at competition, retailing, and pricing as a way to describe the evolution of the industry, possible consumer response, and business restructuring. Belinfante and Johnson in particular use sales figures and pricing trends to analyze business trends in pop music.

Specifically sociological studies have been conducted on the industry, elaborating on how these relations are perpetually redefined and reshaped as the industry changes. Negus argues against the "transmission model" that has typically defined studies of the industry, like the "production of culture" perspective propelled by Richard Peterson and others (Peterson

1990; Becker 1976; Peterson 1976). Negus's work enforces the multiple points of origin and the effects that numerous people involved in the process have on the final musical product

(1999; 1992).

The issue of complex social relationships and networks is further discussed in relation to artistic control. Both Gray (1988) and Kooper, Kennedy, and McNutt (1999) formulate their studies on the roles of entrepreneurs, emphasizing flexibility and the promotion of artistic freedom in their relationships with performers. Others who write on indie labels, which is especially relevant to the study of roots music, create a mythic aura around these relationships, highlighting the reciprocal and respectful nature of them as the source of authentic music, while still others are more likely to problematize this relationship within the framework of capitalist interests, lack of business acumen, and conflicting artistic visions (i.e., see Bowman

1997; Gray 1988; Lee 2004; and Olmsted 2003).

26 The technological analysis of the industry reflects the development and shifting of social relationships and how those are reframed in the context of new technologies available for the recording of music. Azenha's recent article (2006) addresses how corporate power still governs channels of production and distribution despite the liberating potential of internet and recording technologies. Other works, while not explicitly dedicated to technology alone, do incorporate the effects technological developments have had on the general direction of popular music (i.e., see Waksman 2001). In addition, the internet and digital developments are starting to be acknowledged by authors on the subject. The transmission of digitally reproduced music has furthered record labels' concerns with illegal duplication and distribution of recordings and is something that is now frequently acknowledged in economic accounts of the industry (Hull 2004; Rothenbuhler and McCourt 2004).

The notion that developments in technology will change the landscape of social relations in musical production works as the premise for Frith (2000). Frith argues that the established cultural/social and economic models from the 1970s no longer work to explain an industry that has changed drastically. He suggests a different framework, one which incorporates all aspects of the music industry, including small networks of people such as DJs, clubs, producers, and importers and includes a consideration of how these networks interact with the economy of pop, teen magazines and television, for example. Frith also argues for a reflection on the influences of elements such as broadcast policy and the opportunities afforded by the internet. His reasoning for these new approaches is founded in the ever- blurring distinctions between producer and consumer, between artist and entrepreneur, between the local, national, and global scenes, and also between the changing criteria for success and failure, all of which are driven principally by the presence of the internet. Coinciding with research on independent labels is a more general look at the Do-It-

Yourself (DIY) practices of the independent industry at large. Fonarow (2006) provides an extended discussion of varying definitions and contributing factors to the indie sound, mode of production, ethos, and practices. I will use Fonarow's explanation of the levels of industry- defined cultural capital and audience engagement with indie music as a foundation for investigating similar practices in Calgary. However, other popular music ethnographies such as Cohen (1991) and Fox (2004) are exemplars of the possibilities offered by interdisciplinary connections between ethnography and popular music studies. Cohen focuses on a small group of rock musicians in Liverpool, who navigate their way through the complexity of the music

industry and continually reform their expectations and relationships with fellow band members. Her explicit connections between the geography of the city (see Cohen 1998 for a more explicit discussion of this), the city's music industry, and notions of independence

reveals why the study of specific sites of musical activity is crucial to the development of popular music studies. Meanwhile, Fox examines how emotion, community, and rural identity

intersect in the activities of a small collection of musicians in Texas. Fox explicitly links

vocal production to understandings of the immediate geographical area, its history, and its ties

to traditional forms of country music. By providing a glimpse into a particular moment of

time in his informants' lives, Fox's work acts as a model for ethnographers researching

contemporary music scenes.

Country and Alternative Country

The literature on country music is fairly limited at this point in time. However, there

are well-established scholars such as Ching (2008 with Pamela Fox; 1993); Aaron Fox (2004,

1992); Hill (2002); Malone (2002); Negus (1999); Peterson (2001; 1997); and Tichi (2000)

28 working in the area. Many of their works concentrate on the perceived or constructed authenticity of country music (Hill; Peterson 1997); the sociological surroundings of its production (Fox 2004; Malone 2002); the corporate and artistic control over its dissemination and reception (Negus 1996), and the general culture surrounding its development (Malone

2002a). For example, authors such as Fox have focused their studies to narrow regions and groups of people who compose, perform, and consume country music regularly, and thus provide the basis for cohesive ethnographies of specific audiences.

General works on country music culture or Southern culture include Ellison (1995),

Guralnick (1979), and Lewis's edited volume on country (1993). Douglas Green's monograph

(2002) provides a detailed history of the singing cowboy and how the image has pervaded popular culture since the 1800s. Authors such as Einarson (2001) and Zimmerman (2004) examine the intersections between rock, southern rock, and country music of the 1960s and

1970s. Malone's seminal history on country music (2002) remains superior in terms of its

length and breadth, covering early country's roots in the U.S., its transition into the

commercial realm, and numerous, often otherwise overlooked, artists. Other works address more specific parameters of the genre, such as: lyrical themes (McLaurin and Peterson 1992;

Van Sickel 2005); the increasingly relevant issue of politics in country (see Willman 2005;

Wolfe 2005); and the role of place in country sounds, regional styles, and lyrics (Carney 1987;

Gumprecht 1998; Lehr 1994; Wolfe 2002; 1989). Of escalating weight is the subject of

gender in country, as more female artists rise to prominence and as gender role expectations

change in the contemporary country industry. Recent works focused on gender and country

investigate the complex relations between men and women and the shifting representations of

gender, sexuality, and traditional roles in country music (see for example McCusker and Pecknold's 2004 volume, and Valentine 1995). Finally, as mentioned above, there are a few authors examining the small but burgeoning Canadian country scene and the issues of identity arising there (see for example Cox 2002, Lehr 1994, Marquis 1988, and Rogers 1978). These authors focus on the role of country music as folk culture for Canadians (Marquis); the marketability of Canadian country music to an audience beyond national borders (Lehr); and the regionally focused lyrical content of Canadian musicians (Cox).

Certainly, the literature on country music in general exceeds the alt-country literature in volume and variety. Because alt-country has only existed since 19905 under this particular moniker, the literature is understandably limited. However, a few academic treatments of the subject have emerged, such as Peterson and Beal's overview article (2001), and Kibby's discussion of the main alt-country discussion forum called P2 (2000). Moreover, comprehensive histories of the genre and its roots have been written by Alden (1998),

Einarson (2001), Hinton (2003), and Zimmerman (2004). There are more specific treatments of regional alt-country scenes such as Doole's on Canada (2002), which is a very brief overview of Canadian artists working in the genre, and Dutton's on Texas (2006). However,

Dutton's is a highly biased and problematic discussion of the genre informed by his own tastes and opinions of the music industry. This is to be expected given the genre's reliance on a foundational ideology of independence.

This limited literature on alt-country examines its social repercussions, discussing the genre at length in terms of audience demographics, artist persona and costuming, the effect of the indie music industry on its production and reception, and notions of authenticity (Hill

5 Often, the band Uncle Tupelo's 1990 album, No Depression, is cited as the "beginning" of alt-country. This album spawned a series of publications (in particular, the magazine of the same name), radio shows, and record labels dedicated to its particular mix of punk, rock, and country. 2002; Peterson and Beal 2001; Lee and Peterson 2004). While some authors have examined instrumentation, song structure, and subject matter or themes briefly (Einarson 2001; Flippo

1996; and Hinton 2003), there exists little discussion of the musicological particulars of alt- country. Musical analysis tends towards a brief examination of stylistic influences and overviews of instrumentation. An exception to this is Fox's extensive investigation of the role of singing and the connections between story, song, and voice; similarly, Peterson and Beal make reference to the emphasis placed on the non-virtuosic sound of the alt-country singer.

Moreover, virtually no studies of vocal performance practice exist in general popular music studies.

Recently, a more substantial academic examination of the alt-country genre has been released. Fox and Ching's edited volume (2008) on the genre examines the sociological background of its artists and audiences and how this has influenced its development. More importantly, they investigate how alt-country's identity as an underground, intellectual, and marginalized genre has contributed to its revered status in the independent music industry.

The authors incorporate melodic analysis and lyrical themes into their interpretations of alt- country's meaning.

It would be fruitful to address the issue of intertextuality in a project such as this, given that alt-country is a pastiche of sounds that draws principally on past styles and performance practices from various genres such as punk, rock, pop, country, jazz, and bluegrass, to name a few. Butler (2003) and Stillwell (1995), for example, effectively discuss intertextuality within popular music and could provide a useful model for the application of this concept to alt-country and roots music. The theoretical foundations for discussions of intertextuality, however, are located in the work of Barthes (1977; 1985; 1986), notably in his

31 seminal article "From Work to Text" (1986). Barthes's discussion of vocal production found

in his article "The Grain of the Voice" (1988) provides a theoretical base from which to

examine vocal performance in alt-country, as I will demonstrate in chapter three.

Place and Music

Early work on the connections between music and place tended towards mapping places by their sounds. That is, authors asked how places were defined by their soundscape.

How did the emergent sounds reflect properties of locations? What regions (and what

geographical elements of them) created, fostered, or were associated with certain musical

styles and why? Work in this area tended to view place as the point where genres and

subgenres were created, developing within close-knit communities. Authors such as

Gumprecht (1998) and Carney (1987) have literally mapped out the sounds that come from

places, locating, for example, the sounds of the dry Texas plains heard in local musicians'

recordings or the spread of bluegrass performance across the country.

Recently, significant ethnomusicological research has been conducted on the links

between music and place, reconfiguring the notion that music reflects unchanging properties

of specific locales. These works aim to overturn this assumption, focusing on interactions of

place and space, how experiential discourse on place is often based in responses to sound, and

contesting the idea that a location's sonic specifics are locked and stagnant. Furthermore,

discussions have focused on music's role in constructing place, and this is directly connected

to the effort to recognize a locale's particulars in the face of the global movement and

consumption of music (see for example: Cohen 1998; Connell and Gibson 2003; Doyle 2005;

Feld and Basso 1996; Lewis 2005; Leyshon, Matless, and Revill 1998; Swiss, Herman, and

Sloop 1997; Wrazen 2007).

32 Alongside this is an exploration of the differences between place (the specific) and space (the general, the unmarked) and how these are linked to sound. The essays in Feld and

Basso's 1996 volume, Senses of Place, investigate this in detail. The volume also provides a

theoretical basis for analyzing the social construction of landscapes and the role such

constructions play in creating and mapping identities. In more specific works on place and

music, sonic characteristics of particular genres and performances are discussed in an effort to

connect sound, geography, and meaning. The effort to reveal such connections has meant that

many musical parameters not typically under investigation are rich areas for exploration.

Elements such as the use of echo, recording techniques, production quality, spatial techniques

including microphone placement and registrally spaced harmonies, timbral effects, and the use

of specific instruments to evoke space or certain places are all under investigation in this

branch of music and geography (for example see Doyle 2005).

Furthermore, recent scholars have looked explicitly at the demographic, economic,

political, and sociological conditions of specific areas and how those create sound and stylistic

developments and patterns. Adam Krims's (2000; 2007) work in this area investigates urban

geography: how do particular social conditions in a city foster connections and changes in

music? What effects do available funding, income level, the surrounding environment, race,

and social class have on the production of local music? In addition, he connects the industry

(such as developments in indie labels and major label concentration) to demographics,

geography, and sound. In line with Krims, authors such as Kibby (2000) and Lee and

Peterson (2004) have explored online musical communities and how traditional notions of

local communities are toppled by the absence of a place in internet music activity, and Bennett

33 and Peterson's edited volume on music scenes (2004) explores how the notion of the scene (in the past tied directly to physically bounded places) now transcends these boundaries.

Finally, many authors have recently explored gentrification processes, but the literature on the connections between gentrification and the arts is still quite limited. Ley (2003) is a good example of this type of work, and he explores artists' roles in helping to forward the process of gentrification, or, conversely, to prevent the eventual encroachment of the middle and upper classes. Important models for analyzing how gentrification develops have been established by Caulfield (1989); Lampe (1993); and Slater (2002), while others directly address middle-class participation in inner-city demographic shifts (Butler 1997; Butler and

Robson 2003; Hamnett 2003). Many of these studies have been carried out in large Canadian cities, and thus provide a foundation for linking artistic movements, changes in urban structures, artist residency, senses of agency in urban improvement, and the enticement of the upper classes. Furthermore, the above theoretical perspectives on music and place act as a base from which to explore the soundscape that creates and emerges out of the gentrification process, mapped out in rehearsal spaces, radio broadcasts, live venues, and soundtracks in stores, restaurants, and cafes.

Community Radio

The research in community radio is still somewhat limited at this point. Community and campus radio has only emerged with substantial force in the last twenty-five years, and in

Canada, where stations are limited by strict regulatory processes and wide spaces between urban centres where they typically broadcast, a definitive set of issues has yet to be established. Most work thus far on community radio has focused on American stations, looking at the operational and ideological conflicts faced by localized stations with minimal

34 resources, and at the attempt to balance divergent desires of communities and universities

(Barlow 1988; Hochheimer 1993; Huntemann 2003). Further work has explored the democratic power of community radio, and how that is connected to marginal groups looking for equal representation on the airwaves. This research deals with (sometimes imagined) notions of agency and the connected problems posed by regulatory bodies (and the coinciding de-regulation of commercial radio in the United States [see Foege 2008 for a recent discussion of this]). Many articles have been written on pirate radio all over the world, and how pirate broadcasts enable community formation and the development of multicultural programming both in legal and illegal stations (Cambridge 2005; Hochheimer 1993; Langer 2004).

In conjunction with this work on radio, other work has identified the problematic notion of "community," highlighting the Utopian possibilities presented by radio broadcasting over wide expanses and its ability to connect widely diverse listeners and groups (Lewis 1984;

Lewis and Booth 1990). This arm of scholastic work draws attention to the construction of communities across time and space, now increased with online broadcasting, audio streaming, and downloadable podcasts (Spinelli 2000; Tacchi 2000.

More specific research on Canadian community radio has been conducted, focusing mainly on particular case studies of stations, as seen in Fairchild's work (1998) and Langer

(2004). This literature has also been enhanced by pioneering work on Alberta's provincial station, CKUA, by Marylu Walters, whose history on the station was published on its 75th anniversary (2002). Coinciding with Walters's work is Lorna Thomas's documentary (2004) on the station, which provides individual opinions and narratives from staff and musicians associated with the station. These sources will be used as a base from which I will explore community radio in Calgary. Because television broadcasting does not play a significant role

35 in either promoting or providing work for the artists featured in this dissertation (aside from an occasional live spot on local morning shows, and these spots are generally few and far between), I will not explore aspects of television in my discussion of media support.

Overview of Chapters

This dissertation consists of six chapters, each of which explore a different facet of music-making and the influences of external factors on the roots community in Calgary.

Chapter one focuses on the history of Alberta, the economic, demographic, and political factors that have shaped Calgary, and the influential force of elements of western culture on molding the roots music scene. I begin by exploring Alberta's rural and industrial history, looking briefly into the reasons for increased immigration in the late nineteenth century and the development of the ranching industry. I also briefly examine the political history of the province with the aim of connecting this historical information to the present-day arts situation in Calgary. I discuss the prevailing influences that western culture, the discovery of and drilling for oil (and ensuing increased cash flow), and the politically conservative environment of Alberta have had on cultural developments in the city.

Chapter one also contains a history of the roots music scene of Calgary, examining how its "old-time" music-making (before the 1950s) influenced notions of local culture, and how the live scene of the 1970s and 1980s in particular affected local music consumption.

The 1970s and 1980s were when campus radio emerged, when the Calgary Folk Festival and folk clubs appeared, and when arts funding from the province temporarily grew with the

Lougheed government. These decades were fundamental to sowing the seeds for the contemporary roots scene. This was also a period when Albertan country singers rose to national and international prominence, giving the local scene national market attention for the

36 first time. I conclude by discussing the development of the live roots music scene throughout the 1990s in order to provide a foundation for the activity going on throughout the early

2000s.

Chapter two acts as a theoretical foundation for the remainder of the thesis. I ask—and attempt to answer—what is indie? That is, what does it mean to be a contemporary, independent artist? How do artists who identify as independent construct a musical identity?

How do audiences respond to, and help to construct, this identity? I explore issues of independence and subculture as examined by authors such as Cohen (1991) and Fonarow

(2006), and how notions of the alternative and the unique inform stylistic developments and reformed relations of production in the indie industry. Technology plays a prominent role in indie music, and I examine recent suggestions that technology, in the form of personal recording software and the possibilities afforded by the internet, contributes to an aura of democracy and accessibility in the indie music industry. In addition, I delve into how issues of personal style, economic background, education, political affiliations, and cultural capital contribute to an ascribed indie identity.

Following this discussion, I map these concepts onto Calgarian musicians, revealing how and when they conform to or subvert the indie identity. I explore the difficulties of maintaining such an identity and how that is manifested in the case of Calgarian musicians.

For example, how does one reconcile the financial support of commercial radio with virtually nonexistent opportunities to be played on such a station during primetime broadcast hours?

How do artists promote themselves as individuals while working within a reciprocal, community-oriented context of musicians? How do musicians with families deal with the burden of touring throughout the region, maintaining full-time jobs at home, and recording

37 and promoting their own CDs? Most importantly, I connect these artists to each other through

the indie identity despite their often diverse musical styles, suggesting that "indieness" defines the scene more than any particular sonic marker. Nevertheless, there are distinct

commonalities in musical styles, especially in vocal performance, that also connect the artists

discussed.

Chapter three takes this further by identifying what these sonic elements are. Here, I

conduct music analysis on seven Calgarian artists, focusing primarily on vocal performance practice, but also examining parameters such as instrumentation, recording and production

quality, form, rhythm, and melody. This follows a model that I have developed for analyzing vocal articulations, and is grounded in theories of intertextuality to substantiate the

connections and stylistic similarities between performers. I contend that the alt-country and

roots music produced by these artists draws principally on a combination of previous genres,

including honky-tonk, bluegrass, punk, rock, and folk, among others. Moreover, a perpetual

effort to refer to and acknowledge country's past performers explicitly creates webs of

connections between eras and genres. I also use Barthes's theory of the grain of the voice to

link the apparently disparate styles of these artists. I demonstrate that, like their indie identity,

an untrained, "natural-sounding" singing voice transcends other sonic identifiers.

Chapter four looks at broader issues of sound in place. How is the soundscape of

Calgary created and manipulated by roots artists there? Here I address the process of

gentrification in a few key regions of Calgary, and how those areas have been affected by, or

affect, music-making. Using models of gentrification provided by Caulfield (1989) and Ley

(2003), I explore the discourse surrounding the East Village redevelopment plan in Calgary in

particular. These models, along with those that address the influence of artistic movements in forwarding or preventing gentrification, will establish a base from which to view the Calgary example. I map the indie music-making of the city in order to uncover areas of concentrated activity, and to create an aural rendering of how the city sounds. Moreover, in the vein of recent urban geography and music scholarship, I explore how music creates sonic spaces and a sense of place for the city's inhabitants. How is a Calgarian's civic identity or perception of place shaped by the sonic landscape? How is Calgary constituted by its music? Does the city's western identity emerge equally from the sounds spilling out of live venues, restaurants, stores, and impromptu neighbourhood jams as it does from visual markers such as gleaming office towers, cowboy hats, wandering cows in the downtown streets, and surrounding farmland? In what ways might Calgary sonically distinguish itself from other Canadian urban centres?

In addition, this chapter examines the patterns of movement created by the city's layout. Like many North American cities, Calgary's sprawl encourages limited inner-city activities outside of weekday business hours. Instead, inhabitants generally retreat to the suburbs, concentrating their leisure activity there. This is particularly relevant for Calgary, where seemingly infinite prairie expanses outside of the city allow for uncontrolled expansion.

I thus explore how venues are laid out around the city and how this determines music consumption. Do roots music sub-communities form around specific neighbourhoods or venues? Is a more coherent or all-encompassing music community prevented from developing because there are a limited number of central venues?

Finally, this chapter explores the role nostalgia plays in maintaining an audience for

"traditional" forms of roots music, and how that nostalgia similarly drives gentrification initiatives and the containment of roots performances to those areas under perpetual

39 reconstruction. A broader sense of the surrounding landscape of the province, alongside nostalgia for what the city once looked like, largely influences musical and lyrical themes. I investigate how this subject matter contributes to a sense of the local and further makes

Calgarian music meaningful for the audience in the city.

Chapter five focuses on the local music industry, looking at live music venues and record labels in Calgary. In particular, I discuss the programming practices of the Calgary

Folk Music Festival, the Calgary and Nickelodeon Folk Clubs, and the Ironwood Stage and

Grill. My discussion with the owners and programmers of these venues reveal that a number of complex issues influence programming practices, including efforts to showcase local talent, support for touring acts, and expectations for programming governed by institutional grants and box office sales. I analyze several seasons of each venue, focusing on who is booked from the community of local roots performers, and the motivations that may be dictating these choices.

The issue of programming carries into chapter six, which explores community radio in depth. Three stations in particular, 97.7 FM, CKUA, and CJSW, are the subject of this chapter. How do these stations' efforts to promote local music create a unique working environment for musicians? Here, I look at shifting conceptions of "community," which have, throughout radio's history, been the result of a widely dispersed listening audience. Now, ever-evolving changes in what constitutes community emerge from podcasts and online streaming of regular programming to a global audience. I investigate how Calgary's locality, available to a global listening community, fosters a new sense of self-identity for musicians on these stations. Of particular interest in this chapter is the recent emergence of 97.7 FM, a commercial station that identifies as "folk," which sustains its CRTC license by donating money, in the form of recording grants, to local roots artists in Calgary. The complications involved in station identification inevitably affects programming practices at the station, which in turn dictate the responses of the audience. The complications and changing social relationships that have arisen from 97.7's recording grant program are paramount to how the roots scene in Calgary moves forward, and I use in-depth interviews on the subject to illuminate these changes. Furthermore, I examine the structures of staff and volunteers within these stations and the listening audience demographics each of which reflect and cause continual developments in local roots music production and consumption.

As the Calgary roots music scene grows and changes, the subjects examined here will move to the forefront or the background as the situation necessitates. This project captures a short period of time in the scene's progression, drawing attention to the cultural, sociological, and musical elements unique to it at this moment. The conflation and exploration of these subjects serves to underpin and highlight the central idea that the Calgary roots scene is defined by an independent approach to the production, promotion, and consumption of the music. I demonstrate that the complex identity of Calgary as a city, one which is simultaneously viewed as progressive, sophisticated, entrepreneurial, and traditional, rural, and friendly coalesces in the activities and self-perception of local roots musicians. On a daily basis, they are recipients of the city's accumulating success and wealth, while at the same time their removal from more mainstream centres of the music industry dictates that they must fend for themselves. Moreover, the influence of western culture and past forms of country music is evident in their stylistic choices, as is the perception that Calgarians are downhome and friendly. Therefore, independent roots musicians present themselves in an affable way, connecting to fellow musicians and audiences at their live shows; this is also apparent in their

41 singing styles. I thus demonstrate that the city's identity, the social relationships governing the roots music scene, and the individual personae of local musicians combine in numerous ways, creating deep connections that make the Calgary scene a unique one.

42 Chapter 1: "You Better Like the Rodeo": Alberta Roots Music History

The Parade

On July 11, 2008,1 drove downtown to meet with an informant at CKUA's Calgary

broadcast station where he was working. Despite what I thought was a good 45-minute

window to get there from the northern edge of the city where I stay, I ended up getting stuck in

traffic.

Near the radio station, which is housed in the Centre for Performing Arts (this

building also has several large theatre spaces, is linked to the Glenbow Museum, and is

connected to pedestrian-friendly areas in the immediate vicinity), traffic was at a standstill.

As I edged toward the pedestrian-only Stephen Avenue Mall (8th Avenue), I noticed small

crowds of people gathering at the corners, and at this point traffic was completely stopped

across three of the four available lanes. There, ahead of the traffic, was an impromptu

midday parade of cowboys and First Nations people celebrating the Stampede (see Figures 2

and 3).6

6 All photographs by the author unless otherwise indicated.

43 Fig. 2: A crowd gathers to watch a mntnnnn parade proceed through midday traffic dowmtowin. Fig. 3: A crowd gathers to watch a mini parade proceed through midday traffic downtown.

Needless to say, I was very late for my interviewee, who ended up missing the appointment due

to other commitments. As I waitedfor him, I could hear Matt Masters, a singing cowboy in

the city, performing outside for a crowd. By the time I went down to hear him, he had stopped, but the show continuedfeaturing a First Nations dancing competition against a

backdrop of cowboys on horses.

45 Fig. 4: An enthusiastic audience watches a dance competition. Fig. 5: An enthusiastic audience watches a dance competition.

47 Fig. 6: A gathering of official-looking cowboys waits for their turn in front of the audience.

I was intrigued by the blatant display of western culture, despite having watched it flourish during the Stampede throughout my life living in Calgary. Here it was on full display, with obvious participation from an eager audience. I wondered how a city that embraces these stereotypical markers of western identity so openly could also be considered a youthful, cosmopolitan, wealthy population, one which, outside of the official Stampede days in July, is known to deride these same markers. Was this all just a temporary trying-on of western identity, allowed only because it was a central part of a long-running tradition? And, if so, how does that temporary identity figure into a roots and country scene that tries to appeal to these cosmopolites on a regular basis outside of the Stampede?

48 Discussing Early Alberta Music

On June 10, 2008,1 met with Calgary Folk Festival (CFF) General Manager les siemieniuk. I had arrived a bit early, and was taken to his office space to wait while he answered phone messages. When siemieniuk finished, we sat at a large conference table to record the interview. After an hour of discussing the festival, its mandates and programming practices, and his role there, I thanked him and switched off the recorder. He offered to continue the interview, so that we could discuss his experience prior to his involvement with the festival. He was one of the few informants able to lendfirsthand knowledge of the roots music scene in Calgary prior to the 1990s.

Several others helped to piece together a history of country and roots music live and on the radio throughout the 1970s and 1980s. I draw on those conversations in this chapter, as a way of providing backdrop for my ensuing discussion of the current scene. Furthermore, this chapter will act as a foundation for broader examinations of Alberta music, western culture, and the effects that Calgary's municipal history has had on its present-day roots music scene.

While I do not claim to provide a full history of either the city or the province here, I illuminate some important research on their histories and cultural development and the relevant facts that provide the context for this project. I also briefly examine the Calgary

Stampede, "old-time" music making in the city, some of the ethnomusicological research that has been conducted on prairie folk music, and the emergence of a professional pop, rock, and

country scene in the 1970s. These subjects help to construct a picture of Calgary and the

historical, political, and sociological factors governing the contemporary music industry.

49 Alberta: A Brief History

Alberta is among the newer provinces to Canada, joining Confederation in 1905. By that point, its central cities, Calgary and Edmonton, and their sparse but active and growing population, had been long established. As a province that is only a little over one hundred years old, Alberta has had a dynamic history of shifting industries, varying immigrant origins, and charged political atmospheres.

Differing accounts suggest that human habitation on the prairies began anywhere from

11,000 to 15,000 years ago (Ward 1995:3; Dickason 1997:25), with climate change influencing migration northward and westward in subsequent eras. Although contact between

European settlers and indigenous people occurred throughout the 1600s in Canada, the first written evidence of interaction in southern Alberta, between the Blackfoot Nation and

Europeans, came during the 1700s.

Shortly after Canada was established as a nation, land treaties were established with indigenous nations across the prairies. A vast array of tribes, including the Blood, Blackfoot,

Peigan, Stoney, Chipewyan, Beaver, and Gros Ventre (the last of which eventually migrated south to the US), were forced into reserves within broad expanses of land defined by treaty numbers. Treaties six (1876) and seven (1877) most affected southern Alberta, with the

Blackfoot Nation, Sarcee, Stoney Nation, and Plains Cree grouped into contained geographical areas. The extermination and virtual extinction of buffalo forced indigenous peoples to adopt alternative ways of making a living, including farming and ranching (Ward 1995; Dickason

1997).

Alberta's ties to ranching and farming began during the 1870s, when settlers first introduced horses and cattle into the southern part of the province. By 1879, twelve farms had

50 been established in the Fort Macleod district, and these operated with little success throughout the early 1880s. Hopeful that the industry would pick up, thousands of cattle were brought into the province, and many cowboys and ranch hands were hired from states south of the border such as Texas, Idaho, and Montana. By the mid-1880s, the industry began to peak, continuing into a successful near-three decades of cattle ranching in the dry and unpredictable climate of southern Alberta (Baillargeon 1995:550-552). Several indigenous groups began ranching; in particular, the Bloods were quite successful in raising cattle, fully adopting the practice by 1894 (Dempsey 1978:25), as did the Peigans in the 1890s (ibid., 33). The Sarcees managed to build on the budding ranching industry, increasing their cattle stock from six in

1896 to 304 in 1911 (ibid., 40). By the time of the disastrous winter of 1906-07, which effectively ended the cattle boom (Seiler and Seiler 1998:54), Alberta had also begun to exploit its natural proclivity for grain production and the industry shifted to be predominantly agriculture based. Indigenous groups often had less success with farming, partially due to the location in which they were working. The Sarcees attempted it in an effort to supplement other forms of employment. Often, however, groups such as the Sarcees found more

sustainable employment working in nearby Calgary, selling wood and hay in town, picking berries, and working for local ranchers and farmers (Dempsey 1978:39).

Grain growing was the motivation for increased immigration to the western provinces throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. A heightened excitement about the

natural resources and possibilities offered by Western Canada flourished and encouraged

settlers to head towards the prairies. As Norrie notes in "The National Policy and the Rate of

Prairie Settlement: A Review," "The Canadian West was to be the new agricultural frontier.

Grain would be the export staple, requiring a host of linked commercial activities to gather it

51 and market it to Europe.. .western Canada did soon thereafter become a major grain exporting region" (Norrie 1992:243). Land was advertised and given away either free (until around

1904) or at very low prices (for a quarter section) by the government to incoming European settlers and Eastern Canadians in order to encourage the population to move westward.

Homesteads were rapidly built, increasing by 80% between 1885 and 1914, and prairie settlement was large-scale, thanks in part to a rise in wheat prices, falling transport costs on wheat exports, and the end of the American land frontier (Norrie 1992:245).

It has recently been argued that Alberta's history is more directly influenced by the substantial American immigration rather than by settlers from eastern Canada, Britain, or continental Europe (i.e., see Seiler and Seiler 1998; Wiseman 1992). Wiseman characterizes prairie settlement by waves from four groups: the first was a rural Ontarian wave, driven by a westward extension of English Canada. The second was an urban, working class British group, drawn to the west by promises of opportunity and developing cities, as was the fourth wave of continental Europeans. The third wave was from the midwest, great plains America, settlers with deeply rooted agrarian values and who settled mostly in rural areas. The greatest impact of this third wave of settlers was on rural Alberta, the population of which also influenced the ensuing political developments of the province. At one point, one in five

Alberta residents was American born, compared with a national average of one in twenty-five

(Wiseman 1992:641-642; 655).

Alberta's and, in particular, Calgary's associations with the oil industry began as early as 1914 with the oil discovery at Turner Valley. This pivotal moment in the province's history marked a turning away from agricultural production and towards oil production. The dominance of oil increased dramatically in 1947, with the discovery of oil fields at Leduc,

52 north of Calgary and at the border of Edmonton, the latter being the biggest find in 33 years

(Government of Canada: Key Economic Events 2008). The Leduc oil find was the catalyst for unprecedented economic and population growth, the effects of which are still felt today with continuing discoveries in the northern section of the province. This boom shifted the economy away from agriculture and towards oil and gas, influencing the province's identity, as well as its political and sociological changes:

Edmonton and Calgary also benefited from the growth of the oil industry: they took on larger roles as insurance, trade and financial centres as oil royalties [grew]... As a consequence of the oil and gas discoveries, Alberta became the largest and most prosperous prairie economy. In 1941, Alberta's population was roughly 800,000; by 1961 it was about 1.3 million...The transformation took only a few decades. In 1935, approximately half Alberta's wealth came from agriculture, but by 1971, agriculture accounted for only 15 percent, with resource mining growing to account for 40 percent. (Key Economic Events 2008)

Calgary

Calgary incorporated as a city in 1884, with a small population of only 506. By 1893, it had a population of just under 4000 and received its city charter, the first urban centre in the area to do so (Artibise 1992:523). Urban growth moved more rapidly than rural in Alberta, the population of the province increasing from 54,000 in 1901 to 307,000 in 1916, whereas urban growth went from 19,000 to 189,000 in the same time period. However, Calgary's growth during this time is notable, from 4,392 to 56,514 in the same timeframe (Artibise

1992:516). Similarly, its physical growth witnessed a brief explosion: in 1884 it occupied only 1,600 acres, but by 1912, it had reached 26,000 acres, where it stayed until 1951 (Artibise

1992:524). This desire for rapid expansion, which results in relatively sparsely populated areas, is typical of Calgary and other prairie cities. This expansion is exemplified by its low- rise landscape and, until recently, large uninhabited spaces, as noted in Tyler's discussion of the city:

53 The warm Chinook winds coming over the Rockies made grass available to cattle in the winter. Ranching on the limitless unbroken prairie and foothill landscapes worked well. But.. .the lack of soil nutrients and soil moisture in the Calgary area severely limited the development of conventional cultivation agriculture. As a result, land not good for cultivation became prime for urban expansion and geographically unlimited urban expansion at that. (Tyler 2004:12)

The four prairie cities (Edmonton, Calgary, Regina, and Saskatoon) had the lowest population density ratios of Canada's twenty largest urban areas in the early twentieth century. Calgary had only 1,563 persons per square mile compared to 20,158 per square mile in Toronto in

1921 (Artibise 1992:524-525). Calgary was chosen as the throughway for the railroad route to the West coast in 1883, and saw the line's completion in 1886. Similarly, the Trans-Canada

Highway (Highway 1) runs through the centre of town, linking it easily to the rest of the country. These factors, combined with the early cattle industry, the burgeoning farming industiy, and the impending oil discovery in Turner Valley, meant that Calgary was poised to become a hub of economic and cultural activity in the West.

Calgary's identity is largely tied to these industries and the sensibilities they produce.

The population more than doubled between 1970 and 2007, with a current population of just over one million (see Appendix A for population and demographic statistics). It now competes with other urban centres such as Vancouver, Montreal, and Toronto in terms of real estate values, employment rates, industry (numerous corporate national headquarters are located in Calgary [Tyler 2004:2]), and cultural production. Its strategic location, originally taking advantage of farm and ranch lands and central connections to major transport routes, also provides a scenic and diverse landscape of the prairies and Rocky Mountains, along with the coinciding weather produced by such a location. Oil industry workers often commute to northern Alberta for work during the week, while those working in the city take advantage of the vacation opportunities afforded by its proximity to the mountains during their time off. Its

54 expansive geography created by rapidly expanding suburbs at the city's limits allow for low- density residency to continue. This also encourages a reliance on cars for primary transportation:

Calgary's relationship with the car has deep roots: oil has always had positive connotations, the western independent spirit has traditionally favoured the mobility and freedom that a private vehicle can provide, and the city form is closely tied to a development industry that depends on a continuing market for the single-family house. (Sandalack, Stonehocker, Tipman, and Uribe 2005:137-138)

Tyler's discussion of urban development in Calgary provides a comprehensive explanation of the city's complex population:

The same world music that identifies the global teenager plays from MP3s to iPods, the fashion styles of the international youth culture found on the streets of New York, Los Angeles, Hong Kong, and Berlin can be seen on Calgary's streets right next to the homeless. Employment in the information or knowledge sector and the service sector continue to expand as consumption rivals production In economic stature. The economy has shifted from resource based to value based. (Tyler 2004:14)

Calgary and Western Culture

Fig. 7: Entering the City

55 With such a history of cattle ranching, farming, and oil production, it is little wonder that Alberta, and Calgary in particular, are inherently tied to western culture and identities.

This identity informs much of the city's cultural production and modes of behaviour, especially during events such as the Stampede. But with the inevitable encroachment of the diverse ethnic and cultural identities from recent immigrants to Canada, or of the varied lifestyle and recreational choices emerging from professional employment, wealth, and access to a multitude of cultural products, one might wonder how much weight a romanticized notion of "the West" continues to hold for Calgary's population. I would suggest that as much as a western identity is consistently pushed away by Calgarians, it is equally eagerly and regularly embraced.

Tyler argues that nostalgia for the past West is tied to a perpetual desire for a unified aesthetic and social vision that existed during the short but meaningful era of the open range, during cattle ranching (Tyler 2004:9). Similarly, direct links between western culture, political conservatism, and oil-rich regions have endured throughout North America's history, seen in the examples of Texas, Montana, and Wyoming, a substantial percentage of whose population of which have moved northward to Alberta. The ties between these industries and identities remain so strong that seemingly few question them. Rather, Calgarians wholeheartedly adopt a western identity, at least during the ten days of Stampede even if not so obviously at any other time during the year.

But this western identity becomes contested in the present, seeing as it is dependent on a largely romanticized history, and since the early 1900s has been inextricably connected to messy political relations between Alberta and the eastern provinces, a sense of isolation for

Albertans, and a culture that is frequently derided for its simplicity and backwardness. I will

56 further problematize this western identity and its connections to nostalgia and Alberta's favoured concept of "heritage" in my discussion of place and geography in Chapter 4. Here, however, I will attempt to provide the historical reasons why such an identity is perpetually resurrected for internalization by the city's inhabitants, for display to an exterior (often tourist- based) audience, and for the cohesive construction of a recognizably Calgarian mode of behaviour. Calgary is a city that might otherwise pass under the national radar, and thus it makes use of rich symbolism and meaningful rituals in order to mark itself as distinct. I will thus provide a brief history of the Calgary Stampede, which grew predominantly out of the cattle ranching era but is also associated with farming, and I will examine recent literature that deconstructs the Stampede and its symbolism.

The Stampede: Its Contested Symbols

Seiler and Seiler note that nostalgia for the ways of the west developed soon after the end of the ranching era, and provided the seeds for the immediate success of western cultural products such as the dime novel, the Wild West show, and the marketing of the American cowboy for a number of purposes. This enormous cultural industry began in the late 1800s, drawing on the exploits of William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody, spawning romantic cowboy literature that valorized democracy and individualism, and spread throughout North America as the free ranching regions began to die out. By the early 1900s, Alberta was enthralled with the possibilities and experiences of the rugged cowboy crossing the frontier, featured now in novels, motion pictures, pulp magazines, and western art. Nevertheless, the Canadian concept of the West was tainted by the difficult environmental conditions on the prairies, and government propaganda that constructed a "civilized," orderly West that was markedly different from portrayals of the American West (Seiler and Seiler 1998:55-58).

57 The Stampede drew on traditions established in the Wild West shows, originally creations of Cody, which featured re-tellings of events and images of frontier life, including roping, shooting, and battles with Native Americans. Seiler and Seiler note that the show is based in the popular myth of the West, which featured the region as both a hostile, barbaric land and a place of opportunity (Seiler and Seiler 1998:57). Guy Weadick, the founder of the

Stampede, went to Calgaiy as part of a Wild West show in 1905, and returned in 1908 to propose a contest-based, cowboy-driven show for the city. Rejected for wallowing in the past and ignoring the present dominance of agriculture in the province, Weadick persisted until the show was established in 1912. It featured the usual contests of the rodeo (riding and roping), allowed for both women and men to compete for substantial cash prizes, and began with a sophisticated and spectacular parade. The Victoria Park fairgrounds (the site of the Stampede to this day) were consistently crowded with spectators, prompting the return of the show in

1919 after the First World War, and again in 1923 to continue uninterrupted until today (Seiler and Seiler 1998:60-61). The efforts to preserve and showcase the past history of Alberta alongside a celebration of present progress were evident right from the start, as is clear in the

Calgary Herald's, reporting on the first Stampede: "The past and present were plainly shown"

(Baillargeon 1995:558).

Eventually, the Stampede grew to carry a host of other events, including the often dangerous and exciting chuckwagon races, cow milking contests, horse races, dance competitions, a spectacular grandstand show, a midway of fair rides, a western fair and exhibition (the fair and exhibition actually pre-date the Stampede by 25 years), cooking

shows, concerts, a First Nations village, dog shows, a large casino, and numerous themed tents

and bars featuring music and variety shows. It draws crowds of more than one million every

58 year to the fairgrounds, is considered the world's largest outdoor rodeo, and is the centre of

Calgary's tourist industry. There are a massive number of associated events, including free

Stampede breakfasts at various venues across the city (featuring a typical fare of pancakes and sausages), country music concerts at bars and private corporate parties, and themed radio and television broadcasts to showcase the city's cultural identity. Service outlets such as fast food restaurants, grocery stores, and banks enforce a western-dress policy (cowboy boots, hats, western shirts, and jeans) for their staff, decorate their spaces with rural- and western-themed symbols such as hay and mock wood fences, and play constant soundtracks of country music.

Much of this behaviour originated in the nostalgic character of Weadick's Stampedes of the

1920s. Few seem opposed to the party-like atmosphere that descends and the opportunity to try on a western identity, couched in the safe environment of the whole city's participation.

Many employees get time off work to attend the fair for a day, see the opening day parade, or go to corporate-sponsored events. Similarly, few participants question the historical roots of the Stampede, its contested nostalgia for a brief period of Western-European and American dominated industry, and its celebration of a problematic and fictional hero (the cowboy), instead enjoying the event's offerings of unabashed partying and shameless participation in all things country. Seiler and Seiler comment on the complexity of the Stampede's roots:

What Weadick had created in the Calgary Stampede was a complex event, one that emerged out of, and continues to draw on, an evolving synthesis of many imperatives: historical and mythological, American and Canadian, folk and commercial.. .one way of making sense of the Calgary Stampede is to regard this celebration of the cowboy as a text, a site of struggle for control of the meanings of western Canadian history. (Seiler and Seiler 1998:62)

Given the prominence the Calgary Stampede holds in discourse on Calgarian identity, it is worth taking a moment to examine why it possesses such considerable power as a collection of symbols and meanings. The Stampede and its associated icons dominate notions

59 of the city's history, its people, and its culture more so than any other event. Many consider the Stampede's stronghold over Calgarian identity to be historically inaccurate, ironic, and strange, given its roots in a fleeting and mostly meaningless era of cattle ranching in the nineteenth century. The more definitive industries of agriculture and oil would seem more appropriate as ones containing markers of Calgarian identity, but they have been largely eschewed in favour of the more attractive symbols offered up by a romanticized history of frontier settlement and work on the range.

As such, many recent works have begun to address the complex imagery contained in discourse on the Stampede, analyzing it for the purpose of discovering what it means for a contemporary urban population that may not identify with the cowboy lifestyle in any way.

For the purpose of this study, such scholarly works present a lens through which the contemporary roots music scene can be viewed. I will thus in part frame my subsequent analyses of the use of western symbols by my informants within the larger theoretical perspective employed by these discussions of the Stampede and its place in Calgarian identity construction. I will argue, based on these works and my own observations, that the Stampede has five basic functions in Calgary:

1. It exists for the purpose of inventing a past for a place that lacks substantial history 2. It fosters a notion of "The West" that serves to separate Western Canada from Eastern Canada 3. It encourages and creates a particular identity for Calgarians 4. It acts as a marketing tool for the city

5. It acts as a set of values and ideologies that can be evoked for particular needs

In her investigation of two historic sites in Calgary, Heritage Park and Fort Calgary,

Patricia K. Wood explores the notion of heritage as employed by the municipal and provincial governments, a favoured word for the investment in cultural practices and re-telling of the province's history. Wood notes the same problem that many authors on the subject of Calgary 60 acknowledge: the lack of history in a culture that valorizes a weighty and complex past necessitates a habitual looking backwards in order to re-invent a satisfactory story of origin.

Moreover, this reshaping will conveniently fit into the motives of current hegemonic forces, thus often justifying financial investment in places and events that are supposedly authentic markers of a particular past. Wood notes:

History, especially in its public, spatial forms, has become driven by consumerism, tourism, and a flight from the ugliness of the past.. .The city has created historic, even romantic, images of itself to which its citizens have little experiential or ancestral connection, but which satisfy emotional and aesthetic needs for authenticity and depth. (Wood 2000:41)

The Stampede, alongside places such as Heritage Park, serves exactly this purpose.

For most Calgarians, the exact history of the cowboy and his place in Alberta remains a distant and fuzzy idea of what the past was like, and yet contributes greatly to a sense of what it means to be Calgarian. This is particularly meaningful in the context of Canadian history, where much of the discourse surrounds immigration to the Maritime provinces and the battles between British and French forces in Eastern Canada. The prairies are frequently left out of the historical picture of the nation, largely because of their limited existence thus far, as well

as the fact that their history is limited to post-Confederation periods. The cowboy and his

conquering of the western frontier therefore become rich symbols of western identity and

heritage for Alberta's inhabitants, regardless of their lack of personal connection to such a

history, its historical inaccuracy, or its limited influence on the economic and social

development of the province. Max Foran comments on the potentially complex interpretations

of the Stampede in his introduction to Icon, Brand, Myth: The Calgary Stampede:

Those who see the Stampede as an event during which fun and nostalgia mix freely do not recognize or care about myth. Similarly, those who appreciate myth, who see it as an agent for collective identification...also have no difficulty accepting and participating in the Stampede cornucopia. Oppositely, it is the regenerating and exploitative capacity of this myth that draws the intense and largely recent criticism of the Stampede. Many cringe at its distortion of history...These critics see the Stampede as a giant hoax and an anachronism in an urban environment. (Foran 2008:x)

The Stampede of 1923, when it began its uninterrupted run until today, was driven by a nostalgia for past times, a common reaction throughout North America and Europe at the time to the forces of modernity (Wetherell 2008:35). Simultaneous to this was the drive to formulate nationally identified works of art and cultural practices, seen particularly in the celebration of frontier expansion in the United States. Wetherell notes that "Stampedes of the interwar years refined this nostalgia into a pursuit of identity through a critique of modernity, perhaps expressing a search for authenticity and certainty in a time of rapid social and technological change" (ibid.). Many authors, especially those contributors to Icon, Brand,

Myth, view the Stampede as a collection of previously uncontested symbols that function to reveal its nature as an invented tradition. The use of western gear and clothing, events such as the rodeo and chuckwagon races, country music, colloquial phrases (yahoo, yee-ha, giddyup), and imagery that idealizes work on an unforgiving prairie landscape, all contribute to an imagined past for Calgarians.

This imagined past has a direct and meaningful purpose, however, particularly within the political context of Canada. As one of many western-themed events and places, the

Stampede aids in the construction of a regional identity, one that desperately tries to distinguish itself from Eastern Canada. The East/West divide characterizes both the United

States and Canada, the East associated with liberal political views, urbanity, racial diversity, densely populated areas, a fast pace, and political/industrial centres of power, whereas the

West often signifies opposites such as conservatism, rurality, racial homogeneity, sparsely populated areas, and more labour-oriented industries. Clearly, obvious cases against such

62 polarities exist (i.e., British Columbia or California; or pockets of difference on both sides of the divide), however, a general regional sensibility is built on stereotypical qualities such as these, whether true to historical/demographic realities or not. Likewise, North/South divides are constructed on similar characteristics, particularly in the United States, and, moreover, national borders have been ignored in the trend towards theories of regionalism across North

America (thus, western Canada finds much in common with its western American counterpart).

What is particularly notable about the case of Alberta, and Calgary more specifically, is its continued and aggressive hatred towards Canadian centres of power, that is, Ottawa and

Toronto. The Calgary-Toronto rivalry has become more apparent during my time in Toronto, from 2003 to 2009, and interestingly (perhaps not surprisingly) is largely built on incorrect assumptions about both places. This conflict may have roots in the fight over oil royalties and the development of the National Energy Program, wherein taxes on oil and gas production were paid by Alberta and Saskatchewan to Ontario in the 1970s and 1980s. Fueled by anger over what was thought to be the rightful property of the prairie provinces, Alberta and

Saskatchewan fought against national intervention in the oil industry while Easterners regarded the West as selfish and regionally minded. Subsequently, a sense of isolation has enveloped Alberta in particular, to the point where some citizens wholeheartedly support a half-baked plan to separate from Canada and enjoy its wealth privately. However, this sense of isolation extends far beyond political issues and is felt at all levels of daily life by many western inhabitants.

Predictably, events such as the Stampede serve to create a distinct identity and represent an alternate way of life from that which emanates from the East for Albertans. This

63 regional identity is celebrated by musicians and artists in the area, who comment on

stereotypes and regional patriotism in their works, and the Stampede's imagery reflects underlying values long-associated with Westernism throughout North America. Seiler remarks that a western sensibility can be shaped by vast spaces and remoteness from centres

of power, political and cultural; as such, "it valorizes independence and self-sufficiency, and the kind of pragmatism that enables survival in an unforgiving environment. Further, it is one that stresses local loyalties and is suspicious of central authority" (Seiler 2008:187-88).

The danger of a western identity such as this is the potential loss of national

identification that accompanies it. As a result, many Albertans may frequently adopt (often unknowingly) an American sensibility in the effort to both distinguish the province from

Eastern Canada and to embrace symbols of westernness such as those provided by the

Stampede. Initially built chiefly on American immigrants, as noted earlier, Alberta tends

towards particular modes of thinking and behaving that are often associated with American

ideals. Seiler suggests that Alberta's wholehearted adoption of the cowboy and his lifestyle is,

rather than rooted in a long tradition of cowboy work in the province, more so a denial of

Eastern Canadian values. It is a rebellion whose manifestation is a willing incorporation and

reinterpretation of values typically seen as American in nature. She notes:

The east-west forces shaping the meaning of the cowboy have given this figure a well- recognized place of affection and esteem (and indeed of considerable mythic power) in the United States, broadcasting his image and his heroic exploits as an embodiment of individualism, self-reliance, courage, pragmatic justice, and patriotism... to such an extent that the 'cowboy' is a globally recognized symbol of American culture and sensibility. (Seiler 2008:183)

Thus, the Calgary Stampede encourages and creates a particular kind of identity for

Calgarians. As noted by Seiler and others, these facets of western identity—individualism,

freedom, independence, and survival—go against what may be typically coined "Canadian"

64 values—community, equality, and diversity. Seiler suggests that the cowboy as a symbol is useful because it is so profoundly American, that is, Calgarians, who recognize themselves as mavericks, identify most strongly with the inherent values embodied by the American cowboy

(Seiler 2008:193).

At the same time, the cowboy and its associations are rejected by many Calgarians as an antiquated representation of a past with which they cannot identify. In the case of an increasingly diverse population with origins from all over the globe, this is hardly surprising.

MacLeod agrees:

There's some really good original country music singers here, roots artists. Sometimes they get lumped together and they're really quite different. One thing one of my friends said the other day, it's like Stampede is an extended Halloween, where everybody's excited to put on jeans and cowboy boots, I see everybody's excited, but I play music with guys who wear jeans and cowboy boots all year round. Sometimes at Stampede I get real perturbed, because some people, it's almost like they're making fun of this western culture, and I'm not even from here, I feel like talking to someone and saying, "listen, Uncle Joe that grew up in Black Diamond, they did a good job of making this place what it is, and we should be proud of that." Sometimes the rest of Canada can get that perception, not that it's a joke, but I think it's really important to be proud of western identity. (MacLeod 2007)

What is even more remarkable is that those who reject the cowboy symbol may have descended from the lineage of landowners and cattlemen (members of the British upperclass) who started the ranching industry in Alberta. Pannekoek notes that the long-standing presence of the city's elite (these original ranchers) has had a significant impact in the presentation of

Calgary to the outside world (Pannekoek 2008:263-64). The result has been seen in the relegation of particular iconic images and western public art to spaces not generally occupied by members of the elite class or those linked to tourism and outside visitors such as the airport, the Stampede grounds, and the rural hinterlands (Pannekoek 2008:253). Moreover,

Pannekoek's research has revealed concerns that Alberta's public image and associations with

65 cowboy culture were detrimental to the province's success and reputation on an international level and Calgary in particular undertook an attempt to "rebrand" itself, conducting studies on people's perceptions of the city and its western heritage. Realizing that the Stampede may have been relevant for portions of the local population and was possibly less important to tourists, the rebranding took the shape of a marketable, commercial identity, one which embraced western hospitality and heritage but would also properly display its sophisticated identity. As a result, for example, hotel and restaurant staff were encouraged to be more

"modern" in their clothing choices. Yet, the rustic image persisted, maintained by ever- controversial figures such as premier Ralph Klein, and any official effort by the city to shed its western symbols failed over time (Pannekoek 2008:260).

Perhaps another reason for the persistence of the cowboy, his hat, his horse, his boots, and other western images tied directly to the Stampede is their guaranteed success as marketing tools. Seiler suggests that the Stampede may be maintained partially as a way to generate revenue for the city (Seiler 2008:193), and in a rather pessimistic tone, Pannekoek notes: "The Stampede is commercial, not cultural; of the pocketbook, not the soul—although

Calgary's soul might well be its pocketbook" (Pannekoek 2008:265). Indeed, one of

Pannekoek's central points is the role that Stampede branding has played for entrepreneurial and tourist efforts in the city, giving Calgary a recognizable face and identity for businesses seeking to profit from it. He finds that one of the most ubiquitous manifestations of the

Stampede iconography is in the naming of various commercial establishments across the city.

Car dealerships, sports teams, dry cleaners, grocery stores, pawnbrokers, and book companies

(not to mention certain musical groups) embrace the Stampede name "with passion"

(Pannekoek 2008:258). Perhaps one of the most entertaining examples of this is the Stampede

66 Grocery Mini Mart/Middle East Foods Store. He muses on the reasoning behind the choice of names: one possibility is a commercial establishment with Stampede in the title acts as a form of boosterism, another is that entrepreneurs see it as a guaranteed revenue generator

(Pannekoek 2008:25 8 ;267).

Regardless of its commercial potential, the Stampede and its associated symbols present a complex set of markers for Calgarians to adopt or reject, and Calgarians do both, at times simultaneously. The city has created an official past based on its ranching roots, and it has been deemed publicly acceptable by hegemonic forces, that is, written accordingly to

serve and legitimize the contemporary power structures. Those who do not identify with or fit into such a past are not of concern to forces who maintain the Stampede's stronghold over

Calgary's identity. And yet, the consumption of, and identification with, the Stampede continues to be a complex issue for inhabitants who view themselves in multiple ways, not

simply as descendants of European or American immigrants who worked the land and raised cattle in the nineteenth century. For many in the upper classes or cultural elite, Stampede imagery is evoked when it is convenient or profitable, such as at charity events or in revenue-

generating tourist areas (Pannekoek 2008:259). However, the rejection of values and icons

associated with the West and the Stampede may not be entirely unfounded: it may in fact represent an educated awareness of the city's complex and multifaceted history, rather than a

stagnant, linear one. Contemporary Calgarians negotiate between many identities, some western, others from a multitude of sources, shifting emphasis to those which best coincide with particular moments, the city's diverse inhabitants, and varying modes of existence.

Similarly, the musicians who work in the city recognize this and adopt personae that reflect

such changing situations and desires. Perhaps the lyrics of Tom Phillips's song, "Alberta

67 Song" best reflect both the celebrated and misunderstood elements of western culture in the province:

"Alberta Song" (Tom Phillips, 2005)

Yeah, everybody calls us rednecks But they never seen this part of the West They fly over our skies And don't open their eyes 'till Vancouver where the jetset sets

Well, son, you don't know what you're missing Sipping umbrella drinks at the pier Sit right down and open your ears And I'll tell you what we're all about

Chorus We got Big Rock beer on tap at the bar We got Copenhagen on our breath We got country tunes and an Alberta moon And we're dancing right under the stars We got boots and chaps and cowboy hats We got the prettiest women and more If you come on out to Alberta You better like the rodeo

Well this might sound a little bit funny But we're the friendliest people you know We got mountain time, we got open minds We say howdy wherever we go Don't judge us by our politicians Hell, nobody knows how to vote If you want to look at us that way We just might judge it on yours

Chorus

Well the wheatfields roll and the mountains soar The sun still sets in the west Don't think we're uneducated We went to school with some of your best We like our beef served rare and our coffee thick We like homefries on the side If you come on out to Alberta Someone will teach you to ride

68 Research on Alberta's Folk Music Traditions

Given the province's short history and limited documentation of it, there exist relatively few records on its music, especially those pertaining to music in the oral tradition such as folk:

To the west, extensive settlement tended to be more singular, widespread, and considerably later, so that books, musical instruments, and gramophones were not uncommon frontier objects. In other words, settlement in the East was more conducive than that in the West to the preservation and amplification of community based oral traditions. (Henderson 1973:101)

Exceptions to this include works by George Lyon, such as his book on old-time community music-making (1999), Edith Fowke's broad collections of folk music (1954; 1973; 1984), and

Tim Rogers's research on cowboy and country music in Alberta (i.e., 1978). It is possible that many research attempts are discouraged by the paucity of information available, and that many of those who worked in music scenes across the province have either left or moved on to alternate professions. Nevertheless, the above authors, along with others such as Fil Fraser, attempt to fill in the holes left by documentation efforts.

M. Carole Henderson endeavours to explain the lack of concerted folklore research in

Canada, particularly across the West. In particular, she notes that the subjects addressed in folklore research have largely been determined by social, political, and economic factors rather than general academic trends. She locates the selective nature of Anglo-Canadian scholarship as the product of several factors:

1. Foreign influences leading to Anglo collections in the East, but detracting from them in the West; 2. Political and economic superiority leading, where perceived, to fascination with other cultural groups but where not perceived, to concentration on regional Anglo subcultures; 3. Concentration by the National Museum on French, Indian, and ethnic traditions, except for studies of Old World-like traditions in the East;

69 4. Perception of the utility of oral traditional material in formulating or implementing social policy involving cultural minorities. (Henderson 1973:106)

Although the article is now somewhat dated, this discussion applies to research in western

Canada, revealing the perpetual disdain for and evasion of topics that may not link to national interests. Given Alberta's conservative, isolated, and at times regressive reputation in the national consciousness, alongside its cobbled together (and uncertain) musical, cultural, and folkloristic history from a variety of sources, it is little wonder that researchers have shied away from the topic. Similarly, Henderson notes that Westerners have a "tendency to look beyond their own groups for valid traditions to study" (ibid.).

Edith Fowke, possibly the most influential folk music collector in Canadian history, has also commented on the dearth of material addressing the western provinces. Although her writing on the subject emerged in the 1950s and 1960s, little has changed since then. One of the few to attempt to thoroughly collect songs in the province, Fowke notes that many cowboy and western songs were sung, but few were properly documented (Fowke 1962:252-3). She notes:

Very little collection has been done.. .although the indications are that American pioneer and cowboy songs were quite widespread. This is to be expected, for the Canadian West was settled somewhat later than the American states to the south, and a number of American homesteaders crossed into Canada when the available land in the American West had been taken.. .It was quicker to bring them [songs] up the Old Chisholm Trail and on into Alberta than to drive them across the then unsettled Canadian prairies from eastern Canada. (Fowke 1962:252)

Indeed, Fowke's collecting reveals songs that are "indigenous" to Alberta, that is, taken from sources mainly south of the border and altered to fit a harsh, unforgiving prairie frontier.

Place names were replaced, contexts were altered, but the essential connections to cowboy and farming culture were maintained, as seen in examples like "The Alberta Homesteader"

(originally "The Greer County Bachelor") (ibid.). The themes of prairie settlement and ranching and farming life connect collected

Alberta folk music directly to elements of western life. Tim Rogers's research on the province suggests that cowboy and country music may in fact be its most likely folk music, and demonstrates this with solid evidence of collected cowboy songs throughout the twentieth century. As with most other authors on the subject, he assumes Alberta's short history is the primary explanation for a lack of material, but he moves on to acknowledge some possibilities for other manifestations of folk culture in the province. First, Alberta's early history coincides with the early development of the country music industry, and thus many folk songs could have been immediately transformed into commercial cowboy recordings. Second, Rogers notes that few folklorists have been attracted to research in the area, meaning that concerted documentation efforts have not yet been made. When they are, it is possible that a hidden and substantial tradition of folksong will emerge. Finally, he suggests that an examination of the media's effect on the folkways could produce a rich and untapped source for how folk culture has been shaped at traditional and commercial intersections (Rogers 1978:23-28).

Rogers acknowledges Kallman's (1960) research on prairie music and notes that isolated settlements, language differences, and difficult prairie life may have contributed to reduced documentation of oral traditions; rather one frequently finds reference to instruments and notated music in the province (Rogers 1978:23). In a move away from presumptions that

Alberta's music history is focused primarily on country and folk music, George Lyon's work supports the notion that classical and popular music traditions were vibrant and widespread throughout the early part of the twentieth century. Classical music dominated provincial radio programming through much of its early days, and schoolhouse dances featured the popular dance music of the time, colliding with trends found across North America. Lyon's book,

71 Community Music in Alberta: Some Good Schoolhouse Stuff!, documents the community music-making that is evidenced in personal accounts, photographs, and broadcasting histories.

Lyon focuses initially on the schoolhouse as the center of communal activity, especially for artistic performances, and intersperses his discussion with transcriptions of popular songs that would have been played in these venues. He also examines domestic space as a nurturer of classical music training, the string bands that evolved out of small farming communities, the strong brass band tradition, fiddle culture, aboriginal music, and the maintenance of world music traditions by recent immigrants.

Lyon gives country music its due space, but frames it in the context of invented traditions (characterizing the Stampede in the same way). He is critical of the "authentic" portrayal of the genre, suggesting that those who performed in the genre took advantage of country's proven success in the mainstream. Here again we see cowboy culture's role in the province's identity, evoked for the purpose of creating a sense of place and tradition where none officially exists. Lyon's work downplays the role of country culture while Rogers suggests it may in fact be a place to start in locating what being Albertan or Calgarian means.

This debate continues into today, as seen in the contemporary identities worn by musicians.

Roots of Calgary's Current Scene: 1970-1990

The support systems and consumption patterns for music in Calgary ebb and flow, much like they would in any constantly shifting urban setting. Informants often referred to great periods of live music, sponsored by strong venues and active audience involvement, one of which was during the late 1970s and early 1980s. While a strong picture of exactly how music-making took shape was difficult to obtain, I relied on a few personal accounts to generate a sense of the scene. Furthermore, I would argue that significant changes in the

72 political climate fostered growth and then decline in most areas of arts production. These

changes and accounts will provide a general foundation for my ensuing discussion of the

current Calgarian roots scene, as nostalgia for the "better days" of music-making and antipathy

towards the current political environment often informed my interviewees' perceptions of the

contemporary situation.

Alberta's Camelot: The 1970s

In his book, Alberta's Camelot: Culture and the Arts in the Lougheed Years, Fil Fraser

argues that the 1971 shift in political power to the Conservatives had a direct influence on arts

development throughout the decade. Previous to this shift, the Social Credit Party had held

power in Alberta's government for 35 years, and the dramatic "change from Social Credit's

doctrinaire, ideology-driven regime to Lougheed's relatively open and pragmatic approach to

government" (Fraser 2003:29) seemed refreshing for the Albertan population. The Social

Credit Party (Socreds), an even further right-wing party than the Conservatives, were well-

known for their separatist leanings, pledging to create a provincial currency, aiming to take

control of their economy, and issuing oil and gas royalties to its citizens throughout its stay in

power. While these and other similar activities became common practice for the Conservative

Klein government in the 90s, the population became known for voter apathy and a reluctance

to engage in political discourse in everyday life (Fraser 2003:21).

Nevertheless, a change in approach was eagerly welcomed by Alberta, and coincided

well with the oil boom; production saw a new peak in 1971. Spurred on by massive revenues

and unprecedented population growth, the Lougheed government was poised to reverse the

conservatism that defined the 50s and 60s and create new funding opportunities for the arts in

the province. Peter Lougheed and his wife Jeanne were staunch arts supporters long before

73 their political reign, and as premier, Lougheed focused more provincial spending on nonprofit,

community, and multicultural arts endeavours. Within the first year in government, Lougheed had doubled the amount spent on the arts scholarships and organizational grants by the

Socreds, spending $282,797. By 1979, this amount had exploded to an unprecedented

$7,511,647, and in 1980 $75 million was spent on the province's 75th anniversary, a good part

of that budget going to arts initiatives (ibid.,74-75). Lougheed had appointed Horst Schmid,

an opera-singing German immigrant, to the Minister of Culture, Youth, and Recreation post in the provincial government.

The result of this appointment was not only a long-standing political partnership between the two, but the rapid and successful development of arts and culture programs

throughout the province. Schmid made it a priority to review spending on multicultural

initiatives and made Alberta one of the first provinces to formally commit to cultural diversity

spending (Fraser 2003:66-67). Schmid also made pioneering advances in grant spending,

creating the Matching Grants program wherein the province matched private donations to arts

organizations for up to 25 percent of an organization's budget; the only province comparable

in this level of spending was Quebec (ibid., 73-74). Furthermore, the provincial government

created extensive divisions dedicated to specific arts, education, and training, spending in all

imaginable areas including visual arts and crafts, the performing arts, film, literary arts, and

heritage projects (ibid., 71).

It should be noted, however, that while the province was supportive of the arts at large,

the fact that the provincial government is centered in Edmonton meant that arts development

happened more rapidly in the capital. Calgary was far behind in receiving funding and

developing its own cultural life, and numerous reasons are given for its delay. Fraser

74 characterizes Calgary as more conservative than liberal Edmonton; more driven by profit and greed, given its high number of white-collar jobs, corporate headquarters, and financial centres of power; more ethnically homogenous than diverse Edmonton; and Calgary's inhabitants are more attracted to its immediate recreational offerings of skiing, hiking, snowmobiling, fishing, and camping than Edmontonians, who more readily frequent arts events. Others have characterized Calgary in much the same way (see Tyler 2004), whereas still others suggest that Calgary benefited from a similar arts boom during the prosperous 70s (see Reasons and

Carson 1984:25).

It would be difficult to determine how much arts funding would impact a professional music scene such as the burgeoning roots and country one in Calgary. Rarely do the funds bestowed upon nonprofit and educational endeavours filter into an area principally operating on customer revenue, although exceptions to this might include venues such as folk clubs or festivals. That is, for a scene that is located largely in venues such as pubs and bars and has many branches managed by the record industry, what benefits are to be gained from increased government arts spending?

I was not able to discern any direct links between the provincial government's initiatives and the early days of Calgary's roots scene. However, accounts from several informants suggested that more indirect patterns of wealth dispersal were very clear, the most obvious being the willingness of Calgarians to attend concerts and buy recordings with their increased disposable income from the general economic boom. Les siemieniuk, general manager for the Calgary Folk Festival, commented on the live scene in Calgary during the

1970s and 80s:

It was fantastic at one time...Trouble is, with Calgarians is, that we're into the trendy things. So, when something opens, everybody comes, if something's really cool, it will sustain itself for awhile, but then it's like any other place. People get bored. And in a town, the biggest problem in this town is people work too hard. You could go to a club on Monday or Tuesday and there's nobody in the restaurant, why? 'Cause people downtown here are in their offices by 6:30, 7:00 in the morning. 'Cause they're working with the Toronto Stock Exchange. Exchange opens at 9 in Toronto, well that's 7:00 here, you better be in the fucking office. Which means I'll go out on Friday night, I ain't going out on Wednesday. So that was a real, a real, hindrance. But the weekend scene was, people really did let loose. So they did come out, so that was almost counterbalanced. Now the city's big enough and there's enough of everybody that more people are now doing music, all around, people are, musicians are starting to invest. Some of the older guys are buying places, (siemieniuk 2008)

Moreover, increased spending on arts programs would encourage these programs' growth and output, thereby increasing awareness of the arts for the average citizen. This approach did extend to institutions like the CBC, who created recording budgets for local acts. siemieniuk's first job in Calgary was with the CBC, recording local musicians to release and feature on national programming. His job was to foster what he thought were potentially successful artists by helping them with their songwriting and performing, to the point where they were able to record a full-length disc at the CBC studios, siemieniuk sought out artists who would not otherwise have easy access to CBC's national broadcast, and part of his and the station's agenda was to create a national awareness of the local scene throughout the 1980s and 90s:

All of us at CBC, music producers.. .we wanted more local people in the audience, we wanted to give people, because we knew all they needed was a break. And that's what a lot of my job was, convincing Toronto to put local people on, or convincing shows to feature Calgary performers. 'Cause you know at the time, yeah Calgary's only country music, well no. There's a great folk music scene here, (ibid.)

Two other informants, one a local performer during the late 70s and 80s and the other a jukebox programmer during the same time, noted that the live scene in particular differed greatly from what it is today. Calgary's early club scene would feature acts for long durations, anywhere from a week to the several months of Kenny Rogers's tenure just previous to the

76 release of his massive hit, "Lucille," in 1977 at the Ranchman's, Calgary's most prominent country bar (Anon 1 2008). Similarly, Ian Tyson's beginnings as a solo country act found a welcoming audience in venues such as the Ranchman's. Local musicians might have week- long runs at restaurants and clubs featuring live music, and would then move on to another venue in the city or elsewhere in the province. Typically, these bands, usually part of the country or roots-rock genre, would be expected to play sets comprised primarily of cover songs, throwing in only an occasional original by the band (Ross 2002-2009). These bands would also be the entertainment for the night, whereas now bands often have to share the stage with one or two other acts in similar venues. Neil MacGonigill, a local producer and manager who has worked with Ian Tyson, k d lang, and Jann Arden and who now runs an independent label in the city, Indelible Music, has been involved with the Calgary roots scene for forty years. He began in 1968 as a rack jobber, working for local distributors and labels such as

Kensington Distributors, and as the local A&R person for A&M Records and Warner Brothers during the 1970s. He commented on the live scene when it was just beginning to bud:

Well, you know, the scene was always cyclical, right, the club scene was cyclical. Honestly, when I started.. .the Ranchman's was a 24 hour diner, just a little dinky place. Same location, but it was just a 24 hour coffee shop that started having live music and Diamond Joe [White] used to play there. And now it's what a thousand seat, and it morphed into that as time went on. And over the years, there's been some great clubs, Scott's was a great, great club, Sparky's was cool, and places like Cover to Cover, but places like Pardon my Garden and Birds of a Feather used to have music. (MacGonigill 2008)

An enthusiastic participant in the country music scene of the city during the 1980s commented on his experience extensively:

In the late 80s/early 90s I was a regular (had VIP passes) to Longhorn Saloon, Dusty's & Ranchman's—these places did well even on a weekday—saw many great (and some local) bands there—mix of rock, country, folk mostly. Wish I could remember more details of who played where.. .Also had a big craze of pseudo-star search-type contests held (I believe this is where Paul Brandt was "discovered" and possibly George Fox—

77 Cochrane rancher turned singer-songwriter). This was the heyday of these joints. [The] Rocking Horse Saloon was the new joint at the time—a bit more upscale in decor and attracting a less "calloused, dirty fingernail" crowd. Everybody was teaching office cowboys how to 2-step—I was one of them doing the teaching.. .Cowboys [a cowboy bar that opened in the 1990s] when it hit town soured things, I believe—turned the sawdust, traditional bars into "clubs"—it has gone downhill since then. Now the scene is loud and you have to look pretty to fit in. Sad, really. The character and even variety of these venues has been lost. The whole country scene got a huge infusion of popularity locally following the Olympics. The Opening Ceremonies had a 2-step number—knew some of the participants and they say the dance steps were discovered on an old document, allegedly "Alberta's version" of the 2-step—different from that done in the US re: which beat it started on, and which you did your turns. (Clarke 2009)

Perhaps among the most successful of these establishments was Ranchman's

Cookhouse and Dancehall, the longest running country bar in Canada. Local entrepreneur

Harris Dvorkin took over the bar from his father-in-law, Kai Smid, in 1972, turning the club into a popular destination for touring country acts. By 1976, the club was so successful that

Dvorkin was able to install a 250-seat concert lounge, which in recent years has grown to

1,050 seats. The bar has been featured in several films shot on location in Calgary, including

Brokeback Mountain, Unforgiven, and Cool Runnings and helped house musicians such as

Toby Keith start their careers (Calgary Herald 2007). It has remained a central meeting point for country fans in the city ever since (Brennan 1990:S10). Its reputation has kept its programming confined to largely mainstream acts passing through town (such as Tammy

Wynette and Kenny Rogers), but in recent years, local acts that are firmly entrenched in traditional country (such as Tom Phillips) have played at the bar as well.

Dusty's Saloon opened on Olympic Way (in downtown Calgary) in 1985 and operated as a western-themed bar similar to Ranchman's, where country acts could play live. It closed down fifteen years later, in 2000, and was soon re-opened as Desperados Steakhouse and

Sports Saloon in time for that year's Stampede. Desperados catered to a more mainstream

78 crowd, filling the bar with televisions on which patrons could watch sports, and playing a more diverse mix of recorded pop, rock, and country (McNamee 2000). Bars that were not so

explicitly country such as Sparky's (opened in 1991) featured regular live acts in a pub setting, most of which were in the pop/rock/folk category. It also regularly hosted local acts, as did

Pardon My Garden, a favourite restaurant among locals in the 1970s.

Despite the audiences drawn to such places, and the willingness to spend extensively

on live entertainment, the music scene in Calgary was generally disregarded by the mainstream national record industry. According to MacGonigill, this disregard was often

fueled by misconceptions and stereotypes about the conservative and rough nature of musicians in the city (2008). A sense of isolation enveloped the scene, and artists tended to tour only within the immediate region, or sometimes venture beyond provincial borders to

Saskatchewan (Ross 2002-2009). Attempts to attract major record label attention were virtually ignored, leaving local participants to wonder if the nationally held stereotypes of

Calgary as devoid of culture were actually true. Coupled with provincial funding being

directed towards more community-oriented or Western European-derived arts organizations

and the disproportionate attention received by Edmonton, Calgary's musicians felt they were

largely left to fend for themselves. An extended quote from MacGonigill demonstrates this

sentiment:

Here's my theory. It's not a theory, it's a fact. For years and years and years and years and years and years and years, the major labels never came here. They flew here. They pretended to come to Calgary. If they did come to Calgary, they tried to leave the same day they got here. They tried to get the latest flight out, the night of, if they had to come here to see a band, they were afraid to come here because it had this kind of redneck, honky tonk sort of thing going on, so even if it was the greatest band like Loverboy, who was born in the city and sold 40 million records, the A&R guys were afraid to come here to see them. Honestly, I got a guy who was an A&R guy named Jeff Burns who signed Loverboy, eventually. Burns came here to see a band called the

79 Shell Bar Riley Brothers, Shelley and Barry and they played the Bowness Hotel, which was the roughest bar here, they had a tavern. So I took Jeff Burns to see them and a big fight started in the bar. Scared him to death, he got up and took a cab to the airport and waited for a flight to get out. And they were always doing that, even when I worked at A&M Records, they would not come to Calgary. They made me the A&R guy because they were afraid to come to Calgary. And so consequently the bands, they did end up having this kind of idea that you know what? We can do our own thing because it doesn't matter anyway. We don't have to cater to what they want in Toronto because the record companies.. .they always told you what they wanted you to do anyway, usually they fired your band, took the key person out of the band, stuff like that. But honestly for years and years and years until this day, they still look at Calgary as a backwater town. It's, I mean, reputation-wise, it doesn't matter if it's music or the restaurant business, you know, for the longest time they thought Calgary was a backwater town in culture in all things. Where really, at this point in time, we have some of the greatest restaurants in the province in this town. And so.. .1 think that the roots music scene especially is kind of goes hand-in-glove with the city's reputation, I mean I think it still gets overlooked, by... Toronto. (MacGonigill 2008)

The jukebox programmer agrees. He notes that local bands would come to him with records, asking him to put their singles into rotation since commercial radio would not have anything to do with local, unsigned acts. Programming local bands meant that jukebox "hits" were possible when no other venues were open, contributing to a greater awareness of these acts by a large audience frequenting restaurants and bars where the jukeboxes were located. The programmer and his co-workers felt they had a hand in helping local acts succeed, even though they often felt tied to keeping contemporary radio hits in regular rotation as well (Anon

1 2008). Nevertheless, the Calgary music scene fell under the radar of national attention, and a spirit of independence characterized those working within it, not far from the do-it-yourself, hard-work-will-be-rewarded identity often bestowed upon the city and its inhabitants from its early frontier days' history, as noted by Matt Masters:

That whole honky tonk thing, there's something about being a westerner. It's hard to describe in short form. But, I'm a big believer in western identity, my dad was born in Toronto, my mom was born in England and grew up in Toronto, sister was born in Toronto, I was born in North Battleford, Saskatchewan. I'm not from Ontario, I'm from the West. I grew up here in Calgary. I'm the first person in my family who was born and grew up in the West. That's a huge part of who all Westerners are. It's a

80 hard thing to put our fingers on, and for the most part, our national media doesn't want to talk about it, because they're not located here, and they don't get it and they're alienated by it, intimidated by it. We're loud and proud. Just like a little brother, you have a little brother and he doesn't get the attention the big brother gets because the big brother is bigger and older and smarter. But the little brother is louder. That's how it works in a nutshell. I've always felt that way, I think Alberta gets a really bad rap. Especially arts coverage. Globe and Mail doesn't have a Calgary-based arts reporter.. .Calgary's a huge city, and they don't have an arts reporter? And they think they're the national newspaper? They have the audacity to call it the national newspaper? And it's still the one I buy. (Masters 2007)

Post-1990: A Current Roots Scene Overview

Over the last two decades, Calgary has witnessed another population explosion, heightened economic activity, and unprecedented levels of wealth among many of its citizens.

A brief pause in economic growth throughout the 1980s led the Lougheed government to its downfall, and the province turned increasingly towards the more extreme levels of conservatism seen in the Social Credit days. In 1992, Ralph Klein, former mayor of Calgary, and infamous for his excessive drinking, poor public behaviour, employee abuse, intolerance, and sanctimonious frugality, became Premier, with his Conservative Party winning 51 of the

83 seats in legislature (this figure later moved up to 74 of the 83 seats in surprising surges in popularity during subsequent elections). He held office for an astoundingly long fourteen years and during his tenure wielded an unforgiving axe against unnecessary spending. The first luxury to be cut was funding for arts, culture, and related programs. All of the individual programs designed for particular disciplines and community initiatives were folded into each other under the umbrella of the Alberta Foundation for the Arts. The AFA became the only source of funding for artistic development, received all of its money from lotteries (and in later years, gambling revenues from the province), and had its budget frozen for many years (Fraser

2003:217-18).

81 The provincial government pledged to cut expenditures by at least 20 percent until the deficit was under control, without ever raising taxes. Klein, a shrewd politician known for well-timed plans that increased his popularity, would add to Albertans' sense of personal success and wealth by distributing oil and gas revenues in the form of $400 cheques to each citizen and counterbalanced the privatization of everything from liquor sales to various forms of healthcare with similar and timely bursts of cash. Not surprisingly, a new air of smugness developed in the province, many of those reaping the benefits of provincial wealth attributing it to their own hard work and dedication. This notion of self-reliance, along with a shunning of the rest of the country, could be found in those struggling to survive in a now provincially

and nationally ignored music scene.

Most of my informants have suggested that the music scene rose up against the cuts in

arts funding and instead appealed to a once-again wealthy population by staging concerts in

sophisticated but downhome venues that reinforced the beliefs Calgarians held about themselves (friendly, hardworking, taking part in the good life, embracing western culture).

Similarly, as "progressive" Calgarians, local artists took advantage of emerging technology

and began creating their own recordings, releasing them to a regional audience, and starting up

labels whose mandates were to promote local talent. A few quotes from key informants,

including CKUA programmer Alison Brock, and musician Tom Phillips demonstrate the

recent success of the roots scene:

Oh I think there's a definite Alberta scene and I think part of how at least I see it, you look at the number of festivals that happen here, the level of the music that is here, is unbelievable. So yeah, I think it definitely distinguishes itself by being as vibrant and in particular in the summer, man, you can make a living. You can go from festival to festival, obviously you would go to BC or Saskatchewan too, but you can make a living, no problem. More and more there are artists here who can make a living year round. And that's amazing. It hasn't been that long that that has really been able to go on. (Brock 2005)

82 Good things coming out of there. I think Calgary's totally exploding with music right now and it's because we have such a giant influx of population and people are looking for things to do and all that stuff... a lot of towns are jealous of Calgary, and it's perceived as money, which it is to some degree, which has been to its detriment, it hasn't necessarily been seen as an arts place, it's been seen as a money place. Which is what it is. But more and more it's growing its own culture. (Phillips 2002)

However, others disagree. MacGonigill for example, sees past years as the height of exciting musical activity and good, supportive venues in Calgary:

But as far as roots music goes, it's not the strongest time venue-wise. Mikey's [a local live music pub] is doing their thing and, but if you think that Karma is gone, Merlot is gone, the King Eddy is gone, Sparky's is gone, the old Scotch is gone, all of those rooms are gone [all live venues which closed in the late 1990s or early 2000s. See Chapter 5 for a further discussion of venues that are presently open in Calgary], And they don't all last forever, but usually when one goes down, another one comes up and stuff like that, but there really really really is a hole in this town for a great music club. Right size, 250 seats, and or, maybe a little bigger, but could collapse and hold 80 or 100 and still be intimate. And there's a million people in this city and lots of money and lots are interested in music but they need to be educated, they need to be told that something is good. (MacGonigill 2008)

Conclusion

There are a number of complex factors that have led the Calgary roots scene to where it is today, including a romanticized history of frontier expansion, the invented traditions of the Stampede, the economic consequences of oil discoveries in the province, the shifting levels of conservative political leadership, and the isolation of the city from the rest of the country. This isolation is manifested in the East-West relations that perpetually define aspects of Canadian national identity, in the desire of particular arms of Alberta's government to separate, but more specifically with regards to this project in the ways in which the music scenes of the province have been neglected by the industry at large. While arts funding temporarily increased throughout Peter Lougheed's time as Premier, very little of that trickled down to the professional and folk-oriented scene of Calgary, leaving its participants to find

83 ways to fend for themselves. The city has thus seen venues and artists rise and fall according to the availability of disposable income and free time for the roots audience and artists continually struggle to survive in the volatile scene created by such circumstances. The remaining chapters will investigate many of the issues raised here, such as: the visual and sonic iconography available in western culture for appropriation; the spirit of independence that characterizes the province and thus its inhabitants and artists; the shifting political and economic spectrum that is affected by changes in leadership and increased immigration into the province; and how media, venues, and other industry institutions both within and outside of provincial borders affect the production and consumption of local music. As a framework for these issues, I will investigate what it means to be independent, first as a theoretical concept, and secondly within the context of a city that largely escapes national media attention.

84 Chapter 2: "Only You (And You Alone)": Independence in Practice

This chapter will examine the concept of independence as it relates to musical activity in the roots music scene of Calgary. While Chapter 1 provided background on the city's history and music industry throughout the twentieth century, linking the symbolically important notions of western culture and its affiliated activities to musical development in

Calgary, this chapter will serve to frame such development in terms of a contemporary understanding of independence in music. As such, it is necessary to recognize that independence is a quickly fluctuating and context-dependent concept in the industry, bearing multiple meanings for musicians, industry personnel, and audiences that are reliant on one's positionality in the scene. Therefore, I structure this discussion by keeping in mind that

independence, as it is conceived by musicians in Calgary, is a discursively constructed concept

that works for the industry conditions operating in the first decade of the twenty-first century.

Independent, or as it is more commonly called in music industry discourse, indie7,

activity has received substantial and focused scholarly attention within popular music

research. The vast majority of this work concentrates on the disparities between the

mainstream, or major record label activities, and those of smaller record labels and artists

without recording contracts (i.e., Bowman 1997; Gray 1988; Hesmondhalgh 1997; Lee 1995;

Kooper, Kennedy, and McNutt 1999; Olmsted 2003). As a result, the body of work on

independence has primarily investigated label operations (Gray; Lee); levels of association

and affiliation with major labels (Lee; Negus 1992); ideologies and practices governing indie

record labels (Bowman; Fairchild 1995; Gray; Lee); cycles in concentration of the market by

7 Throughout this discussion, indie refers to a set of practices for working in the music industry. Indie has also been established as a musical genre with specific sonic and thematic characteristics. In referring to musicians as indie here, I am not suggesting that they play in this genre; they simply adopt elements of being independent that are often also linked to indie musical styles. 85 either majors or indies (Chappie and Garofalo 1977; Peterson and Berger 1990); sociological aspects of producing and selling records within corporate structures (Gray; Negus 1992;

1999); the influences of technology on the production and consumption of music (Azenha

2006; Frith 2000); and economic factors influencing development and change in the industry

(Hull 2004; Laforse 1992; Rothenbuhler and McCourt 2004; Scott 1999). I have examined these perspectives in detail, but have found that the bulk of these provide little assistance in explaining how the Calgary roots scene functions, given the relative scarcity of actual labels and industry infrastructure in the city.

David Hesmondhalgh notes that "recent work on the music industries has aimed to show that there is no longer any useful distinction to be made between the music divisions of multinational entertainment corporations and independent record companies" (Hesmondhalgh

1997:269). That is, the lines between indie and corporate activity have blurred so much in recent history, even to the point of major labels disguising themselves as indies to entice potential audiences, that maintaining these artificial divisions no longer helps to define and describe indie practices as they are reconstituted in ever-changing industry environments.

Thus, while briefly acknowledging the body of work dedicated to the contrasts in practices and conceptions of indies and majors, I am more interested here in how those divisions have produced a rhetoric of independence that is routinely evoked in real, everyday practice for

Calgarian musicians, and will then conduct a discursive analysis of such rhetoric.

Furthermore, I am interested in the concept of indie as it has been explored by authors such as

Wendy Fonarow (2006) and Sara Cohen (1991), both of whom locate ideology, responsibility, and activity equally in industry surroundings and in musicians themselves. I believe that this will be a more useful framework for interpreting the endeavours of Calgarian musicians, since

86 they are largely left to fend for themselves with little label or managerial support, and thus conceive of their independence accordingly.

In order to avoid redundancy in describing and analyzing independence, I use authors such as Fonarow and Cohen as guides in creating a redefined set of understandings and practices that I believe dictate the Calgary roots scene. As such, I replicate and echo some of

Fonarow's categories, for example, Indie as Ideology, but recontextualize them to fit into a very different genre-, age-, and locality-defined group of musicians. I focus on those definitions of indie that centre on individual musicians and collective activity at the most independent level (such as self-produced and distributed albums); these activities mirror those of other small cities, and this collection of understandings might well befit places defined by particular kinds of grassroots activity or genre-based scenes that are not rock or pop.

I first examine how independence is generally defined within the larger context of the music industry. I then look more closely at the ideologies and discourse that underlie such definitions, using commonly evoked expressions and notions of independence to situate the

Calgary scene. Following is an investigation of how community is created and continually re- worked within agreements on what constitutes independence, and how that community

functions within Calgary. This discussion incorporates reconceptualizations of community that have emerged from online activity surrounding local music scenes. In turn, I look at how

innovation defines indie practices, focusing primarily on how the use of computer technology

and the internet have influenced the scene's growth. This is followed by a more concrete

discussion of how Calgarian musicians specifically enact independence, relying on

information generated from interviews and my own surveillance of online interaction between

musicians and fans. Finally, I conclude with a reflection on how the city of Calgary shapes the concept of independence, keeping in mind that the high value placed on self-reliance, entrepreneurial skill, and individualism in the city's self-identity influences musicians' self- conceptions. Here, Charles Fairchild's examination of the indie punk scene in Washington,

D.C. will underpin my suggestions that Calgary can remain a locally defined and sovereign centre of music despite musicians' recent engagement with globally oriented technologies in order to produce and sell music.

What is Indie?

Indie is located ultimately in its discourse about its boundaries, in discussions about what it is and is not, because what it is constantly changes.. .Indie's non-exclusive series of definitions affirms a particular world view about how to establish an appropriate relationship between fan and music. Indie's support of independent ownership of the means of production and distribution, its assertions regarding the debasing influence of centralized authority, its valuing of a direct (rather than mediated) experience of music, its tropes of asceticism, introversion, autonomy, piety, simplicity, and the everyday, and its call for a return to the purity of a previous era articulate a Puritan ideology suffused with Romantic emotionalism and sensitivity. (Fonarow 2006:77)

Fonarow indicates that, despite substantial literature that tries to analyze the social relationships, ideological stances, and romanticized approach to uncontrolled creative production that characterizes indie music, indie essentially resides in the discourse of what constitutes it. Despite her conclusions, with which I agree, it is necessary to briefly review the literature that has developed alongside changing perceptions and expectations of independence. Much recent work has attempted to demystify the process and romantic aura of indie labels, highlighting instead perpetual financial problems, uncooperative media outlets, problematic relationships with major labels, and misguided intentions of entrepreneurs behind such labels. The literature also addresses the innovative practices of indies—creating educational labels and booklets for recordings; finding untapped niche markets for jazz, dance, or folk; allowing full artistic control for the artist; creating a convivial work atmosphere where 88 employee lines and roles are blurred; and establishing unique sonic and visual identities unquestionably associated with a label—while at the same time revealing the difficult and tenuous position such labels occupy within the larger entertainment industry (i.e., see Gray

1988; Hesmondhalgh 1997; Lee 1995; Kooper, Kennedy, and McNutt 1999; Olmsted 2003).

The history of the interaction between majors and independents goes back to the dawn of the recording era. Keith Negus notes that more recently, indies' identification with the

"street," youth, and innovation has led to the mythology that is associated with indies, one that is not obscured by the majors' creation of subsidiary "indie" labels in order to draw in various

o 4 subcultures of listeners. He notes that the dynamic between the two has "tended to ossify into an ideological dogma which overemphasizes the degree of conflict between two ideal types of company" (Negus 1992:16). Negus refers to Hardy's categorization of levels of independence—transnational conglomerates who operate on all levels of production and distribution, majors who utilize the manufacturing and distribution divisions of the transnationals, and small indies who release their own albums or negotiate larger deals with various distributors and manufacturers (ibid., 17). Any label not formally under the umbrella of one of the big four labels (Universal; EMI; Time-Warner; and Sony-BMG) is considered independent. This can range from mid- to large-size labels such as Rounder (which has its own distribution) or Lost Highway (under Universal's distribution) to smaller regional labels

such as Saved By Radio in Calgary or individually owned labels for single artists. Much of the music heard on non-commercial radio is supplied by these indie labels, whereas most of

8 This particular identity associated with indie labels is a more recent construct, drawing on the Do-It-Yourself ideology of the punk era throughout the 1970s, which conflicted with the corporate control and promotion of progressive rock, disco, and other genres at the major label level. 89 the playlists of top forty commercial radio emerge from the majors, likely due to the majors' ability to afford independent promoters that convince commercial radio to play singles.

Yet it should be noted that while indie releases only account for 16 to 20 percent of total album sales, they actually account for 66 percent of all releases (Hull 2004:136). Hull

suggests that it is easier now than ever before for an indie label to survive—between the low production cost and high profit margin brought about by compact discs, the availability and reduced cost of individually owned studios, and now ubiquitous online retailers (such as

iTunes) and independent specialty stores—an indie has a higher chance of lasting many years

(ibid., 136-37). Furthermore, Gray notes that the scale of indies is much smaller than that of majors, often with as few as two or three staff members overseeing all A&R (Artist and

Repertoire), marketing, production, and distribution functions. With much fewer releases

occurring over the year, the financial risk incurred by the label is reduced (Gray 1988:4). This

is even more the case twenty years after Gray's study of Theresa Records. Today,

independent labels such as Six Shooter are reluctant to release anything besides the full-length

efforts of their roster of artists, having eliminated compilation albums for example.

Thus, most of the literature on independence to date focuses on record labels and their

owners as they fall in line with the capitalist structure which governs the consumption of

music. The recent agency afforded by advances in technology has shifted the landscape of

independence, allowing for individual musicians to further produce and promote themselves.

In light of rapidly changing practices, more recent works have begun to address the roles

musicians play in conceiving of and enacting independence. While Cohen's ethnography on

indie rock musicians in Liverpool focused on the social relations governing the formation of

bands, the rehearsal process, and the acquisition of gigs and a recording contract, it is clear

90 that most of the musicians discussed idealize life as a musician under a major label contract.

That is, the often high level of independence at which her informants operate is dissatisfying and insufficient; broader recognition for their efforts is sought throughout their independent careers. This is indicated by the band members' attitudes towards indie label contracts: " 'If you're on an independent label they [the major companies] look at you in a different way... You are likely to get more interest. That's just the way it works'" (band member quoted in Cohen 1991:119). At the same time that indie is regarded as a step towards a major label career, it is also often a deliberate move that can ensure credibility as an artist. Clearly, several factors, including the emergence of "indie" as a genre, changed between the 1991 publication of Cohen's work and Wendy Fonarow's book on the British indie music scene in

2006. In addition, an increasing diversification of genre categories has allowed for Fonarow's indie players to be considered as separate in many ways from Cohen's rock musicians.

The biggest shift between the two eras and ethnographies is Fonarow's location of indieness in multiple spheres of activity, fostered by a central ideology that is guided by discourse found in music publications, audience dialogue, and artist self-presentation.

Fonarow, in examining the participant structure of fans and performers, locates the predominant demographic of indie as young, white, middle-class, and largely (two-thirds) male (Fonarow 2006:12). Characterizing indie primarily as discourse among participants,

Fonarow highlights five prevailing elements of the music and activity around it, which are:

1) a type of musical production affiliated with small independent record labels with a distinctive mode of independent distribution 2) a genre of music that has a particular sound and stylistic conventions 3) music that communicates a particular ethos 4) a category of critical assessment 5) music that can be contrasted with other genres such as mainstream pop, dance, blues, country, or classical, (ibid., 26)

91 Although she finds indie's roots in the Do-lt-Yourself (DIY) ethos that typified indie punk labels of the 1970s (ibid., 33), Fonarow suggests that the indie genre of music is not always limited to particular sonic qualities. However, she does note that there are general stylistic conventions which serve to distinguish indie music from other genres, partially emerging out of nostalgia for previous recording methods and "authentic" sounds, partially due to a desire for the accessibility enabled by simplicity, and partially due to the limited resources available for polished and sophisticated recordings. Most indie bands consist of four-piece combos using electric guitar, bass, drums, and vocals, and while other instruments may be included, an overall raw production aesthetic of simplicity and austerity is favoured (ibid., 39-41).

While Fonarow suggests that recurring themes and tropes, particularly the motif of pathos, govern indie songs (ibid., 54), I would argue that the subject matter and instrumental and sonic characteristics described by her do not always coincide with that found in other genres. In particular, players in genres such as country, blues, and folk might make use of additional instruments and alternate subject matter in an effort to connect with the established traditions of the chosen genre. What is key to Fonarow's discussion is the way in which independence is regarded by artists: the downsides of the mainstream, including distance from fans, homogenized composition and production, and manipulation by several levels of corporate structure are derided in favour of a belief in artistic integrity and purity, connections between artist and audience, and freedom from corporate control (ibid., 63-65). These characteristics speak more about indie than do any sonic elements.

Fonarow recognizes the fluidity of the concept and its applicability to a wide variety of practices, bands, and individuals. This way of viewing independence then signifies an emerging branch of research on the music industry, away from corporate analysis and the

92 social relations governing music production and towards the multiplicity of viewpoints available from individual musicians, fans, and industry personnel, which reveals their sense of agency within webs of activity. Stephen Lee's discussion of Wax Trax! Records shows his dissatisfaction with pre-existing concepts of independence, first and foremost because of the production and distribution deals established between majors and indies, and secondly because of the adoption of indie style and language by majors in order to seem culturally relevant.

Most importantly for Lee is the fact that "the concept of the 'independent' label has been redefined as its advocacy of any sort of alternative economic or business practices have come to be viewed as untenable" (Lee 1995:15). Because indie labels often operate by much the same models as their mainstream counterparts, it thus falls to other people, mainly the musicians themselves, to adopt alternative forms of producing and selling music in an effort to eschew traditional capitalist practices.

Many of those with whom I spoke believed that the indie/major dispute was dead, given the continual shift of power experienced by both throughout recorded music history:

No, the reality is, nobody talks about it anymore, and I can see why, because it's an old, old subject. But the truth is that to get major American airplay, you pay for that. They pay a lot... So the indies are never going to be able to play at that level. And it's funny because you want them to succeed, but ultimately, if they do, like Island, Island got so big that they broke off and they became a part of a conglomerate, and now Island has no identity. A&M Records. Same thing. A&M, Island, Polygram, these are all the companies, and MCA, but MCA is done under the MCA umbrella, is what makes up Universal. So all of them were very successful. It's the way the world is. (Brock 2005)

Nevertheless, old ideas die hard, and a very specific ideology continues to guide the career

trajectory of the indie musician, particularly in a place like Calgary, which is largely ignored by the mainstream. In turn, musicians and audiences have also rejected that mainstream.

93 Indie as Ideology

There are several key strains of indie ideology that are regularly evoked by its participants. These are generally thought to originate in the sympathetic and encouraging atmosphere of independent labels from the earlier days of the recording era, seen in examples such as Moe Asch and Folkways Records (Olmsted 2003) or Jim Stewart and Stax Records

(Bowman 1997). Therefore, while the business and operations landscape of indie labels varies widely and changes frequently, and a solid definition of their nature and practices, (how they are distinct from major and mainstream practices) is no longer possible, there are several central guiding principles that serve to underpin indie discourse and activity.

First is the notion that innovation and creativity find a welcome oasis in the indie label or among indie peers and audiences (Fonarow 2006:35; Lee 1995:13; 19). The filters imposed at the levels of composition, production, and promotion by major labels do not exist in the same way for indie labels. Ideally, the independent label encourages innovative composition and arrangement, fostering the development of malleable genre boundaries and new fusions of styles and ideas. Conventionally, major labels are known to avoid risky investments, instead cashing in on genres and artists that are proven sellers, and who have likely been established at the indie level already. A commonly expressed fear among roots musicians in Calgary echoed the contemporary disdain for corporate control over personal and creative expression; that is, most participants did not desire a major label contract, knowing they would be shoehorned into a particular mode of expression and performance.

Secondly, independence is thought to foster a welcoming environment for alternative expressions and sensibilities. Full participation in all levels of the music industry can only be achieved at the independent level, since the mainstream is far too centralized to make room for

94 equal opportunity (Hesmondhalgh 1997:256; Lee 1995:13). A lack of concern for popularity

and an emphasis on artist autonomy, unconventional expression, and otherwise marginalized

ideas and styles characterize the indie scene, regardless of genre (Fonarow 2006:35). Such a position allows for reconfigured forms of consumption or the design of specific vehicles dedicated to political activism, as seen in the case of the inexpensive concerts and politically

engaged material from the band Fugazi in Washington (Fairchild 1995). This openness to

diversity often functions as a form of cultural capital, separating those within indie from the

supposedly uneducated masses, and serving to justify alternate forms of expression,

interaction, and consumption. Connected to this is the heightened cultural status achieved by the ability to connect indie music composition and consumption to other artistic forms such as

literature, visual art, and film (Fonarow 2006:60). The concentration of indie music scenes

developing from art school environments, for example, not only suggests that the boundaries between disciplines are somewhat artificial, but that the better one's general artistic education

is, the more likely one will be accorded high cultural status.

In line with this is a third stream of thought guiding indie ideology: that of the

Romantic myth of the artist. The notion of the musical genius, the emphasis on personalized

self-expression, nostalgia for and reference to the past, an idealization of the natural and the

working class, and the connection of music with other forms of art characterized the Romantic

era of classical music, and these ideals have continued into various parts of rock culture and

indie discourse (Fonarow 2006:29). Independence is often fuelled by nostalgia for "a different

era that treated the concepts of artistry, independence and audience as somehow shared" (Lee

1995:30). Indeed, Cohen notes that, despite longing for mainstream attention and the

perpetually out-of-reach major label contract, her informants could not see their music as

95 commodity and emphasized the spontaneity of performance and experience of music as central to their self-conceptions (1991:101), an ideal that resonates with Romantic sensibilities.

Further to that, Cohen suggests:

Middle-class education and models of thought often emphasize the benefits and possibilities of originality and creativity, so that experimentation and the expression of ideas and meanings in the arts is encouraged. Those influenced by such models are likely to have access to a variety of arts and styles through all sorts of media channels and environments. In addition, they may be provided with, or encouraged to take, the leisure in which to further their aspirations of performing, playing, creating. (1991:196-97)

This explains why indie artists and audiences are largely from middle- and upper-middle-class backgrounds, and coincides with the Romantic era's idealization of the unpretentious and unassuming life of the working class; "its distaste for middle-class society while being itself middle class" (Fonarow 2006:29).

Finally, while all of these ideals function to maintain a commonly defined notion of

independence, the ultimate goal of creative control and supervision over the release of one's art into the marketplace remains central to indie practice (ibid., 51). Major labels are viewed

as being purely interested in reaping profits, often at the expense of artistry and musician

development. Fairchild reveals that members of Fugazi maintain complete control over all of the creative and business aspects of recording, performing, and touring, and the band members

say that a '"major label is like an enormous factory.. .In the end, you have very little control

over how you're promoted by any given representative.. .The moment you sign on, you become an investment and a company will do what they must to bring their investment to

fruition'" (Fairchild 1995:29). Similarly, Cohen's participants reluctantly engage in the

corporate "game," carefully balancing and managing the conflicts between creativity and

commerce (Cohen 1991:132). Often, learning to play the game of negotiating with major

96 labels signifies "selling out" or losing control over one's music. Many of my informants felt the same way about relinquishing their independence:

I'd like to have creative control over the music you make, right, to be able to do that. Because I think most labels grab you and decide that they like what you're doing and you're selling CDs and they really want to work with you, but they don't want to work with you, they want to change you, and get you doing what they see you doing, right.. .1 think that the workload of music stuff versus business stuff, hell, I'd love to have someone do all the business stuff and look after that, but the fact of the matter is, you have to find someone you can trust, right? And it's hard, cause there's a billion showbiz weasels out there who are willing to.. .help you out, but do you trust them? (McCann 2004)

Even indie labels tend to have their thing and tend to have their personal preferences and they also tend to have, they tend to want a group of artists with a certain sound for the most part. So it is a little bit weird when even within a relatively strict artistic style, I find even if you're trying to release albums that have a couple folk ballads, and a couple of pop tunes, a lot of industry people are a bit tentative, they're like, well, I like it, but I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to market it. That's fair enough, right? As an artist, if you make those choices to not streamline your stuff towards something that is completely marketable, you have to accept that you're going to spending a lot more work trying to market it yourself and trying to find audiences in weirder places. That's okay, that's just a choice. (Demeanor 2006)

In the case of Fugazi, every element-of their public image, distribution, and performance was under the tight control of the band members, for fear that otherwise whatever they released would be turned into something unintended by the media (Fairchild 1995:30). In

Calgary, the same fear and careful maintenance of the public self is more flexible, since the mainstream industry has not invaded the roots music scene in a noticeable way. This can be seen in McCann's paradoxical statement, made just before the above one, which indicates his openness to a record deal, regardless of who is offering:

GT: And if you did find a label, would you prefer that it's independent? DM: I really could[n't] care less. If they [any label] want to buy me a nice little house somewhere and set me up with a new canoe, you know, a nice piece of riverfront property, yeah I'd write songs for them [laughs], I really couldn't complain about that. (2004)

97 This occasional ambivalence towards the nature of the money and attention offered to them indicates the flexibility with which class issues and wealth are regarded in Calgary, thus presenting an interesting twist on independence for local artists. Fonarow's suggestion that

"[I]ndie is generally a middle-class phenomenon, yet it idealizes the working class with its supposed 'authentic' experience. Bands, in particular, are criticized if they are perceived as coming from a background of affluence. Those from the upper class or upper middle class often obscure their backgrounds" (Fonarow 2006:52). This does not apply in Calgary. One's authenticity as a roots musician is not measured by one's personal background, although this is often the case not only in indie music, but in country music as well. If a musician happened to be an oil executive during the day and a hardcore honky-tonk player at night, few

Calgarians would see this as problematic, even though the subject matter of honky-tonk relies heavily on class distinction and the life of the downtrodden. Keeping in mind this unique perspective of Calgarian musicians, I will adhere to the idea that indie is "a way of life"

(Fonarow 2006:51), but one that is flexible enough to allow for multiple manifestations in the

Calgarian roots music community.

Indie as Community

Victor Turner's use of the term "communitas," that which distinguishes a modality of social relationships from community, an area of common living (Turner 1969:96), is applicable to indie's general understanding of community formation and maintenance, and more specifically to how both artists and audiences in Calgary conceive of their social dynamic and their experience of musical performance. I am interested in how connections that are constructed between musicians, particularly during moments of performance, can be explained by communitas, a state of social antistructure, where "unmediated

98 communication...between definite and determinate identities...arises spontaneously in all kinds of groups, situations, and circumstances" (Turner 1969:132; 1977:46). That is, here communitas is not meant to replace the term community, but it serves to explain how social relationships within the Calgary roots music community are conceived and understood by its members. Communitas, in its ideal state, overturns the strict social structure of everyday and mainstream life, and is most commonly experienced during periods of liminality, the transformative state during ritual processes wherein participants connect with others going through similar liminal moments regardless of background or social status. Turner distinguishes between three types of communitas: the spontaneous, the normative, and the ideological (ibid.). While the spontaneous, a type self-evident by its name and which emerges out of unexpected moments, is applicable to engendering connection among music participants, I am also interested in how such spontaneity is transformed into the normative and ideological for audiences.

For musicians constructing a sense of independence in the Calgary scene, spontaneous communitas is caused partially by the social dynamic of participation and partially by the structure of musical performance. Turner quotes a hippie publication out of the Haight-

Ashbury district from the late 1960s, the Oracle, which concretizes communitas in the context of rock performance and experimentation. Music (rock music) is " 'a vital agent in breaking down absolute and arbitrary distinctions;' " " 'group participation, total experience and complete involvement' " are desired; and it " 'presents an aesthetic of discovery,' " (Turner

1974:262-63) all of which are similarly central to indie's identity as a musical movement. The erasure of artificially constructed barriers between amateur and professional; musician and non-musician; artist and audience member; and those of varying social, economic, racial, or

99 gendered identities ideally occurs during musical performance, thus contributing to the experience of communitas for all involved.

Furthermore, Turner explores the connections between communitas and flow, a concept he takes from Mihali Csikszentmihalyi (1975). As Turner explains, for flow to occur, whether during artistic endeavours, sports, games, or other forms of play, several things must be in place. The actor cannot be reflexive about what he or she is doing; the merging of action and awareness gives way to seamless performance. The actor must limit their attention to a small stimulus field, where consciousness is concentrated on a very small area for performance. A loss of ego is also needed, as are clear, non-contradictory courses of action with unambiguous feedback available (Turner 1977:48-51). That is, within, say, a live band's performance, musicians must not be too aware of their actions so as not to stumble, they must focus on the task at hand (playing songs), they must meld their playing with not only that of other band members, but the response of the audience, and they must definitively choose to play music for others around them, a non-contradictory demand for action. Without these conditions in place, flow cannot be found and communitas cannot be achieved. That is, without the ideal conditions for musical performance, the less likely a sense of community will be felt by those in attendance.

Cohen found that participants in the Liverpool rock scene connected through a sense of communitas that transcended any pre-existing social barriers, particularly during live performances (Cohen 1991:100). Yet "the sense of community and identity is heightened if the performers and their audience share the same or similar socio-cultural experiences and are thus disposed to interpret the performance collectively. It symbolizes, activates, redefines, and reaffirms values, meanings, concepts, identities, or myths that they might share" (ibid., 40).

100 This sense of community became more meaningful if band members' family or friends were there, as they shared a common stake in the band's reception and success (ibid.). In Calgary, often family members or friends are acknowledged by a musician onstage, which serves to give the audience the sense that they are witnessing a close-knit community of supporters operating. This is intensified when other musicians in the audience are occasionally called onstage to join the headliner, which implies an atmosphere of conviviality and support for each other's work. But how do those who do not regularly attend performances connect to this group of musicians and fans?

Marjorie Kibby's study of an online music forum reveals that community can be felt in numerous ways that are not dependent on direct physical communication. Kibby works from the perspective that the popular music audience has become increasingly alienated due to the distance created from the active production of music and the passive nature of consumption.

Despite that alienation, audiences frequently believe that they are connected with the artist, and symbolic links are invoked to maintain "a sense of commonality between performer and listener, and create a community among fans" (Kibby 2000:92). When the lines between performer and audience are blurred, audiences often feel as though they are part of a privileged or unique community that somehow has direct access to the artist. Kibby argues that the forum where fans are able to chat directly with country singer John Prine does much to dispel the alienation felt by fans and solidifies illusory bonds constructed between performers and listeners (ibid., 100). The intimacy of many performances, enabled by the relatively small size of venues in Calgary, creates closer connections to be made between those listening and those onstage, and this sense of connection can often be furthered by other factors such as mutual friends at the show, references to local places and events in the music,

101 the limited height of stages and their proximity to audience tables, and the ease of access to backstage spaces where performers rest during breaks. Designated as participatory spectatorship by Fonarow, "where the audience plays a conspicuous role in the construction of the event," this blurring of lines "is characterized by a high degree of direct contact between strangers and, at times, by spirited activity" (Fonarow 2006:10). For those who cannot be present at live shows on a regular basis, a similar sense of community can be achieved through listening to artists on the radio (see Chapter 6 for a discussion of the construction of community through radio) or through actively engaging in online activities with musicians

(see below). Thus, physical presence is not always required: "[A]ll communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact.. .are imagined. Communities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined"

(Anderson 1983:6).

Community in Calgary

It's one of the reasons I really enjoy living here [Calgary], When I lived in LA and when I lived in Vancouver, there were very much cliques of musicians who had very little to do with one another. And in Alberta in general, I don't find that.. .here you find that the folk and country and blues and jazz scenes all overlap onto one another. If not in terms of musicians straddling those fields, then just in terms of a social scene. (Williams 2004)

I'll get three gigs in a row and never have the same band. I haven't done three gigs with the same band back to back since last summer. It's very frustrating, but it's also totally awesome. (Masters 2007)

How exactly is this community experienced and understood by Calgarian musicians?

Some suggested that the roots music scene felt like a community simply because both the marginalized place occupied by Alberta and the regionalism enabled by neighbouring city centres, overlapping scenes, and provincial radio like CKUA made for a physically felt and sympathetic community: 102 JA: All in all, the two cities [Calgary and Edmonton] are actually quite friendly. You become Alberta musicians. LR: Yeah, that's right, you become Alberta musicians, right? So there's none of that rivalry, a lot of helping out actually, because you call up your musician friends if you need a venue or if you need an opening act, or you need an act to open for, or those kinds of things. There's a lot of communication there, between Alberta artists. (Jenny Allen and Lori Reid of the Fates 2007)

Whereas others disagreed and suggested that the Calgary and Edmonton scenes were actually

quite disparate (although internally friendly and supportive): "We're still limited by,

seemingly, the borders. Well, even the two cities, I don't think there's a lot of cross- pollination between Edmonton and Calgary. No, the scenes don't overlap" (Ward 2008). Still

others suggested that each city's community on the prairies was created by necessity—the

difficulties of touring between cities prevented communities of musicians and fans from

forming over distances:

Out here if you're going to play, Calgary, then you play Edmonton, it's a 3-hour drive. Then if you're playing in BC, you could have a six-hour drive, and Saskatoon and Winnipeg, the vast distances that these poor bastards have to travel, I think it makes each little community out here, like Saskatoon, like Winnipeg, like Calgary, and Edmonton to a lesser extent these days it seems, a little more insular and a tighter-knit group of people. Everybody knows everybody in the community. (Maclntyre 2009)

Two significant themes arose in my discussions with Calgarian musicians that clearly

revealed how they conceive of their community of musicians. First was the lack of

competition (Hawley 2008) and a sense of support and willingness to assist others in

developing their careers:

Well.. .there was an artist, and I knew him from Ontario, Mike Lynch.. .and he kind of hung around [in] Ontario, in that community. And he came out here basically last November, and I remember I had him on the air for the interview, and I'm like, 'So, what are you doing? Are you hanging out?' And he said, 'Yeah, I'm living in my car.' 'It's a little chilly to be living in your car. I'd be working on getting a place to stay.' Boom, phone rings, and it's a friend and he says, 'Tell him to give me a call, I'll put him up!' Okay! And he's been here ever since. (Brock 2005)

I think Calgary is a very warm music scene, I think the music scene is very supportive there. People are really good friends there [speaking from Toronto]. I lived in 103 Vancouver for ten years and found the music scene to be not really that supportive, when I moved back to Calgary, I just felt that there was a strong sense of networking there that wasn't happening in Vancouver. You'd think that in a city like that there would be a lot of networking, but there wasn't. I just found Calgary to be a little more supportive of its own artists. (Jenny Allen of The Fates 2007)

I just find a lot of roots musicians, because it's not huge and supercommercial, you have to fight for every little advancement you can get. In Calgary, it's the same thing... There is a competitive nature, but somehow it's met in the middle by roots musicians knowing they have to push each other, but they also have to stick together to keep people coming out to the festivals, to keep people coming out to the clubs. (MacLeod 2007)

Second was a general sense of camaraderie and good friendship between musicians, often revealed through onstage jams where players knew each other's styles so well, it was easy to join in:

Certainly in terms of the community, I mean I've got friends here so we get together and talk and there's that camaraderie... I think the guys I play with, they certainly can, when you're... going to record...I'm looking for certain, a certain, kind of bridge here or instrumental there...So I suppose there's that within the group, just knowing how they play influences what I'm doing. There might be, certainly McCannie (Dave McCann) I listen to a lot. And whether he has an influence on the music, our music is very different. But you know, I listen to his music because I really dig the upbeat • groove of it. So that may influence what I'm doing. So I'm going, oh, wow, maybe a more upbeat groove to my own stuff would be a good idea. (Coffey 2004)

For Calgarian musicians, musical development is directly tied to a tangible sense of community. This extends even further when the bridges between fan and performer are broken down beyond the live venue and instant feedback and interaction online shapes musicians' practices.

Creating a Community Online

Kibby argues that "communities exist through dialogue; through an exchange of past social history and current social interaction." In the absence of a physical space, the local can be enacted through interaction online; that is, an imagined community, although very real for participants, is fostered by new forms of connection when the local is no longer sufficiently 104 providing concrete boundaries around a community (Kibby 2000:91). As with many contemporary studies which attempt to redefine community according to the media that enables it (Lewis and Booth 1990; Spinelli 2000; Tacchi 2000), Kibby's examination of the

John Prine chat room investigates the role that electronic communication plays in creating and developing connections between participants. Websites, forums, email, and networking sites

"provide an efficient form of social contact.. .are socially produced places in which communities can develop," and "it is [this] ritual sharing of information that binds contacts into communities" (Kibby 2000:95). For popular music, these places can satisfyingly connect fans from disparate backgrounds, regions, and tastes with a common interest in an artist or genre. For musicians, as online activity grows rapidly, the internet provides advertising and commentary space, immediately accessible connections to fans, and a place on which to sell songs, albums, merchandise, and concert tickets.

While I will explore the use of technology in terms of website development, online sales, and the exchange of music tracks between musicians more fully below, here I am interested in the construction of communities of fans and Calgarian musicians, where the lines between the two are virtually erased, particularly on websites such as MySpace and Facebook.

While many members of these emerging communities are fans of the Calgarian artists and generally live close to the city, the instant access nature of the websites (Facebook in particular) not only connects those outside of Calgary, but serves to make the artists seem as though they are "one of us."

MySpace has proven to be a useful tool for music promotion for musicians at all levels.

It provides a space to upload several songs and videos; artists can post blogs about their daily lives and musical activity; many post upcoming concert dates and pictures of the band. This

105 may seem rather pointless, given that most contemporary artist websites feature exactly the same promotional material—why have yet another online space to worry about and manage?

The key feature of MySpace that attracts both fans and musicians is its interactive nature.

Anyone who has a site can "add friends," a move which often gives one access to privileged information only meant for those allowed into the friend group. Similarly to Facebook, opinions on the number of friends one has varies: some privilege the accumulation of as many friends as possible, reaching into the hundreds and thousands, whereas others value privacy and limit not only the number of friends with access to their page, but the nature of that access, allowing only a select few to view pictures, blogs, and personal information. For musicians, where MySpace functions as a free advertising site, the larger number of friends one has, the more respect and admiration that is garnered. Moreover, the perceived quality of one's friends is significant—while family and close friends as online friends are inevitable, and colleagues and fellow musicians as friends are expected, attention or friendship from more famous musicians is coveted. The available space for comments allows the boundaries between fan and artist to dissolve; fans can express their opinions on recent shows or songs, or ask questions of the musician. Receiving an answer from the artist thus increases the sense of connection felt between the two, particularly for the fan.

Facebook presents even more possibilities for intimate interaction. The structure of

Facebook pages allows for relationships between people, notes posted on "walls," tagged pictures of social events and family gatherings, status updates, individual likes and dislikes, among other things, to be viewed by friends. When members of the Calgary roots scene joined Facebook, they seemed to initially treat it as a more personal space, displaying opinions and personal pictures on it. As their friendship bases grew to hundreds for some, their

106 postings became less regular and more professional in nature. However, the ease of access to the activities and postings of friends, the frequency with which they are updated, and the soundbite quality of brief updates allow for continued contact between musician and fan. For example, I felt like my research became significantly easier from a distance when the majority of my informants joined Facebook in mid-2008. I was able to see how friendships and professional partnerships were regarded and treated between musicians; I was given further access to videos and pictures that fans had taken during live shows, and I could stay updated on their regular activities. What is more, I began to realize that as their friend, I was giving them access to elements of my personal life (such as pictures of me posted by my friends and

family or interactions between me and friends here in Toronto) that I would not have been

inclined to reveal to them previously. This was made evident when, for example, I posted a note regarding my prolonged experience with the research ethics process at the university, thinking I would be commiserating with friends going through the same thing, and some of my

informants quickly responded with offers to write letters and speak on my behalf.

Thus, relationships that have previously been defined by clear boundaries and

expectations are being constantly reworked and reconceptualized by websites like these.

Access to the personal pages of musicians fostered a feeling of connection to them for me, and

allowed me to more readily see who else was a member of a Facebook-defined community of

Calgary roots participants. "Groups" created by the musicians provide the benefit of not only

connecting to others who are fans, but allows for the postings of events and emails directed

only to members of those groups. In addition, a feature that displays mutual friends when you

visit a friend's Facebook page further fosters that connectivity and also reveals unexpected

connections between people. While none of this is new to those who regularly use social

107 networking sites, it has certainly proved to be of use to a growing online community of fans of and participants in the Calgary roots scene.

For Kibby, "community is...a group of people who share social interaction and some common ties between themselves and other members of the group, and who share a defined place or area for at least some of the time" (Kibby 2000:96). Simon Frith encourages a shift towards a new music industry research framework that highlights the levels of activity from the local and amateur level through increasing planes of professional activity, noting that

"there is not as clear a separation of consumption and production as in other media industries."

Moreover, he recommends "studying music culture for clues as to how technology will be used and shaped," because the relationships fostered by technology shifts are the ones we need to understand the most (Frith 2000:391-92). But, this new framework must keep in mind

Gustavo Azenha's cautioning: "The development and popularisation of new technologies ultimately tends to reinforce existing social hierarchies and relations. Although increasingly accessible technologies typically destabilise established social relations, vast inequalities in access to technologies, capital and social networks inhibit a more far-reaching and lasting destabilisation" (Azenha 2006:2). Therefore, those communities rapidly being established around online communication on social networking sites inevitably exclude those who cannot or do not interact through the internet. With that in mind, I turn now to the role of innovation and the use of technology among members of the Calgary roots scene.

Indie as Innovation

Indie is characterized by a high degree of innovation, both artistically (Fonarow

2006:50) and technologically. The embracing of new technologies coincides with the rejection of antiquated corporate models of producing and selling music, and these

108 technologies, whether assisting recording or promotion, help indie musicians further fracture industry practices and relationships. As noted above, indie musicians in Calgary make use of networking sites to connect with fans and fellow musicians, but technology has also been appropriated for studio recording, home recording, CD sales, and song and video downloading on artist websites.

The response to the liberating potential of computer technology use in the music industry has been met with fear at the major label level, seen in the rapidly developing rhetoric on drastic CD sales declines and accusations of downloaders "stealing" royalties from artists.

Conversely, the technology has been heralded by those who advocate for the increased democratization of the industry (Alderman 2001; Goldberg 2004; Schwartz 2005). Azenha

(2006) cautions against viewing music technologies as inherently democratic and equally accessible, as does Spinelli (2000) against viewing online radio as more democratic than previous forms of media communication. Azenha argues that while certain aspects of the music industry have become more accessible to musicians and audiences, others have become increasingly centralized, thus barring access to pathways of distribution and airplay. He suggests that any diversification of the music industry "is still limited by the current organizational structure of the music industry and the ways in which resources are allocated"

(Azenha 2006:3). David Sanjek agrees, suggesting that what he calls a biformal approach

(one which both appreciates and is cautious of technology) is necessary when analyzing the effects computer technology has had on music production, and that the social and economic context in which the technology is used needs to be taken into account: "[I]t is all too easy and all too common for those who support and encourage the libertory qualities of communications technologies to engage in technophilic rhetoric rather than adopt a biformal

109 position that encompasses both the opportunities technologies create as well as the debilitating circumstances they can bring about" (Sanjek 1997:182).

Azenha's central argument relies on the fact that the industry is still dependent on traditional forms of distribution, marketing, and promotion as the primary sources of revenue, and thus controls these aspects in an effort to curb the decentralization potential of the internet.

Moreover, because privileged actors in the industry and those with higher social or economic capital have priority access to new technologies, changes in policy and process, and the economic power to influence decision making, computer technology may not directly affect the industry as significantly as previously thought (Azenha 2006:7;9). Nevertheless, internet and home studio technologies have certainly fostered an environment of equal access and experimentation beyond the traditional confines of the industry, seen in websites such as

YouTube and recording programs such as ProTools. Azenha's claim that "[Although the internet has the potential to diminish the importance of physical distribution, it will likely maintain its primacy for some time to come.. .physical sales are still the dominant format and the oligopolic control of physical distribution that majors have continues to be important"

(ibid., 10) can be countered by evidence of music sales and usage of the internet by radio programmers and musicians with whom I spoke.

[Pjeople consume music differently now. The appetite is still there, it's stronger, and I think the solution to the entire music industry woes is to just finally stop being so damn greedy, the record labels, and realize there is a feeding frenzy waiting to happen and you can make a lot of money, so stop trying to make downloads illegal and get on a subscription plan, get off the 99 cents a song plan and say you know what? For twenty bucks a month, download all you want. And then what that does is that creates more passionate music fans who are going to go out and see these performers live... And the days of them [major labels] coming by and dropping off CDs is pretty much gone, it's all online.. .the only stuff that ever gets posted is what the record labels want to spend money to post. (Newson 2008)

While access to new technologies and the internet on a regular basis is still limited to 110 those with enough income to pay for them, most indie musicians in Calgary agree that it is essential to make that part of their operating costs. Still, it is a price that is not easily paid, regardless of one's economic status. Fonarow suggests that part of the indie aesthetic is to return to previous ways of operating wherever possible; nostalgia for old formats such as vinyl are resurrected for the release of special edition recordings (and eagerly embraced by fans looking for a more "authentic" recording) and studio practices revert to, for example, analog recording instead of digital or the avoidance of computer-generated sounds in favour of a back-to-basics preference for live instruments (Fonarow 2006:46-47). This penchant for the past is echoed in some of my informants' initial reluctance to embrace the emerging and necessary forms of technological promotion:

I'm not a computer guy, but I just figured out how to make mp3s and emails and stuff.. .So I can send songs to people.. .1 don't really have the patience to put up a site, I should get somebody to do it for me.. .But up until May, I never had a computer at home, I'd just go to the library, $12 a year. But now, I've got wireless and everything. It's fantastic, I love it. (Phillips 2008)

I just needed to get something on the web. And so I took it upon myself and figured out how to run a computer. It was actually, it was a nightmare.. .what do I do? And so I spent time just plugging away and picking away at it.. .1 have somebody else doing the one [website] that's about to be launched. There's stuff on there that, you know, the mp3s, the video streaming, all that, I had no notion whatsoever. So I got somebody else to do it. (Coffey 2004)

Studio Technology: Home Recording

Where indie musicians in Calgary have been more willing to adopt new forms of technology is in the realm of recording. Studio time, regardless of where it is, is expensive for musicians without the support of a record label, and it raises the cost of producing an indie record substantially. While many try to use studio space whenever possible by raising funds from live shows and sales of previous records, many are forced to build their own studio spaces with used equipment acquired on websites like eBay or record at home with computer 111 programs such as ProTools: "Dwight [Thompson, his guitar player] and I just built our own studio.. .he's got one of those old coach houses, it's kind of like a garage but it had never been used as a garage, so we built it all and then he bought all the equipment. He's a big eBay guy, so he bought all the equipment on eBay and so we got our own studio now" (Phillips 2008).

GT: Do you use ProTools? TP: Yeah, that's what we've done on the last two records. I love it. Because some guys say, you gotta use old two inch tape and stuff like that to get the sound. The thing is, when you're on a limited budget and you're financing it yourself, my ear can't tell the difference, and at the end you put it through some filters and make it sound like it was done on two inch tape anyway. But you know, it's just so flexible, it's fast, if the engineer really knows how to use it. You save a bunch of money because you don't have to pay for tape, which can be $200 for a fifteen meter roll, right. And then you have to download that to something else. So it's all basically hard drive stuff. And it's way faster and if there's any editing that needs to be done, it's very visually oriented so you can actually see exactly where to make the cut rather than having to listen back and back and back. So it saves you a bunch of money and I think it's great because you can now, your studio can be anywhere, cause you just unplug the machine. (Phillips 2004)

Many musicians also send tracks to fellow players that are at a distance, or make use of online transmission to send recordings away for mixing, revealing the reconceptualization of space that is often associated with the internet:

[We] did the whole thing at home and then edited it all, everything, we sent it away to be mixed, the internet was very cool because in the past, I would have had to fly down to the States, like I sent it to my friend in Nashville to mix for us, or, he's in Idaho, but we got all of the mixes back through the internet on our servers. We opened them up and listened to them and said ok, band's a little higher here, vocals a little higher here, a little lower here, and then sent them back on email. And then he sent us back the mixes again. So I'm not sure that was entirely successful, it was mostly successful, I think I'd rather, next time we do it, I might be there, but the internet, right there. Like we mixed our album on the internet basically. (Craig Korth of Widow Maker 2008)

While home studios increase accessibility to recording technology and opportunities to release a recording for indie musicians, they simultaneously change the landscape of radio and venue programming. The increase in the availability of music has impinged on a

112 programmer's listening and reviewing abilities while at the same time expanding the possibilities for programming inventive compositions and emerging artists:

Now, by far the overwhelming amount of music that I acquire is done through iTunes. So it's been a big change, and it's hard to unravel some of this stuff because as, along with the rise in digital, just after the compact disc was established as a format by the 90s, musicians have always wanted to, have always understood the pitfalls of losing control, whether it be about their publishing, or about who owns the recordings, or whatever. So through the 90s and still continuing today, it's been a huge explosion in the technology to allow musicians to make their own records.. .And I think there's been, musicians have been very responsive in coming up with ways, new ways to engage, get attention, engage an audience, and keep tending to the audiences that they're able to garner. There's more and more stuff, they keep coming up with creative solutions to getting over this thing, where before in the old days you needed to sign a record contract and hope the record company was going to make you famous. And I think a lot more musicians are comfortable with the notion of making, what did someone say, making a living, not necessarily making a killing...So there's certainly more music than there's ever been before. So as a music programmer, it's, on the one hand, an embarrassment of riches, but we haven't been able to break through the limitations of the 24-hour day. I have three hours a day no matter if there's 30,000 records in the library or 300. I can only play so many in three hours. (Ward 2008)

At the same time, the burst of activity in recording has resulted in what many feel is a decreased standard for playing. Inevitably, every time technologies shift to open pathways for amateur artists, the Adorno-like fear of mass-distribution, simplified composition, and less

critical, or less discriminate, listening is invoked, deriding those who herald democratization

for welcoming poor quality production and performance. This seemed to ring true particularly

for folk club and festival programmers, and those who were in the 40-60 age range, having been schooled on the notion that good performance requires time, dedication, experience, and

a certain amount of recognition and fostering by the industry and media. Suze Casey of the

Calgary Folk Club bemoaned the loss of revenue for artists whose music was downloaded

rather than purchased and believed that the move toward independent music production has

led to a decreased quality in recordings, whereas having a record in the past actually meant

something (Casey 2008). Similarly, les siemieniuk of the Calgary Folk Festival related a tale 113 of attending a performance by a young, budding musician who had released an independent record, but could not function onstage, complained to the audience about forgetting the lyrics

and chords, and suffered from several technical problems (siemieniuk 2008). Still others agreed that just because one can record and release a CD does not mean one should:

[Ajlmost every fifth musician now is building their own studio in their house and things have become more affordable and technology has really helped out a lot, as far as people being able to produce CDs relatively cheaply compared to say, 20 years or 15 years ago, ten years ago even. But, also, that's created a bit of a problem too because now, anybody can really put out a CD, so there's a lot of people that, I guess, have no business putting out a CD [laughs]. And because they have a CD, there's almost a feeling of entitlement, that they have to play in public, and there are some people that aren't particularly good at what they do. [GT: Don't get enough performance experience?] And some people just suck too, and no one tells them. And you just wonder, don't you have any close friends? That's what I think the technology has lent itself to, in a way. (Maclntyre 2009)

Similarly, Vic Bell has noticed how the increased ability to record one's own CD has affected how he chooses performers for the Nickelodeon Music Club:

The downside is, there is simply too much music out there. In the days of vinyl, a performer had to go to significant time and expense to produce an LP. That process acted as a filter, you had to be very serious about what you were taking on. These days, it seems, anyone can rip a CD and reality is, many of them should not have bothered. From my perspective there is a lot of average music out there. (Bell 2008)

This affects how more mature musicians view not only their own recording process, but the

diminishment of their tenure as recording artists in this new context:

You know, I opened my MacBook and it had Garage Band on it and I looked...ProTools, and I thought geez, I could make a record without even a microphone, my computer has a microphone in it. It's wild. But you know, while that is great, a lot of studios are going to have a hard time in the long [run], the other thing that it does, is everybody thinks they can make a record. And they don't care if they, I don't mean to sound bitter because I'm not bitter. I just find it interesting that anybody, they don't think that maybe they have to learn how to write a song or do any of that stuff, they just make a record. So things get cluttered up in that sense. (Phillips 2008)

114 Added to home recording technology are the increased avenues for promotion and sales enabled by the internet, which Calgarian musicians have made regular use of in their everyday musical life.

Promotional Technology: Online Marketing, Booking, and Selling

As far as a tool, for nowadays, doing music, it's [the internet] essential. It's essential for getting any kind of work nationally or internationally or having that sort of thing set up. It tells people and promotes you without having to say anything. (McCann 2004)

In the absence of traditional press kits, normally sent to radio stations, which used to typically feature pictures, press reviews, and descriptions of band members, their stylistic tendencies, and inspirations for composing songs, websites have now taken the kits' place of promoting an artist. Immediately accessible, artist sites feature downloadable tracks, usually with additional ones available for purchase, links to distributors who sell full-length CDs, promotional or live videos of the artist, the opportunity to join a mailing list, pictures, artist blogs, and a touring schedule. These sites have proven to be invaluable to 'artists, as noted by

McCann above, and to venue and radio programmers because they eliminate the unnecessary bulk of mailing and collecting press kits and give a quick overview of the artist's style and level of activity in the industry. All of the programmers I spoke with, whether for festivals, clubs, or radio shows, agreed that artist sites are an essential advantage in the effort to gain media and audience exposure:

MySpace has been fantastic to listen to bands that are soliciting from local and across the country, and for the bands that are across the country, it's, just some of the people that you get to hear on that, it really helps you, and seeing their touring schedule. It's another thing. I don't really look for where they've played, but how often they're playing shows a certain commitment and seriousness and then you can tell by listening to the music how good they are, and that they're willing to suffer for their art. (Maclntyre [The Ironwood Stage and Grill] 2009)

115 As a promotional venue, the internet has enabled connections between music and other aspects of a performer's life or career. For example, Steve Coffey uses his webpage to simultaneously promote his painting and music, which has resulted in gallery shows that feature both his new collections and a new recording project (2004). Moreover, artist websites act as a venue for the public presentation of self, enabling the creation of an online artist persona. While this can be taken to the extreme, such as in the personal ramblings or more intimate portraits of one's home and social life on Facebook, the graphic design, interconnected pages, and overall aesthetic of artist sites do much to add to the understanding and reception of the music, as noted by McCann: "[T]o some degree, again that comes down to personal interpretation. When you put the stuff together, and I'm a graphic designer too, so

I did it all myself. So I guess I have my hands on as far as what I want to present and do an interpretation of how the music is and how it comes across" (McCann 2004).

Finally, artist websites help to increase sales, particularly to audiences out of the performer's typical touring range, and the global orientation of the internet has fostered the development of audiences worldwide. Many of the Calgarian artists maintain a distribution deal with companies like Spirit River, a western Canadian record distributor, which eliminates the maintenance of tedious business details for artists. Calgarian musicians have found that online sales of CDs have recently achieved equal or higher levels than their touring sales, proving to be a crucial component of their promotion and revenue:

And most of our CD sales over the internet have come from outside of Alberta and outside of Canada but we have billed through the UK, through the US, so it's good in that sense. They come looking for it, or they were looking for something and it showed up, so I think that's been very good for us, and I think that's a smart thing for anybody to do. (Lori Reid of The Fates 2007)

Spirit River is our Alberta distributor, it handles western Canada and sort of reaches out a little bit. [GT: How are internet sales, say, vs. live shows?] Our live shows are 116 pretty good. It's been pretty decent off the stage. As far as the internet, real good, actually. The downloads are decent and I'm finding now that there's less and less units selling and more and more just individual songs selling. We've sold albums but you can buy the album and download the art, so we're finding that's happening more. (Coffey 2007)

While the use of technology seems to be inevitable for indie musicians, especially those removed from industry centres of power, artists have at times been reluctant to approach it.

However, when they do, they find both studio technology and online venues to be essential in keeping production and promotion inexpensive and in expanding their audiences beyond the physical boundaries of their touring circuit. Computer technologies have therefore become part of an indie musician's toolbox, and while they have, to some extent, eliminated the need for a complex web of management, publicity, and production, they have added menial aspects to a musician's workload, thus increasing their sense of self-reliance and autonomy.

Calgary: Independence in Practice

I turn now to a brief description of other aspects of independence as it is practiced by musicians in the Calgary roots music scene. I wish to highlight here the increasing perception

felt by local musicians that they cannot rely on others for managerial or publicity assistance,

and examine the effect it has had on their personal and professional lives. Of particular

concern are their personal relationships and families, as most of the artists with whom I spoke were over 30 years old, tied to other careers, and inextricably linked to life in the city, where

other people are dependent on them.

Managing Oneself

JK: You have to be a master of all trades I think. You have to diwy it up in the band, the jobs that, someone does the accounting, someone manages the website, someone else, like we, I think in the olden days it was a little bit simpler, there's more jobs now, for bands. CK: You have to be your own record company, you have to stuff all your own CDs in the envelope. (Julie Kerr and Craig Korth of Widow Maker 2008)

117 The work of an indie musician is never-ending, given the constant promotion, solicitation of gigs, and production of recordings and merchandise necessary to stay in the public's and media's eye. While website maintenance has made some of these elements easier and quicker to manage, the act of being independent requires taking on all of the roles that managers, promoters, labels, and producers would have done previously. Part of the problem for Calgarian musicians is the lack of a professional industry infrastructure available in the city—few of those working in the business side of music are drawn to a place where the industry is small, uncertain and fluctuating:

And the other thing that was down, a downer in the music business here is the lack of good, supportive managers.. .You really do need a good manager or a good agent or a good publicist and those are few and far between. The services for musicians... A lot of it is headlined or stationed in Ontario, 'cause that's where population is and people there you know, so I understand that if you hire someone from Toronto may not be as good, but surely somewhere people could be nurtured here, but then why would you do that when you could walk into an oil company and make twice as much money to do half the, to do it part-time. So you get a lot of part-timers, people who aren't very good at it and think they want to be in show business and actually screw the musicians around because they really don't know what they're doing. But there is a huge, huge hole.. .and that's what supports the industry in the end, because musicians, they're musicians. Let them play, let them create, because to take care of business takes away from their time, (siemieniuk 2008)

Most musicians are therefore left to fend for themselves, and take on the business aspect of their profession reluctantly. Nevertheless, it has afforded them a sense of autonomy and agency within a business that is notorious for false promises and untrustworthy characters:

"[Wje've tried the booking agent road and we're just, I don't know, pretty stubborn with

certain things—I mean it's hard eh, because we've got schedules and commitments and a booking agent, they want to book you, sometimes the crappiest shows they can find. So we do

it ourselves, which helps in certain ways because you can just bounce it around to the guys"

(Coffey 2007).

118 As of right now, we have no management.. .we work with independent booking agents that book for clubs and stuff like that, but as of right now, we're completely independent.. .We're sort of an independent label on our own, just for the fact that we look after all our own stuff right now. You know, I mean, in the future, yeah, that'd be great. We've certainly.. .shopped it around, but it's pretty tough for an independent band, like a male singer-songwriter in Canada in your 30s, you have more of a chance playing the VLTs [Video Lottery Terminals] or something.. .it's kind of bizarre. (McCann 2004)

But feeling independent comes at a price. Not only must musicians take on the tasks of contacting clubs, responding to email inquiries, and managing sales, without any label support, they have to shoulder the financial burden of independence. Whereas the Stampede has proven to be lucrative, especially for those bands that are oriented towards country music, and gigs generally pay better in Calgary than other cities thanks to reduced competition and the willingness of the audience to spend money (see Chapter 5), most artists are still struggling to get by on their earnings. Even though gigs pay well, they can be few and far between particularly during off-seasons, and artists have to divide their earnings among other band members. At the very minimum, the singers are accompanied by three backup players; more often those numbers reach up to five, six, or seven, depending on who is available for gigs.

Agreements need to be reached regarding the management of a band's cash. Obviously, members expect to be compensated for time onstage, but funds also need to be saved for upcoming records and tours. Recording an album can be expensive, with funds divided between studio time, paying musicians, hiring a producer, printing inserts, covers, and lyrics, mixing, and manufacturing enough to sell at shows. Tom Phillips commented on the continual

cycle of paying for record production: "[E]very other record I've made has cost us at least

$10,000 to make it, so when you start selling it, you gotta make $10,000 back before you can

start making any money" (2008). As a result, recording and performing can become taxing—

119 not only do musicians take a risk by spending their own assets, but the process can wear on their personal lives as well.

Managing Home Life

Part of the impetus for choosing to remain indie comes from the sacrifices one is or is not willing to make regarding other aspects of their lives. Many musicians have stayed in

Calgary and tour close to the city so that they are able to return home regularly and tend to family and relationships. Focusing on achieving a record contract not only takes time away from domestic responsibilities, but could result in a career that would unnecessarily complicate their lives and take a toll on relationships. For those who have young children, career decisions, including where to tour, when to record, and how often to get together to rehearse, are subject to musicians' home schedules and routines:

I've heard many a time, 'oh we gotta tour, we gotta tour,' but I don't listen to it. I saw it when I was young, my old man did it for many, many years and I went on the road with him and didn't know who he was, so that had a lot of influence in my life. So when I became a dad it was very, very important they [his kids] came first, that was it. And it's always going to be the case, so, I don't have any issues with it. As a matter of fact, maybe it leads me into doing something like a DVD and working with film and painting more and more because that's very studio-home-oriented. And maybe getting involved with some more producing, working with other musicians...It could affect our career, I'm sure it has..And as the girls get older, it will get easier, but two, three weeks at a time [touring], at most. I can't see any more than that, it just wouldn't work. And I've been a home dad right from square one, so it would be hard on me. (Coffey 2007)

LR: And it's hard, I'm a single mom, Jenny raised her kids, trying to balance that with any profession, trying to travel and raise a child at the same time, are very difficult. The late hours, and it's a different kind of profession, it's very demanding, and it requires a lot of personal time. Manager: It probably took a lot of good players out of the game that could have been contenders. LR: Exactly. The good news is that it is changing, and that's a great thing. I think we're seeing, right now, we've been seeing a change. JA: I have to say that I did do festivals with my daughter in a backpack on my back [laughter], LR: And now, my son comes on tour with us, he fills our merch and loads our gear and is very involved, so it's kind of cool in that way because that's not a common mother-son kind of activity [laughter], JA: I could never get my daughter to go there. Now of course, now that she's 18 and graduated from high school and 120 finished her first year of college, she's in a band. But will she help me haul my gear? No! [laughter] Does she want me to help her haul hers? Yes! And I do. (Lori Reid, Jenny Allen, and manager, The Fates 2007)

Even though others either do not have children or have grown children, they are still faced with the difficulty of managing personal relationships and negotiating schedules that are appropriate for everyone. Most of my participants were involved with a partner who had a day job, meaning that they maintained opposite schedules from each other when the musicians were out playing evenings or touring:

The only thing is, in the summer, with weddings and everything, our schedules get completely the opposite, the day I have off, she has to work.. .And my schedule is pretty flexible, like she gets Sundays and Mondays off, depending on weddings, I rarely play on Sundays and Mondays, so that works. And most of my stuff is late week stuff and so is hers... (GT: What about difficulties in raising children?) My kids are all grown up and now I can do whatever I want [laughs]. It's weird, it's good. But I've seen that happen a lot, it causes stress. Well, I think that probably happened to me and my ex-wife in the sense that I was working all day and then I was going out every single night on the weekend to play. And then completely exhausted, like playing until two and then getting up at seven. My mandolin player, I don't know how he does it. He's got three little kids, they're ranging from eight to five and they're massively active kids. And he's the primary caregiver, which is cool, but he comes frorri a family of eight.. .he takes care of them that way, and then goes out and plays until two in the morning, and we're saying, Dave, you're gonna die! (Phillips, whose partner is a caterer, 2008)

Conclusion: No Day Job: I've Made It

When I returned to Calgary in the summer of 2008 for fieldwork and met for a follow- up interview with Tom Phillips, he happily announced that he had moved to making music

full-time. Previously working different day jobs managing and owning bookstores, Phillips was cautiously optimistic that he would not have to return to those additional sources of income: "I just play. So yeah, it just got to the point where I could do it. And I'm always sure the rug is going to be pulled out, but it seems okay so far, so that's good" (Phillips 2008).

Similarly, Jane Hawley has always tried to work only in music: "I did my music all the time. I

121 was lucky that way" (Hawley 2008), as did John Wort Hannam: "If you're waiting until you earn as much money playing music as you are working full-time, it's never going to happen.

Quit your job, or find some work where you can work a few hours a week and get a small amount of income, and go for it. And that's what I did" (Wort Hannam 2007) while others such as Matt Masters and Tim Hus have slowly moved towards doing music full-time, while occasionally picking up day jobs:

GT: Do you have a day job? TH: Not in the summertime. But sometimes I have to have a day job. But it's getting better, it's getting to the point where I sort of don't really need one. I can kind of get by. (Hus 2004)

Still others have maintained day jobs in real estate (Lin Elder), graphic design (Dave

McCann), and teaching (John Wort Hannam), carefully balancing their daytime work with evening gigs and regional touring. As with family responsibilities, this can become problematic, and usually the first thing to suffer is musical activity. So when a musician is able to spend their full-time working hours on just that, they have succeeded as indie artists in the eyes of their fellow musicians.

Lee's study of Wax Trax! Records reveals that as the company's success increased, the ideologies held by its employees and artists did not shift correspondingly. That is, they believed so firmly that they operated outside of the established capitalist model, they could not objectively critique the fact that they were following that model on many levels (Lee

1995:25). Lee suggests that the concept of independence is a slippery one: it functions to comfort those entrenched in the practices of the mainstream industry that they are different, while simultaneously allowing for experimentation with and rejection of those practices (ibid.,

21). In Calgary, indie musicians are operating at the most self-sufficient level of independence in many ways: they are responsible for booking gigs, mailing CDs and 122 promotional material, updating websites, advertising shows, and the full recording process from composition and production to marketing and selling. There is very little industry

support for these activities, which has helped to create a value system that privileges complete autonomy. Yet, as noted in Chapter 1, musicians in Calgary can often find lucrative gigs in private corporate parties, and the venue circuit is supportive. Moreover, government and radio recording grants are available for indie recordings (see Chapter 6), and these types of industry backing can throw one's indie identity into question, following Lee's suggestion that an

"ideology of independence and.. .apparently seamless collapse into the totalizing force of capitalism" (Lee 1995:23) is plausible.

There is, therefore, a dynamic interaction between independence and associations with

centres of power or wealth in Calgary (ibid., 22), which creates a unique situation for indie roots musicians there. A fierce desire to maintain autonomy is evident in the highly regarded values of self-reliance, or what has been termed "[T]he western way, man. Make it on our

own, screw you guys" (Maclntyre 2009), yet this desire does not conflict with institutional

forms of assistance whenever it is available. Musicians seem to thrive on maintaining the

scene as it is, not only because a comfortable and like-minded community has developed

around it, and because it enables domestic life and relationships to be more easily maintained, but because it fosters a sense of pride in succeeding despite the ignorance of the mainstream music industry. As with Fugazi in Washington, who "have separated themselves from the

debilitating enticements of centralized industries" in the interest of maintaining "musical

localism" (Fairchild 1995:31), so too have Calgary musicians constructed a sense of what it

means to be both Calgarian and independent. Moving into Chapter 3,1 will explore how this

sense of western autonomy is manifested in the musical sounds produced by these artists.

123 Chapter 3: "Curse of Hank": The Sounds and Images of Alt-Country and Roots Music

in Calgary

Introduction

Throughout my fieldwork, one of the most troublesome questions I asked artists was the genre under which they considered their music to fall. Reluctant to categorize what they felt were meaningful fusions of diverse influences from their youth and interactions with fellow musicians, they would often avoid the question, or come up with an answer that obviously felt insufficient to them. Similarly, over time I found that drawing broad stylistic strokes across all of the artists with whom I spoke was nearly impossible, and my initial project of surveying country music in Calgary grew to encompass many artists and genres which fell under the general category of roots music. Nevertheless, I wish to address some commonalities that traverse the subgenres of roots in order to concretize some of the musical trends occurring in Calgary and more broadly throughout independent music. This chapter will thus explore the relatively new genre of alt-country in particular, since a substantial number of my informants played a form of country music that is now considered "alternative."

Alt-country typically functions as a moniker for country genres that do not receive attention or airplay from commercial radio and video stations. This is evidenced by several select quotes from interviewees, who categorized their musical selves in a variety of ways, all of which somehow fall under alt-country's umbrella: I don't know....probably alternative country. That's what we're playing right now, it's sort of rockin' country stuff, it's sort of, I don't know what alt-country is really. It's just sort of this statement really, it's not about the silver pants and all the flash and the excess and it's not what is sort of taking over right now as far as entertainment is concerned. It seems to be less about the song and more about the person... I think the last review that we got was from a folk magazine for our new CD and the quote that they used, which I laughed about was "Motorhead Meets Merle Haggard".. .Yeah, that was the quote you know, and it's always interesting to see other people's perception of your music. (McCann 2004)

124 SC: Well, when we started out.. .we called ourselves then, country grunge. And I think we were the only ones that called ourselves that. And then, that kind of went from country grunge, which we remained for a long time, to prairie roots music. We ended up calling it that. We sort of created our own category for it, our own words to describe it. Now we're calling it foothillbilly music. GT: Prairie roots music can mean a lot of things. SC: Well, roots music. It's such a large category. To pin us down, it's, prairie roots I think is what it is. GT: What makes it that? Instrumentation? Overall sound? Lyrics? SC: Yeah, I guess so. Certainly, it's in the songwriting, I think the songwriting has a little more, sort of, one guy got it fairly close and he, I think it was Mike Bell, said that we were a cross between Woody Guthrie and punk rock. And it's true, because there's a lot of, there's some angst going on, and it's not traditional in that it's not a story- telling farm kind of music. It's got all the weirdness. So I think yeah, instrumentally I suppose and that stripped-down attitude that we have. So to say prairie roots, there you go. (Coffey 2004)

When I listen to the radio now, I find it's very formulaic and very homogenized. No one's really saying anything that could offend anybody or anything, right? But I think there's definitely guys who, I would say Johnny Cash was always, had his mainstream hits, was all over the radio at points in his career, but I think he was always very real with what he did. So, I don't think that just because you're real that you can't expect to have any sort of success. So, and I don't know, maybe what you do is you play around where you're able to, and I suppose you wait for it to come around again. Particularly in'country music, it's always done that, you've had your Eddy Arnold crooners, and it's brought back by the honky tonk guys and it goes over that way again and then Willie and Waylon bring it back and then it goes pop again and then Dwight Yoakam and Randy Travis bring it back and then it goes pop again... And they try and find their own thing. And I guess maybe you hang around until it comes around again. And then it becomes mainstream. You talk to any of those guys, like Willie Nelson, there were times when the radio wouldn't touch him at all. And same with Dwight Yoakam and all those guys. And then, when it did come around, everyone knows, then Willie was all over the radio, same with Dwight Yoakam. Now they've kind of slipped away again, they're not really on the hit parade so much anymore, but they're still, they've built their fan base and they're able to keep going with that. So, I can't really say, I think you just gotta keep doing what you do. And then if it ever becomes popular, that's good and if it doesn't that's fine too I guess. (Hus 2004)

GT: How do you reconcile, country isn't considered a songwriter tradition necessarily, how do the two coexist in you? (After suggesting that he is first and foremost a songwriter) TP: Right, well a lot of people don't see it as that, but I would say that it is the songwriter tradition. I would say that it's the lyric thing for me.. .It's like this, so you start listening to music you like from somebody and you find out their influence was somebody ten years earlier so you listen to them and you find out that their influence

125 was somebody fifteen years earlier and then pretty soon you're in 1930 and there's no way back. And that's kind of what's happened to me and I think there's been just brilliant country songwriters, people don't know about them, but they're just brilliant. In the 50s and 60s in country music and before that, like Hank Williams and those guys, they're like Shakespeare, they really are. Brilliant. So I think it actually is, I almost chose the tradition. I chose it, it chose me. Same thing, it chose me because I could only do about five chords on the guitar, so I had to do something simple, but then I really got into it, I think guys like Merle Haggard and here, Ian Tyson...So I don't have a hard time reconciling it, I think it's where great songwriters go. I think a lot of times rock and rollers, there's huge exceptions to it, like Elvis Costello and things like that, who still write great songs but sometimes they stop whereas with country music, like Merle Haggard is still writing songs that blow my mind. (Phillips 2002)

The recurrence of value-laden statements about the music they listen to and play, alongside the predominant themes of frequent crossover between disparate genres, cycles of change in country music's popularity, and recognition of a significant lineage of past artists characterize these statements. Moreover, there appears to be a reluctance to commit to a specific category of sound on the part of these artists, and this responsibility is thus left to the press, critics, and fans. Most important to note here is the emphasis on what is real, authentic, and simple. Similar talk has characterized discussions of roots music in writing on the genre, and has led to some confusion as to what constitutes its musical characteristics. Roots appears to be the favoured term in Canada, particularly for programming purposes at festivals and on radio, whereas the preferred term in the United States is often Americana. Americana highlights the genre's connections to significant developments in American culture in the early twentieth century, some of which include the emergence of blues and hillbilly as marketable, uniquely American forms of music. Indeed, Mark Miller defines roots as "music at the 'root' of contemporary pop, including blues, country, bluegrass, Cajun and folk" (Miller 1992:176).

Therefore, while my focus on alt-country in this chapter may seem skewed, it is in fact tailored to address the substantial percentage of artists who play in the genre. Furthermore,

126 given the prominence of western and cowboy culture, however defined, in Calgary, and the orientation of many venues and media outlets around the city, country music holds a more visible place than other genres like bluegrass and blues in the broader roots community. As a subgenre of roots, alt-country will thus be connected to other roots music characteristics found in the remaining artists with whom I spoke. I will therefore examine the work of several artists who make non alt-country roots music in a more superficial way, but will highlight both the commonalities these artists have with alt-country and how an overall sonic aesthetic might be guiding the development of independent music in Calgary. This musical analysis will be augmented by a review of the imagery put forth by Calgarian artists, which serves to anchor them in a distinctly rurally influenced roots tradition. Finally, by illuminating these connections, I hope to demonstrate the limiting nature of strict categorization and reveal the fluidity of stylistic boundaries for these genres—and how venues, radio, and audiences respond accordingly.

Country Music Literature

The increasingly broad label of "alternative country music" is often used to account for anything that is not considered mainstream country. While numerous sub-genres that distinguish emerging styles and changing approaches have been created under the umbrella of alt-country, a sustained agreement on what constitutes the sonic particularities of alt-country has yet to be determined. As a result, its artists and audiences defy categorization by routinely shifting already malleable boundaries to encompass what does not fit into other well- established confines. That is, a sense of "anything goes" is often widely accepted by both listeners and practitioners of the genre. However, at the same time, those participating in the

127 genre are easily able to identify what is not alt-country; and thus it is a genre that is more frequently defined by what it is not than by what it is.

The literature on alt-country is limited at this point in time, although recently the body of work on the subject has grown, seen most notably in the volume edited by Pamela Fox and

Barbara Ching that appeared on shelves as I began writing this chapter: Old Roots, New

Routes: The Cultural Politics of Alt.Country Music (2008). Consequently, I focus most of my study on the extant literature on country music in general, reviewing well-known scholars such as Ching (1993); Fox (2004, 1992); Hill (2002); Malone (2002); Negus (1999); Peterson

(2001; 1997); and Tichi (2000). Many of these works concentrate on the perceived or constructed authenticity of country music (Peterson 1997; Hill 2002), the sociological surroundings of its production (Fox 2004; Malone 2002), the corporate and artistic control over its dissemination and reception (Negus 1999), and the general culture surrounding its development. For example, authors such as Fox have focused their studies on narrow regions and groups of people who compose, perform, and consume country music regularly, and thus provide cohesive ethnographies that are exemplars of specific audiences. And while some of these studies do attempt to incorporate musicological analysis, they are principally driven by sociological or anthropological concerns.

Alt-country literature has generally dealt with sociological investigations of audience demographics and artist background; there exists little discussion of the musicological particulars of alt-country. Thus, here I will attempt to extend such work by addressing musical parameters and connecting them to the ideas raised in the existing literature. In particular, virtually no studies exist of vocal performance practice. Despite this, it is

128 something that is recognized as an element that is paramount in defining alt-country (Peterson and Beal 2001:236).

This chapter will examine the presence of alternative country music in the Calgary roots scene. Alt-country functions here as a set of paradigms from which to analyze these artists' music. While I will not try to create a concrete definition for the genre, I will demonstrate that a certain number of characteristics that are commonly held by those songs or artists defined as alt-country are often employed to retain such an identity. These characteristics include, but are not limited to: instrumentation, public persona (or personal background of an artist), dress, regional references, and independent relationships to the industry. While all of these parameters will be discussed briefly to illuminate commonalities,

I will focus principally on the vocal timbre, tessitura, melodic contour, and performance practice of several selected artists. I argue that it is the vocal performance in alt-country in particular that creates an identity for the genre to make it distinct from other genres (often a specifically regional identity). In addition, because these vocal particularities draw on past traditions and performers, alt-country, and many roots musics, are by definition intertextual genres. The layering of multiple influences, ideas, and references often limits "originality" in alt-country and helps to reveal its somewhat chaotic and multifaceted nature. To demonstrate this, I have developed a chart of vocal characteristics that can be employed when analyzing alt-country lyrics and songs which can be combined with western musical notation to provide a cohesive analysis of vocal performance. I contextualize this analysis of the artists in a broader framework of intertextual theory, informed mainly by Roland Barthes's work both on the voice and on the inherent multiple meanings or interpretations to be found in any given

129 text. However, this discussion must be situated within a consideration of current understandings of alt-country.

Alt-Country: Current Definitions

Genre categorization is a predictably contentious area. Consequently, much of the existing literature on alt-country attempts to define it in various ways. Fox and Ching document the resistance to defining the genre; performers and producers resort to a rhetoric of cultural capital, using discernment, art, and authenticity to distinguish it from mainstream counterparts (Fox and Ching 2008:14). Richard Peterson and Bruce Beal note that the term alt-country exists merely as a broad umbrella under which numerous styles fall (Peterson and

Beal 2001:233). Alt-country obviously derives much of its influence from pre-existing forms of country music, alongside influences from rock, punk, jazz, pop, and even rap music. A typical account of the genre cites the Uncle Tupelo 1990 release, No Depression, as the beginning of alt-country, suggesting that the punk-informed band's use of steel guitar, rural subjects, and references to past artists such as the Carter Family are the initial occurrence of country extending beyond its traditional confines. Peterson and Beal note that this so-called myth of origin mirrors the taste trajectory of punk fans who "naturally" gravitated to alt- country's embrace of simple rural life and the eschewing of contemporary urban/suburban problems. They contend that many fans find alt-country's roots in past hardcore country artists such as Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, Jimmie Rodgers, and Waylon Jennings; others see the genre simply as a continuation of the country-rock tradition ignited in the 1960s by bands such as the Byrds and the Band, and continued in the 1970s by bands like the Eagles

(ibid., 234-235). Michael Grimshaw notes:

The sound of country rock can be simply described as country harmonies and phrasing underwritten with a rock 4/4 drum beat. It adds pedal steel, dobro, fiddle, and

130 mandolin to the guitar and bass emphasis of rock and then throws in the blue-eyed soul of countrified gospel piano. In this it takes some of the elements of honky tonk (the more rock-style beat, the urbanized concerns, the electric guitar emphasis) and returns them to an imagined Appalachian-style rural aesthetic run through a rock sensibility and lifestyle. (Grimshaw 2002:95)

Indeed, the current typical instrumentation of an alt-country band consists of acoustic and electric guitars, electric bass, and drums (a standard rock band set-up; typical for country bands since the 1950s) with the addition of instruments that typify country such as pedal steel guitar, mandolin, banjo, Dobro, fiddle, and harmonica. Exceptions are often the rule, as in the case of contemporary bluegrass bands housed under the alt-country moniker, which use the standard collection of acoustic instruments that have long-defined bluegrass (i.e., mandolin, banjo, fiddle, guitar, and bass). Given the increasing preponderance towards this gathering of rock and country-identified instruments in current mainstream country music as well, alt- country needs additional sonic identifiers to mark it as distinct.

Thus, the defining sonic marker is usually the voice. Peterson and Beal note that like much classic country music, the singer's voice is forward in the mix, and it sings matter-of- fact lyrics, but unlike most mainstream country, the voice is not expected to be virtuosic, nor even particularly good. More important is the singer's sincerity (Peterson and Beal 2001:236), a characteristic frequently valued in rock music, and, I would add, the more unusual the voice, the more readily it would be accepted into alt-country. Fox agrees:

Vocal quality in country singing has typically been both aesthetically distinctive and 'imperfect'. The nasal, rough, timbrally distinct and/or accented voices of most great country singers are at once unique and ordinary, an effect which spins a story about both the uniqueness... and the ordinariness... of the figure of the singer. (Fox 1992:55)

Alt-country music recorded after 1990 has coincided with a predominantly "soft-shell" cycle in mainstream country—a term coined by Peterson to describe the melismatic, pop-oriented style of singing that distances the artist from the audience and favours smooth timbres, clear declamation of the text, and sophisticated arrangements. While much of the vocal characteristics of alt-country resonate with styles heard in past mainstream country (such as honky tonk, country rock, bluegrass, and outlaw country), the genre's stark contrast to the current mainstream climate lends it this readily identifiable, distinct quality. Grimshaw's discussion of Gram Parsons notes this, referencing quotes from Barney Hoskyns throughout:

'The clenched restraint' of the country voice [is] used 'as a narrative rather than explosive instrument.' As such, the aching, grasping voice of a Hank Williams, a George Jones, a Gram Parsons, or a Willie Nelson all perform a type of 'white man's blues' that is as honest and touching in its ragged despair as any of the great black bluesmen: 'As with all special country voices there is an indefinable 'grain' here, a grain of emotional truth both gritty and stoically sad.' (Grimshaw 2002:98)

Such a vocal approach thus demands substantial lyrical content. While much soft-shell, contemporary, and mainstream music relies heavily on the "safe" country subjects of love,

suburban life, patriotism, family, religion, and home, alt-country frequently tackles some different themes, including working class identity, small-town identity and death. These themes tie to much early twentieth-century country and folk music, carrying on the traditions started by southern American musicians. Whether they are covering old murder or disaster ballads, or writing new songs in the same vein, alt-country artists are very preoccupied with

"weird" America or the occult (influential and earlier examples of this can be seen, for

example, in the references to death throughout the Harry Smith Anthology of American Folk

Music).

Taking the small-town, working class identity one step further, alt-country habitually references obscure places, history, and people. The fixation on such places both secures and

increases the genre's popularity among small communities at the same time that it prevents wider acceptance in the mainstream. While audience members may not relate to a specific

locale or sensibility directly, the wider scope of rural identity and its relationship to

132 postmodern North American life allows songs with these themes to resonate with particular audiences. Barbara Ching argues that:

The country music performance does not necessarily address such experiences except through the more complicated notion of signifying rusticity. So if there are examples of people who strongly identify with a country song, or a singer, or an image that the music conveys, such examples may say more about the interpretive and critical power of the music than about any 'experience' that the music simply reflects or offers up for mindless imitation. (Ching 1993:116)

Consequently, artists such as Corb Lund, who sings about the particularities of Alberta, may provide a point of connection for audiences worldwide, if the music is able to generate a sense of what it means to be rural and what implications lie beyond that.

The global aspect of alt-country is significant. Several authors have noted that alt- country is an internet genre. That is, it is a genre that has resided largely online, with most artists providing free mp3 downloads of selected songs for their fans, and with numerous websites and listservs dedicated to alt-country emerging over the last decade. Alt-country has built its fan base through its presence on the internet (Peterson and Beal 2001:246), and musical experiments are thus more easily engaged in, whether through listening to their contemporaries or through trading files and recordings to work on online. The presence of such syncretism, which takes the form of genre crossover, and multiple historical influences, means that alt-country exemplifies the characteristics of a postmodern, or intertextual, genre even further.

Moreover, the internet makes Do-It-Yourself (DIY) approaches possible, encouraging the independent and non-mainstream aspect of the genre. Even the most successful alt- country artists, such as Willie Nelson (once mainstream) or Ryan Adams, reside on mid-sized independent record labels (now sometimes called "major indies") like Sugar Hill, Lost

Highway, and Mint Records. The indie aesthetic of making self-production obvious is derived

133 from the collision of the advantages offered by the middle class upbringing of most alt-country artists and the working class identity they strive to adopt, seen similarly in earlier genres such as punk. As a result, a hard-working but artistically free approach is utilized by the majority of artists. One's background does not hinder success, nor does it predict success; instead those that "are self-reflective and consciously link themselves to tradition.. .[and] live the troubadour life full of great personal sacrifice" are rewarded with fans. Peterson and Beal note that although most artists come from middle class backgrounds, they "romantically embrace the bygone ways of the impoverished, villainous, and defiant" (Peterson and Beal 2001:233)

Additionally, they present themselves visually against backdrops of downtrodden rural spaces, clothed in farming or cowboy garb, with the "menacing angst" of a punk rocker (ibid., 237).

Fox and Ching note that alt-country partially marks its hip difference through campy and low- key album covers, which they categorize into three types: the grainy/blurry amateur shot, the folk-artsy cover, and the ironic illustration (Fox and Ching 2008:15-16; see examples at the end of this chapter which fit into these categories). Artists usually play bars, pubs, and local festivals or folk clubs, with most artists confining their touring to nearby regions. South by

Southwest, the now famous alt-country festival in Austin, and its counterpart in Toronto, North by Northeast, are desired destinations for many, but opportunities to play locally are far more numerous.9

Finally, a note on the demographics of the listening audience is necessary. Numerous authors have found that the audience for alt-country consists mostly of young, white males with college degrees, aged mid-twenties to mid-forties. It is an audience that is generally

9 Following the format and aim of promoting local, independent bands (initially roots artists, but now expanded to include many genres of popular music), North By Northeast began in Toronto in 1994. It now runs for five days, featuring an industry conference, shows in various venues across the city, larger-scale concerts by bigger acts, and a film festival. dispersed equally across North America (Fox and Ching 2008:247), as opposed to mainstream country, where the majority of fans reside in the southern and southwestern states. This information is available through online groups such as P2, the main listserv for alt-country discussions, where a broad range of ideas and global influences can emerge, and where industry participants such as label owners, managers, and artists themselves can participate in the lengthy talks that occur. I noticed during my membership period on P2, as did Kibby, that male fans predominate in these forums (evidenced by their usernames, most of which were clearly male or meant to appear as such), which may be a result of the nature of the medium, but may also support evidence found in the authors mentioned above.

Alt-country is typically a male-dominated genre, and the reasons for this are unclear.

Significant and well known exceptions to this rule include Lucinda Williams, Neko Case, and

Gillian Welch, among others. The number of female participants is growing, as can be seen in the increasing number of solo female performers and groups in the Calgary scene. It has been suggested that the apparent lack of female performers is the result of limiting industry genre categorization, which pushes many female alt-country artists into the broader categories of roots, singer-songwriter, or folk (Sija Tsai 2008: personal communication). However, the larger roots scene in Calgary is still also dominated by males. Dawn Loucks, owner of the

Saved By Radio record label in Calgary, concurs:

I'm sure someone's going to ask me soon, do I have something against female musicians, because look at our roster. What's going on? But.. .1 like certain kinds of music, I don't like a lot of the real female singer-songwriter stuff. I like something a little bit different. It's not by design, I like what I like and this is what's come our way. (Loucks 2004)

I would also argue that some of the vocal characteristics in alt-country (such as

growling, rough timbres, and yodeling) are less commonly performed by, or found in, female

135 voices. The balance of artists in the following analysis roughly reflects the balance between men and women participating in the scene, which is approximately a four-to-one ratio in the

Calgary area. Both Peterson and Lee and Barbara Ching note the coding of the genre as male, particularly through its premier publication, No Depression. However, there does not appear to be a gender bias in discussions of female artists—that is, women are liked as much as men, seen in the No Depression and P2 charts. Furthermore, they are never relegated to the background in online discussions or on Americana radio shows. I have received both 1) the

No Depression publication (which has now ceased and is currently distributed as an online newsletter) and 2) I have been a member of P2 at several points during my research. An informal poll of both publications has revealed to me that of the highlighted articles posted in the No Depression emails, 229 were on male artists and 55 were on female artists, while another 41 articles were on mixed-gender bands.10 On the P2 listserv, of the emails dedicated to artist discussion, 30 were on male artists and 5 were on female artists.11 Of these five, three were on Neko Case, one was on an Albertan artist, Romi Mayes, and the fifth was on Avril

Lavigne, a surprising subject matter for the list (although, to be fair, the discussion centered on those who had never heard of her).

Alternative=Authentic

Fans, male or female, both legitimize and construct the authenticity of alt-country.

Alt-country's audience consists of disillusioned, often white middle-class urbanites who need a '"music that [can] accommodate their new middle-class tastes in folk-music realism, rock-

10 Counted since the No Depression emails began, September 14, 2008, until May 9, 2009. These do not include articles on festival line-ups, or those on multiple artists. They are feature articles and reviews of concerts and recordings. '1 Counted only for the months February to May 2009. Similarly, these do not include emails which document radio playlists or festival line-ups.

136 and-roll aggression and singer-songwriter irony. In other words, it [is] this new audience that create[s] alternative-country artists and not the other way around'" (Grimshaw 2002:96-97, emphasis mine). The question becomes what exactly creates the authenticity of an alt-country performer? And how is this authenticity maintained as the genre carefully straddles the borders of the traditional and commercial, the underground and the mainstream?

Fox and Ching have an answer: alt-country makes ironic the conflict between authenticity and commodification, presenting itself as a self-aware genre, always conscious of its market-bound constraints and creating opportunities to subvert such limits (Fox and Ching

2008:4). Moore agrees: "constructions of 'authenticity' are no longer made by denial of commercial processes, but consciously, within them" (Moore 2002:213). A good part of alt- country's success as a genre comes from its underground appeal—should it eventually cross over to the mainstream, it will lose its meaning for some of the audience. And yet, alt-country aficionados lament its lack of widespread consumption while at the same time relishing that very fact. In contrasting Hank Williams with Ryan Adams, Hill notes that Williams adopted a set of existential possibilities from the blues, country, and gospel to represent what it meant to live as a member of the postwar white working class. Meanwhile, Adams maintains an ironic distance from such an existence, and avoids the problem of "community and consequence"; because he is situated in the context of alternative radio and college music clubs, he does not have to back up any claims of identifying with an authentic rural, working-class lifestyle or

identity (Hill 2002:180-181). That is, "for many alternative country performers, the country role, be it hardcore or softshell, is cost-free and strictly voluntary" (ibid., 182). For Moore, the use of an original helps to validate the contemporary; Eric Clapton's covers of Robert Johnson

137 songs doubly conveys to an audience what it is like to be both Clapton and Johnson, with all the pain that may be implied by that existence (Moore 2002:215).

Trying on a country identity resonates with the disillusioned urbanites Peterson and

Beal or Petrusich identify as alt-country's progenitors. A punk sensibility likely informed the early beginnings of most of these musicians (for example, Corb Lund's first albums with the

Smalls), and country seemed a natural match for those wishing to push the generic boundaries of punk further. Hill notes that Neko Case affirms these connections with a particularly value- laden statement: '"I think Hank Williams records have a lot more to do with the Sex Pistols than they have to do with Brooks & Dunn.. .It's really just about any kind of music that's real.. .That was what my argument with Nashville was all along. It's not about country or rock. It's about real"' (Hill 2002:182). Hill goes on to comment: "The 'real' that is effaced and repressed in contemporary Nashville—which, as Case suggests, is recovered in alternative country's moment of institutional critique—is the complex set of affiliations and articulations that made country music central to the culture of southern 'plain folk'" (ibid.). Despite the self-awareness embodied by the genre, its artists, and its listeners, the rhetoric around alt- country maintains the distinguishing elements listed above—recognition of the past; a pastiche of musical styles; independence; intelligent and socially aware discourse—in order to perpetuate its authenticity.

Ching suggests, in light of Jameson's and Sontag's work, that an unselfconscious authenticity is supposedly no longer possible in the postmodern environment; the performance of what she calls 'rubedom' (acting out a rural identity on stage) is the final frontier of unexamined natural expression (Ching 1993:109-110). Thus country music may still function as an authentic extension of rural life, whereas its reconfiguration in alt-country allows for that

138 authentic expression to continue under new lights of reexamination. Meanwhile for Hill, the interior exploration of the self in alt-country replaces the exterior observations of rural existence in alt-country compositions. Nostalgia for the past or concern for the authentic country life is abandoned in favour of often unrealized concern about urban angst and marginalization:

The cultural politics of alternative country are premised less on the possibilities of flight, freedom, and mobility than on immobility or downward mobility. It offers, in short, the possibility of imagining an alternative culture... that might allow new affective and political alliances to understand the experience of 'working man's blues,' regardless of whether that working man is a truck driver or office temp (Hill 2002:183).

These are fitting ideas for a genre predicated on layering, syncretism, and reinterpretation, but they fail to address persistent problems for alt-country. How do long- standing artists fit into this picture? Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, and George Jones, once- famous singers who have been rejected by contemporary mainstream country in favour of newer, younger artists, are now considered "alt." There may be several reasons for this: the typical favouring of youth over age in the popular music industry; the fact that their styles adhere to more "traditional" styles of country such as honky tonk or outlaw country; or they do not fit into the new trajectory of pop-influenced country now dominating mainstream radio and video stations. While they simply continue to do what they have always done, how do they fit into this picture of young urban singers attempting to meld disparate genres and critique the entrenched establishment of the country music industry? And their presence in the scene, along with the heralded lineage of other significant and/or deceased singers raises more questions. To Fox and Ching, the heavy reliance on an unquestioned tradition that is only subverted for the purpose of "innovation" when it is convenient, means that a forward-looking perspective often loses its significance. For a genre that is so self-consciously attuned to its

139 aesthetic and political value, it lacks a similar progressive approach in its blindness towards dominant class and gender identity politics (Fox and Ching 2008:5, 10).

Furthermore, what of the women in alt-country? I had thought it strange, and possibly the result of my own misperceptions, that there were so few women participating in the genre, but Fox and Ching not only solidified my suspicions, but critiqued the perpetuation of regressive country music roles:

Alt-country's representations of tradition could work equally well to 'ratify' rather than disrupt hegemonic sites of power. As its tribute projects suggest, alt-country's devotion to a distinctly patriarchal rustic heritage produces its own disturbingly 'selective' history—straighter, narrower, and whiter than that of Music Row. ..only men—and particularly those connected to country music's past 'family tradition' of raw violence, despair, and excess—can revive this genre as an authentic alternative to commercial country. Alt-country's ties to mainstream ideology thus also produce a more regressive kind of 'irony' unanticipated by its ostensibly progressive listeners, (ibid., 17-18)

However, it seems that the only way alt-country can continue as a genre is by perpetuating these practices and problems. Should it begin to shift the expectations that have helped to determine its authenticity as a genre for listeners, it will likely morph into other or different genre characteristics. Moore's discussion of three levels of authenticity (see below) helps to legitimate alt-country's appeal, since it manages to bridge all of these levels. Moore argues that genres are appropriated by artists and audiences to be perceived as authentic, and that in a postmodern context, appropriation (in whatever form) should be expected in the process of relieving social alienation and the search for the authentic (Moore 2002:210). For alt-country, the method of appropriation and use of past styles is perfectly acceptable for an audience seeking some sort of link to a perceived authentic experience of past performers, rural life, or hard living.

140 Moore locates three kinds of authenticity in popular music, each of which function to

legitimate a performer or their chosen persona or musical style. The first is first person

authenticity, wherein a performer is successful in conveying their own feelings and

experiences to an audience; it represents an attempt to communicate in an unmediated way.

Here, "the audience becomes engaged not with the acts and gestures themselves, but directly

with the originator of those acts and gestures" (ibid., 214). The suffering singer-songwriter, so

common in most "indie" genres and seen frequently in alt-country, possesses the ability to

convey this personal experience to an audience. Moreover, the typical subject matter of

country (lost love, pain, isolation, hard times) is exploited for this purpose, and alt-country

songwriters further legitimate tales of their experiences with evocative illustrations of the places in which they occurred, connecting an audience to their specific locale.

Moore's second person authenticity is related to first person, in that an artist conveys

"the impression to a listener that the listener's experience of life is being validated, that the

music is 'telling it like it is' for them" (ibid., 220). Here, not only is the songwriter relating

their own experiences from the heart to an audience, but relating an audience member's

experience back to themselves, anchoring the singer's position as a mouthpiece for individual

and universal turmoil or happiness. Because a text has been made available for listener

interpretation, it is subject to the construction of attributes seen earlier, such as "telling it like

it is," or acting as "real music." Finally, Moore's third person authenticity happens when a performer is able to accurately represent the ideas of another, and this is embedded somehow

in the performance (ibid., 218). A broad concept in which many parameters can function to

convey authenticity, third person authenticity operates across several areas of alt-country,

whether it be the evocation of past musical styles, the reenactment of previous performers'

141 lifestyles or personas, the adoption of markers of the rural and the downtrodden, or the identification with an unfamiliar but ever-important marginalized group. As noted earlier, alt- country does all of these consistently in various forms.

Obviously a loaded and often contested aspect of musical performance, authenticity nevertheless plays a substantial role in constructing and perceiving alt-country. While

Moore's levels of authenticity help to locate alt-country's place in popular culture consciousness, and help to resolve some of the issues that arise in the attempt to understand its authentication and meaning, we can also look to musical parameters to extend the discussion.

And in that, perhaps the voice is the best place to start, since it so often bears the burden of personal and artistic expression.

Vocal Performance: Academic Foundations

The act of singing consciously structures the pitch, timbre, volume, signal-to-noise ration, and rhythm of vocalization, in order to express the meaning of an independently structured poetic text, and to convey the interpretation of that text and the moment of performance by a singer. Singing heightens the aural and visceral presence of the vocalizing body in language, calling attention to the physical medium of the voice, the normally taken-for-granted channel of 'ordinary' speech. (Fox 2004:272)

This taken-for-granted aspect of vocal production may be the reason for the relative dearth of scholarly study on the subject. The timbral qualities and emotional expression produced by a singing voice are intangible and thus tend to reduce discussion to subjective accounts of individual perceptions of song. Moreover, the "textless" vocalizations produced in singing serve to further obscure concrete meaning despite their ability to connote complex expression, as noted by Fox: "Singing may even eclipse the referential content of expression in highly embodied and sense-interrupting forms like vocables, yodeling, melisma and polyphony, and iconic vocal articulations (cry breaks, pharyngealization, nasalization)" (ibid.).

142 Country music composition and production tends to favour the voice as the primary arbiter of meaning. Vocals are thus forward in the mix, lyrics are prominent and clearly articulated, and backing instruments always play a secondary role. Given the potential for a singing voice to imbue meaning to an audience in all genres, and the further importance it holds within all forms of country, it is a ripe area for exploration and analysis. Fox notes, regarding country: "The intelligibility of the song text and the audibility of subtle modulations of voice quality are aesthetic prerequisites for effective performance" (ibid., 283). For most popular music genres, singing is a relevant locus for meaning, as performances are often seen through the lens of a given performer's personal life or suffering (Brackett, quoted in Mather

2008:162).

While the literature on vocal performance practice in popular music is scant, some key

studies inform my analysis. Most prominent among these is Fox's exploration of speech and

song among working-class country musicians in Texas. Fox examines how the often

essentialized and ineffable notion of "feeling" mediates between cognitive and embodied

domains of experience. In music, this "feeling" is most obviously expressed through the

singing voice, a place where verbal expression meets embodied movement. The point of

connection between the singing and speaking voice is where intangible qualities of feeling

emerge (Fox 2004:155). In many cases, less important are the actual melodic notes sung, and

more important are the external noises propelling singing, the surrounding non-linguistic

elements that enter the listeners' ears.

Furthermore, Fox investigates the connections between voice, character, and identity,

emphasizing how the timbral qualities and vocal articulations of a given voice possess the

ability to bestow power on a performer. Key to his discussion is the ability with which his

143 informants imitate or emulate the voices of well-established country heroes such as George

Jones, Johnny Cash, or Patsy Cline (Fox 2004:277; 301). Not only does Fox reveal the meaning of timbre and lyrically external cues for the audience under study, but he connects these sounds to a larger structure of speech patterns, language use, and poesis. For Fox, the poetic functions to expose a pained interiority when ordinary language fails in country (ibid.,

241). But at the same time, the use of ordinary language in song denaturalizes its use in everyday life and functions simultaneously in a more abstract, poetic way (ibid., 230).

Additionally, Fox's analysis of timbre and speech-song intersections can be expanded to incorporate melodic content, tessitura, and articulation of pitch.

Where melody does become an explicit factor in discerning meaning is in Mather's recent essay on Gram Parsons. Mather connects the collection of myths circling around

Parsons to his musical markers of authenticity. She suggests that his southern background, tumultuous childhood, heartache, drug use, depression, and general despair have been recognized by fans in his music. Audiences map his internal struggles onto his vocal performance, using it as evidence of beliefs they hold about Parsons (Mather 2008:155-56).

Mather argues that Parsons' lack of control over pitch (he is often flat) and vocal cracks and shakes could be read as either incompetence, ironic performances of failure, or as an effort to push the stylistic boundaries available to him as a country-rock performer (ibid., 163). In fact, what is more likely is that his mistakes enable a sense of intimacy between him and the audience—they present an alternative mode of country vocal expression not available in the dominant Nashville sound (ibid., 164). What replaces technical correctness are highlighted elements like dynamic contrast and idiomatic diction (ibid.), in addition to the notion that

144 anybody can sing this music, not just the musically trained or elite, as suggested by one of my consultants:

What I've always thought inhabits Canadian music is the character that is singing, so the character you imagine that is Gord Downie.. .or that you imagine is Mike Timmins or his sister...1 think in the same way that.. .Canadian hockey players are revered because they're just a kid from Kingston, they were just somebody from, that was from Swift Current, and they were all things that we could imagine, and there's some kind of romance in that.. .that you succeeded and yet you came from very humble, understandable backgrounds. (Cuddy 2002)

Mather's analysis of Parsons' performance and mistakes serves to support her arguments, but also show that in the absence of known truth about Parsons today, these performances serve to enhance myth-making.

I use these works as a stepping stone for my own examination of Calgarian artists.

While instrumentation, tempo, production style, and other general musical parameters will receive mention, I will focus on the connections between voice, speech, extra-lyrical vocal noise, and melody to highlight commonalities across alt-country styles. This will help to demonstrate that the unifying stylistic component of alt-country is the voice, and that, as eloquently put by Fox in his conclusion, it is worthy of extended attention:

Timbral, inflectional, articulatory and grammatical details come together to make the sound of another's voice as instantly recognizable to the ears as another's face is to the eyes. And yet words and voice, though they were intimately intertwined, were not reducible to one another. Knowing all the words did not mean knowing a song. The right words had to be saturated with the sweat and specificity of a particular body, a particular life, and a particular voice. (Fox 2004:315)

Intertextuality and "The Grain" of the Voice

Alt-country succeeds because it is an inherently intertextual genre. To demonstrate this, I draw on the theories developed mainly by Roland Barthes (1977; 1985; 1986), based on the notion that the meaning of a text is dependent on the existence and meaning of other texts, which is taken from Kristeva. This is furthered by his argument that textual meaning does not

145 reside in the author. Within the context of this paper, "the text" will usually be the piece of music under examination,12 but it can also at times signify the performer or style of music in general. Alt-country derives its meaning from the use of languages, phrases, and practices previously developed and used by numerous other sources, and consequently becomes a circle of endless references to outside influences. I do not mean to suggest that meaning cannot be found inherently in alt-country songs and performances alone, but rather that multiple meanings can be revealed when these outside influences are considered.

The disadvantage of intertextual analysis in alt-country music is the effect of reducing it to a never-ending cycle of references and eliminating the possibility of locating a stable meaning or message within a given alt-country performance. Intertextual practice can collapse into a perpetual resurrection of past styles and past voices (Allen 2000:184). This would be especially true of genres that are predicated on imitation, parody, and dialogue, which alt-country often is. This is more so the case for my present analysis than it is for those using past references as a creative tool. The other danger, and it is a perilous one for alt- country, is the possibility of losing the author in intertextual analysis. There are varying arguments regarding the role of the author in intertextual theory. For Bakhtin, the author still stands behind his or her text, but does not enter into its reading as the authoritative voice. For

Barthes, the figure of the author is a capitalist one, which serves to commodity works by attaching them to a name. The text becomes an item of exchange value, and promotes a very specific view of interpretation, based on any pre-formed knowledge of the author (and so reading [or listening] becomes a form of consumption) (ibid., 71).

12 Here, usually the studio recording, but it may also include recordings of live performances. In this discussion, sheet music and tablature will not be considered aside from my own transcriptions, but these sources of written music and live performances can be considered texts as well.

146 Returning to the debate of authenticity momentarily, it has been suggested that an authentic author or performer in rock music is often the one who is able to create the work, and is the best source for revealing the text's true meaning, particularly for Moore's first person authenticity. This happens to a lesser extent in country music, but the author or performer is nevertheless the originator of meaning for the audience. Authenticity and meaning are driven as much by the performer's personality and performative implications as they are by the language of the text. For alt-country, meaning is critically dependent on the presence of the performer, because the genre occupies a role within a media-driven consumer culture. To remove the author from interpretive processes eliminates much of what audiences draw from their musical experiences. Here, Barthes's argument that textual meaning does not reside in the author fails as the author is an integral part of popular music analyses and meaning, but the argument is somewhat redeemed by his suggestion that emotions, ideas, and narratives are pre-existing; that is that they are a compilation of cultural codes and norms that an author has put together in a unique way.

I also want to briefly point to another concept created by Kristeva, and furthered by

Barthes in relation to music: the genotext and the phenotext. The phenotext is the

part of the text bound up with the language of communication, which displays definable structure and appears to present the voice of a singular, unified subject. The genotext is that part of the text which stems from the 'drive energy' emanating from the unconscious and which is recognizable in terms of 'phonematic' devices such as rhythm and intonation, melody, repetition, and even kinds of narrative arrangement. (Allen 2000:50)

Often, the phenotext is constructed from societal and cultural expectations, definitions, and codes, but a genotext, in contrast, possesses the ability to disrupt such codes, enhance them, or change the perception of them. In music, the genotext then often takes the form of vocal articulations heard both within and outside of the actual verbalization of a word or a note.

147 This extends beyond any specific articulation of a word, phrase, or vocable, to timbre, pitch change, tessitura, portamento, vibrato, and other varying ways of approaching vocal melody.

This concept is perhaps best explained in relation to music in the notion of the "grain of the voice," as developed in particular by Barthes. The problem with musical discussion is that we are reduced to the dilemma of the predicable or the ineffable as we describe what we hear in words. Barthes suggests that "rather than trying to change directly the language on music, it would be better to change the musical object itself...to displace the fringe of contact between music and language" (Barthes 1977:180-81). He argues that the way in which to

discuss music's effect lies at the point of the encounter between a language and a voice, that the grain of the voice, which occurs at the meeting point of language and melody, is the path to discovering what creates music's affect (ibid., 181). I use this as the basis for my musical

analysis: that the grain of the voice is what distinguishes alt-country from other genres, particularly mainstream country, and that it is what lends the genre authenticity in order to attract listeners to the genre. Further, I would suggest that this grain is not necessarily

exclusive to alt-country, but is in fact a continuation or imitation of similar "grains" found in past country, rock, and folk performers. I believe that Barthes's ideas can be extended to textless vocalizations and articulatory noises, since that is often when a natural-sounding grain

is most present and is not erased for the sake of smooth or less individualized performance.

Barthes references two additional key concepts, which function to ground the

following analysis. The phenosong is similar to the phenotext; it

covers all the phenomena, all the features which belong to the structure of the language being sung, the rules of the genre, the coded form of the melisma, the composer's idiolect, the style of the interpretation: in short, everything in the performance which is in the service of communication, representation, expression... which forms the tissue of cultural values (the matter of acknowledged tastes, of fashions, of critical commentaries). (Barthes 1977:182) Like the phenotext, a phenosong provides a coded, structural basis from which a singer can evoke emotion or reference familiar codes for the listener. The phenosong incorporates the above-mentioned musical parameters such as form, instrumentation, harmony, tempo, and melodic formulas. In contrast, the genosong:

is the volume of the singing and speaking voice, the space where significations germinate 'from within language and in its very materiality'; it forms a signifying play having nothing to do with communication, representation (of feeling), expression; it is that apex.. .of production where the melody really works at the language.. .where melody explores how the language works and identifies with that work. It is.. .the diction of the language, (ibid.)

Barthes also argues, that it is not the precise articulation of consonants, nor the perfect timing of the breath that creates beauty in song, but "the tongue, the glottis, the teeth, the mucous membranes, the nose" (ibid.) that do. It is the evidence of the wear of a language that had been living for ages past that thus becomes imperfect, and replete with meaning. Here the genosong's particularities, revealed through the physicality of singing, necessitate close analysis. Not only will I explore these intersections of timbre, language, diction, intonation, and melody, I will connect them to the larger conventions of the genre (phenosong parameters) as a path towards determining both the intertextual nature of alt-country and its solidifying stylistic/linguistic conventions as well. The following musical analysis is conducted with these ideas chiefly in mind.

Musical Examples

The seven artists discussed in detail form a group that together can be considered alt- country despite differences in individual genre choice. Tom Phillips, Matt Masters, and Tim

Hus can all be considered cowboy or honky tonk singers; Jane Hawley and Scott MacLeod use

elements of folk music in their singer-songwriter style; while Dave McCann and Steve

149 Coffey's country songs are rooted in rock and punk influences. Based on stylistic markers that indicate the impact of various styles (i.e., honky tonk, bluegrass, country rock), I have imposed the category of alt-country on these seven singers. I also chose them because while they all demonstrate a wide variety of influences and vocal practices, they all maintain a similarity of timbre and lyric articulation that I believe is not only the "grain of the voice" of alt-country, but is the predominant approach to lyrical expression in alt-country, and many roots genres, at this point in time. It might be argued that these approaches existed in mainstream country prior to 1990, and I would agree, but they are largely absent from mainstream country at the present moment. The examples discussed in the following section are charted in Tables 1 and 2. Table 1 is a legend detailing the types of vocal utterances employed, which are used in my lyrical and musical transcriptions of the excerpts. Table 2 is a chart of vocal utterances used in each song, for the benefit of comparison of vocal parameters across examples. I have transcribed the full original lyrics, which precede a section of lyrics rewritten to represent the aural sound of the word. These rewritten lyrics also include the symbols used for analyzing extra-musical and articulatory sounds. The actual sounds of the lyrics as sung by the singer are mapped out, and often appear to be extremely different from what is written. Finally, I will provide transcriptions of portions of the melody, indicating where some of these utterances, accents, and altered words occur.

It should be noted that when I suggest a singer is out of tune, or off-key on particular notes, that I am not judging their performance by Western classical- and pop-informed ideologies of good performance. Rather, this is an attempt to fully analyze the intersection of sung melody and the other articulatory elements that I analyze and discuss. The non-melodic elements of performance practice greatly impact melodic delivery in these artists, and serve to

150 reveal the embodied effort behind singing. Moreover, the meaning that can be derived from such so-called inaccuracies serves to further make these performers "authentically" alt-country to their audience, since they mark a performer as "real," and therefore, more accessible.

While most other popular music traditions attempt to smooth over inaccuracies in pitch and non-melodic elements of vocal performance, the obvious refusal to do so is what distinguishes alt-country from its mainstream counterpart, and may in fact derive from, for example, a punk ethos.

Table 1: Legend of Vocal Occurrences

Emphasized beginning of word: > Scoop Up or Down: un Hiccup, cry: A Vibrato: Waver: Vocal Growl or rough timbre: r Tight Throat: • Open, slightly nasal: [] Open throat, resonant: [ 1 Melisma: - -

Rough voice trail-off: —... Trailed ending of word: Abnormally abrupt ending of word: _ Yodel: Yod

151 Table 2; Vocal Occurrence Chart, By Artist

Tom Jane Time Occurrence Phillips Tim Hus Matt Masters Hawley beginning of word/note starting word with consonant (i.e., M) starting word with vowel (ie. E) emphasized beginning of word Occurs during both joining words together, no break beginning and middle scoop (up or down) i, oiwords ; hiccup/cry ' •' ' • " ' middle/end of word/note vibrato waver I.". J. -.v; • vocal growl/grain rough timbre smooth/clear timbre nasal tight throat open, slightly nasal or tight open, resonant melisma syllabic trail off with loss of voice (rough) trailed ending of word abrupt ending to word speaking/sung speech replacing consonants/vowels with ! ' i other

drawl/multiple vowels - - yodel

Intertextual References ' *

152 Steve Oav® Scott Time Occurrence Coffey McCann MacLeod beginning of word/note starting word with consonant (ie. M) starting word with vowel (ie. E) emphasized beginning of word joining words together, no break scoop (up or down) hiccup/cry middle/end of word/note vibrato waver vocal growl/grain rough timbre smooth/clear timbre nasal tight throat open, slightly nasal or tight open, resonant melisma

syllabic ' - trail off with loss of voice (rough) > v < trailed ending of word abrupt ending to word speaking/sung speech replacing consonants/vowels with other drawl/multiple vowels yodel Intertextual References

Example 1: Tom Phillips, "Blue Yodel No. 1"

Tom Phillips grew up in Calgary, dividing his time between learning music and riding horses with his father in a rural community south of the city called Bragg Creek. Phillips was

inspired by songwriters such as Gordon Lightfoot and Bob Dylan, the landscape of Calgary, and the surrounding rural environment of Alberta.

I grew up here and in Bragg Creek. My father was a lawyer but he was a big country music fan and he thought he was going to be a cowboy but really he was a corporate lawyer. And he bought this land out at Bragg Creek so we always had horses and we spent our summers and all weekends and a lot of our time out there. And he died when I was 8 and, which is pretty young, but he taught me a couple chords on the guitar, so that's kinda how I got into it.. .And then I went to university for awhile here and then at U of A[lberta], and then 1 moved to Toronto directly for about seven years to play music. Then I came back after I had my first daughter, and I've been here ever since,

153 which has been about 15 years since I've been back.. .1 started out with my dad playing old Wilf Carter songs and Sons of the Pioneers and that kind of stuff, that's what he loved, and then of course when I was growing up, I never really got into pop music that my friends were listening to, 'cause at that time would have been Led Zeppelin, all that stuff, what I dug was Gordon Lightfoot, Leonard Cohen, stuff like that, singer songwriter stuff, that's what really affected me. My bedroom was downstairs in our house, right, so my sister and my mom lived upstairs and I spent a lot of my time with headphones on and I was a basement dweller in a big way. So lyrics meant a lot to me, so that's the kind of stuff I listened to. Singer songwriter stuff I guess. And so then I really totally fell out of the country thing though, although all those people have country influences. And then you know, I listened to all kinds of music. And then when I got to Toronto, I was playing kind of folk music, I was playing, I don't know, my gigs would have involved some Gordon Lightfoot songs, things like that, and then I started for some reason listening to a lot of country music down there, not from there, but I just started listening to it again, I think probably because I was homesick. And then I started writing songs in that vein and that's kind of where I've been since there. (Phillips 2002)

Phillips focuses on classic country themes of love, breakups, past country artists,

honky-tonks, and drinking, all situated within Calgary's urban atmosphere. Similarly, his

dress imitates that of well-known country singers; he usually dons a cowboy hat and boots and jeans, as do members of his band. He interacts with audience members frequently during his

stage show, highlighting the intimate nature of the bars he plays, and is physically involved

with the performance, moving his entire body to the beat while playing acoustic guitar and

singing.

His back-up band, Men of Constant Sorrow, continue a long-running honky-tonk

tradition and play Hank Williams and Merle Haggard songs regularly alongside Phillips's

originals. Pedal steel, accordion, guitars, bass, and drums always constitute the live band

makeup, which generates an energetic mood and encourages dancing among the bar's patrons.

The voice is usually highlighted in the mix, drawing attention to the desperation of his drink-

laden, lonesome lyrics.

154 Tom Phillips's cover of Jimmie Rodgers "Blue Yodel No. 1" can be found on his live album {King of the Broken Heart) released in 2004 by short-lived indie label Ruby Moon

Records. Phillips's Calgarian status suggests that he would not possess a southern accent, however, in most of his recordings and speech onstage, he affects a drawl. This is particularly noticeable in the multiple vowels in several words (i.e., "Teyanassee"). His vocal timbre is generally open and resonant, imitating singers such as Haggard or Waylon Jennings. He employs the rising and falling scoops heard in such artists, as well as a yodel at the end of most of his verses (an imitation of Rodgers or Hank Williams). There is some vibrato, perhaps a result of his more open timbre, and he strings his words together in a relaxed and

imprecise manner. What is most interesting in this example is his overt reproduction of vocal techniques found in Hank Williams, such as the yodel and the vocal "cry," or hiccup, when the voice breaks, often over a particularly emotional phrase or word. Fox defines the vocal cry as

"sharp deformations of the melodic line effected through intermittent falsetto or nasalization,

glottal or diaphragmatic pulsing of the airstream and thus the melodic line, or the addition of

articulatory 'noise' to an otherwise timbrally 'smooth' vocal tone" (Fox 2004:276). What is

even more overt is the intertextual presence of a verse from Williams's "Long Gone

Lonesome Blues," ("Goin' down to the river/gonna throw myself inside..."), rephrased to fit

into the a-a-b format of Rodgers's blues stanzas, for which the audience cheers in recognition.

Tom Phillips "Blue Yodel No. 1" (2004) 1:23-3:48

Mostly smooth, sometimes rough timbre; mostly open and resonant throat; mostly syllabic Range: an octave (with yodel, a thirteenth)

Original Lyrics I'm going to buy me a pistol With a big long shiny barrel Going to buy me a pistol With a big long shiny barrel Going to shoot that rounder Who stole away my gal

155 Guitar solo

Going down to the river Going to throw myself inside Going down to the river Going to throw myself inside I'm going down in it three times You know I'm only coming up twice

Hey hey now T for Texas T for Tennessee Oh T for Texas T for Tennessee Hey T for Thelma

The gal that made a wreck out of me

UVocal/Lyri U c AnalysiU s U rr n I'm gonnnna buuuy me a pistol with a big long shiiiny barrel > u Go'nnbuy me a pistol witha big(a)long shiny barrel u~~ ~~ a n Gonna shoooot dat rounder who stole away myy gal... u > u>n I'ngGoin'downdo the river gonnathroww myself inside

U rrr > >fl I'ngGoin'down dooo the reever gonna throw myself inside...

I'ngoing down in it three times you know I'monlycomin'up twiice u u Hey hey now u u u Teeee for Texis T for Teyannessee un Ohhh T ferTexasanaT for Tennahssee u Hey Teeee for Thelma—...

The gaylthadreally made a wreeeck outtame

Yod

156 Transcription

ay ee ohh de dee del Ay eeee

The yodel is in perfect pitch, exploring the requisite chromatic movement downward, and he uses vocal hiccups. At the end of the yodel, his voice becomes ragged, which suggests weariness and effort, juxtaposed against the virtuosity required to produce the yodel on perfect pitch. Wise's article on yodel species is particularly instructive when examining standard practices of yodeling and the aesthetics that drive it: "The interplay between vocal registers that characterizes yodeling is effected by a sudden and surprising break at a relatively large melodic interval, usually at least a fourth, but more commonly a major sixth or an octave.. .the switching between registers is normally made with a very noticeable, percussive break" (Wise

2007:4). Baumann's article on yodeling in the New Grove Dictionary defines the term:

1) singing without text or words, in which the play of timbres and harmonics is emphasized in the succession of individual, nonsensical vocal-consonant connections (such as 'jo-hol-di-o-u-ri-a') which are also 2) connected in a creative way with the technique of continuous change of register between the chest voice and the (supported or non-supported) falsetto (or head) voice. 3) The tones, often performed in relatively large intervallic leaps, are either connected to one another in a legato fashion during the continuous change of register (register break), or are additionally broken up in traditional styles with the use of glottal stops. (Baumann)

157 Here, Phillips uses the characteristic vocables, changes between the falsetto (head) voice and chest voice, and uses the typical interval of a sixth in the leap, each descending instance of which is connected by a chromatic move downward through the bottom notes of the yodel phrase. However, Wise argues that this cannot be the only type of yodel, given how frequently register shifts occur in all genres of popular music. He then creates the notion of a yodeleme, a primary unit of meaning referring to a registral shift that features a break in the voice, and identifies it as the essential distinguishing feature (an irreducible one at that) of any type of yodel (ibid., 12).

Moreover, Wise identifies three types of yodel, the first species the classic type that

Phillips uses, where "the initial three notes in stepwise motion act as the quasi-anacrusis for the first leap into loft at the interval of a major sixth.. .similar rising and falling yodelemes... outline the harmonic structure of the phrase" (ibid., 13) The "second species involves breaking a register while singing a word.. .occurs in the middle of singing a syllable, hence splitting the word...word-breaking" (ibid., 14) The third is a yodeled grace note, where the 'long-held natural tone is followed by.. .a very brief yodeled tag," also known as feathering (ibid., 18). Any time a singer changes between a modal (normal speaking/singing) voice and a falsetto (head) voice without smoothing over the break, a yodel is present (ibid.,

12). "The break should be recognized as intentional.. .It has to be assumed that the break in the voice is made for some kind of expression of emotion or significance^ (ibid.; emphasis original). In doing this, Wise has allowed many other instances of register shift to be identified as a type of yodeleme. It should be noted, however, that Wise confines his yodel types to those that only occur in popular music, and therefore those that include glottal stops or are part of a large and complex vocabulary of yodeling from, for example, the Alpine traditions are excluded. He suggests that these types have no significance in the realm of

English language popular music (ibid., 3).

When the rhythmic movement of Phillips's singing becomes faster (i.e., "going down to the river"), his pitch reverts into a slight speech-inflected melody and falls. He also scoops up to the correct note on accented words like "buy" and "pistol," falls off on other accented words such as "throw," "my," and "self," and falls away in a downward portamento at the ends of phrases such as "my gal" and "T for Thelma." These moments of "error" serve to connect him to the live audience and express the enraged sorrow displayed by the lyrics, if not to further suggest an internal despair and confusion that emerges first in the presence of off- kilter pitches. This is not to imply that Phillips is normally an out-of-tune singer, in fact this expressive device is more likely in part due to the excitement of live performance, possibly connected to the band members all drinking throughout the show, and his full bodily engagement with the act of singing, which can be seen in the video of some of his live shows13.

The presence of an open timbre throughout most of the excerpt along with occasional wavers and vibrato suggest a well-trained voice, one that is carefully cultivated to display moments of virtuosity and intense expression. However, although Phillips was trained extensively in music (he completed a Bachelor of Music degree at both the University of

Calgary and the University of Alberta), has a background in orchestral music playing the

French horn, and has played guitar since he was a child, he has no formal training in guitar or voice (Phillips 2002). Phillips is also quick to deny any sort of star persona or removal from

13 The video that accompanies this dissertation is a collection of live performances that I recorded during my fieldwork.

159 his audience, as seen in the dismissal of his change in guitar and use of a stool after "Cars and

Women" on the live performance on the accompanying DVD.

What is also interesting to note regarding Phillips is his drastic shift in tessitura over the course of his career. Phillips recently released an album of old and rare recordings, which feature performances going back to the 1980s (Luck Gone Bad: Songs of Tom Phillips [2008]).

His earlier recordings feature a vocal range at least an octave above his current preferred range. I do not know whether his shift into the lower register is due to age, context, or personal preference, and could not find out exactly what precipitated the shift.

The interplay between phenosong and genosong is quite obvious in the Phillips example; he uses the predetermined codes set out by past blues players and Rodgers himself to express the themes of the lyrics and intertextually link to past performances. This is seen in the larger structure of 12-bar blues, the incorporation of the yodel, and his calling out to side players as they begin solo sections. At the lyric level, he disturbs these codes by adding the

Williams verse, which, rather than disrupt audience expectations and experience, merely serves to further anchor him in the country tradition. His play with exact pitch, use of lazy

scoops, and evidence of the physicality of performance in his speech-like sections (i.e., "throw myself inside") are the genosong elements of this example: Phillips uses the melody to explore the possibilities offered by the language of the lyrics, shifting the notion of how this song

should be performed and using these elements as individualized expressive devices. However,

for Phillips, the differences between genosong and phenosong have shifted to some extent.

Although the affective quality of the genosong remains, the vocalizations such as cries, hiccups, and yodels which once served as genosong properties for singers such as Rodgers and

Williams when they were individualized idiosyncrasies of country performance, now have

160 become normalized for new country singers, and thus act as phenosong properties (that is, who would dare perform a Rodgers cover without attempting to yodel the way he did?).

Example 2: Tim Hus, "Hotel and Saloon "

Tim Hus grew up mostly in BC and Alberta, but traveled and lived throughout Canada and Germany before settling in Calgary in 2002. I have included an extended quote from him on his background in order to provide a sense of what influences his compositional approach:

My father was a world traveler because he was a sailor in the merchant marines and he always knew lots of songs so I remember him singing a lot all the time, sailor songs and country songs, he sang Woody Guthrie, he was a big Woody Guthrie fan, so those were the first records I heard a lot of and then from there kind of went to Johnny Cash and I always like stories, we would always read every night...adventure stories and pirate stories and everything like that so I've always had an interest that way. And we used to, my dad used to take me riding freight trains when I was a kid, all over Western Canada and the western United States. So, I guess I just always had an interest in the land and trains and then he worked as a trucker too, so it was trains and trucks and bulldozers [laughs], and all that stuff, like that, right? And then when I was spending more time in Alberta, like my brother worked on the oil rigs and I hung out with lots of cowboys and that type of thing and I've got a voice that's suited to storytelling. So the way I remember it is that my father was the best storyteller that I've ever met and anytime someone had a party they would invite him and then it was always like him, with a half circle of people around him always just listening to his stories. He was the born storyteller. And I've always been really proud that everyone thought he was so great. And the thing was, and like I said, he sang lots of songs and I think, he was from Germany, Hamburg originally, and when he first came to Canada, he worked in, I think it was Quebec City as a cabinet maker or something like that and when he came out west, he spent his last fifty bucks on a guitar and hitchhiked out in the middle of a snowstorm, left Quebec City in a snowstorm, came out west and then he met my mother and they ended up settling down and had kids and he built a house on Kootenay Lake and we always had this guitar on the wall, my entire life, and whenever someone would come over they would say, 'oh you play the guitar?' and he'd say, 'oh no, I'm just learning her, I wish I did but not really.' And so he never got beyond a couple of chords. So that was the only thing in the world that I could compete with him with, when I started playing guitar and figured out how that worked, I could sing and play, it came pretty easy to me and that was something he couldn't do, so that was how that came together. (Hus 2004)

Hus's style tends to follow patterns previously set by Canadian folk and country singers such

as Ian Tyson, Stompin' Tom Connors, and Gordon Lightfoot. He writes about various rural-

161 associated occupations such as truck driving, ranching, farming, working in the oil patch, and fishing, as well as the subjects of the landscape of Alberta and BC and western Canadian identity. As a result, he has become enormously popular in the region, playing upwards of 10-

15 shows per month. His subject matter resonates with a large rural audience throughout the western provinces, and he has been likened to Ian Tyson and Corb Lund, two Albertan cowboy singers. Although Hus has never been a practicing cowboy or ranch hand, his sympathy and knowledge of the profession is obvious in his stage shows, where he calls out familiar stories and place names to the audience, affecting a slight relaxed drawl in his speech.14

Hus generally performs with a small band that he calls the Rocky Mountain Two (after

Johnny Cash's Tennessee Two), and his songs utilize simple but effective arrangements that support the prominent lyrics. He also employs both acoustic and electric instruments as necessary, but his style draws principally on the sounds of early cowboy music from the 1940s as well as Canadian folk music. His vocal performance is characterized by a resonant timbre and phrases that are a combination of singing and yelling, much in the vein of Connors. In live performances, he knows how to evoke the markers of western identity to get an audience excited, referring to obscure events and places, and speaking directly to audience members who call out to him (see Tracks 3 and 4 on DVD).

His song, "Hotel and Saloon" is from the album Alberta Crude (2004), and is part of a collection of songs focused on country music culture, rural life, and the oil patch. What is notable about "Hotel and Saloon" is its popularity among the Albertan audience, likely

14 See Hus's performances on the accompanying DVD; note that this selection was filmed at a downtown bar during Stampede in Calgary, and shots of the audience present at the show reveal the typical costuming, interaction, and behaviour of the city's inhabitants during the ten-day festival. This audience is likely made up of colleagues from the downtown offices that surround the bar.

162 because he sings of key symbols from western Canadian culture. In fact, the way in which he constructs an idealized setting of the country saloon on a dark winter night places each reference fittingly into the continuing narrative. Not surprisingly, most listeners reacted favourably and Hus won the first Calgary Folk Festival singer-songwriter contest with "Hotel and Saloon," which, given its rich symbolism, says much about the values placed on local songwriting by an institution such as the CFF.

The song is accompanied by a simple two-measure guitar riff, acoustic bass, and fiddle. The chorus refers to Ian Tyson playing in the bar, incorporating this intertextual reference both lyrically and stylistically (this song sounds much like the cowboy ballads featured on Tyson's albums such as Cowboyography). Albertans love to hear about the rapidly changing weather and its effects on the landscape (the Chinook), as much as they do about references to local figures such as Wilf Carter, and the mix is such that these lyrics can be clearly heard above the accompaniment.

Tim Hus "Hotel and Saloon" (2004) 0:00-1:17 Mostly smooth timbre; mostly open throat; some cut-off words; many scoops employed; mostly syllabic Range: a tenth

Original Lyrics There's an eighteen point elk rack hanging above the door The boot heels of the dancers have worn grooves upon the floor The cowboys have been drinking here since the whiskey trading days Oil booms and drought years passed through the place There's a hitchin' rail out in front and another on the side A long bar with a brass rail and bottles of rye The barmaids' name is Katie and they say she's eighty proof There's a Chinook arch in the West and water pouring off the roof

Chorus: Ian Tyson is singin' "Navajo Rug" Ranchers in the corner are dealin' five card stud Coyote is a-howlin' underneath the moon Here at the Hotel Saloon

Just past the grain elevator across the railroad tracks Right next door to the Western Store, saddle and tack The sign out front says "Home Cooked Meals", "Rooms Upstairs"

163 And something else no one can read but nobody seems to care Oilmen stop from time to time, everybody's welcome here There's hot coffee and buffalo steaks and bottles of beer There's a cowboy band on the weekend and all of the hockey games You could spend a night or spend your life and feel it just the same

Chorus

Wilf Carter is a favorite here on the worn out jukebox A two-step or a shuffle or a Rocky Mountain waltz There's horseshoes by the fireplace on the wall by the wagon wheel When the mercury starts falling it warms against the chill There's a cowhorse at the rail standing side by side With a panel track, a horse trailer, and the snowmobiles in line And it really does get busy here once the sun goes down And you ought to see it on the long weekend when the rodeo's in town

Chorus

Vocal/Lyric Analysis un > n ~n Therez an eighteeennn pointelkrack— hangin' above the door > u> > >n The bootheelssof the dancers have worn groovesupon the floor u> > >n > ~n The cowboysshave been drinking here since the Pro-hi-bi-tion days u >n n u Oil boomssand drought years— passed through the place— > n u u >n n >n Theressa hitchinnnrail out in frontandanotherrron the side— >u > n >n n A lonnng bar withabraaass rail and bottles a'rye

U > [][][] The barmaids' nammeis Katie and they say shezeighty proof u> u n uu Witha Chinooookarrrrch in the West and waterpouringofftheroof— >u > n >u >u >u n~~ IannnTysonnnis singin' "Navajo Rug" > >u > >U[] >u > [] n n Rancherrrsin the corrner are dealin' five caaard stud >u u n n u> > >n ~~ Coyotesssa-howliinnn' a'underneath the moooon >u >u > > >

Here atthe Hotel Saloon

Transcription

There's an eigh-teen point elk rack han-gin a-bove thedoor boot-heels of the dan - cers haveworngroovesu - pon the floor_ the

Hitch • In rail out in front and a not-her on the si - ide A long bar with brass rail bot-tles of rye The

D Em G A u > ririri u> un uu-

Bar-maid's name is Ka-tie and they say she's elgh-ty proof with a Chi-nook arch in the west wa-terpou-rin'off the roof

Coy -o-tees a how - lln un - der neath the unoo-- oon Here at the Ho-tel Sa - loon

Hus's delivery is fairly rhythmic, given the length of time he has to sing the dense lyric lines. He tends to be more syncopated than his counterparts discussed here. His vocal performance might sound a little more cultivated, having the same effect as Phillips's vibrato does. Hus uses regular sliding portamentos and has an occasional out-of-tune note that is the result of his outward vocal projection, all the while maintaining an open-throated timbre.

Moreover, he employs vibrato regularly and uses a fairly wide range for the song (a tenth).

This is a mostly conjunct melody, but Hus sings more substantial leaps with a fair amount of accuracy.

165 What is notable about his vocal performance is the unique character of his voice, which does not necessarily betray any formal training, but has ordinary moments of scooping

(suggesting an imprecise approach to a pitch) into notes alongside features such as vibrato or waver. Hus's projection is what gives his voice this unique timbre, and is especially prevalent on high notes and upward leaps. The meeting of thrown lyrics, an open throat, and the high D on the word "Ian" is designed to catch the listener's attention, and this is repeated with each high D in "sing-," "Nav-," and "und-,". However, he counteracts clear, strong high notes with frequent scoops up to them and cuts off many of his held notes before the vibrato has a chance to start. This has two functions—it allows for the rapid lyrics to all be sung "on time" and it allows Hus to appear as a "normal" guy, simply trying to tell a story to those gathered around to listen.

Example 3: Matt Masters, "Centennial Swell"

Matt Masters grew up in Calgary, learning and playing music with his high school friends in local venues. He received a Bachelor's degree in History at the University of

Calgary and has since worked as a professional musician, composer, actor, and emcee around the city. He goes beyond the usual country music live venues, attempting for example to play a different venue in Calgary every day for a month, as he did in March 2008, and has created cabaret-type musical stage shows based on issues of Calgarian identity and history that have been featured in Calgary and at Toronto's Nuit Blanche. He describes his musical background:

I started playing guitar when I was 15, I'm 31. I was kind of into music at school, not in band. I was in the junior high band, playing alto sax for two years, but I didn't really like it, 'cause I was into music, but I wasn't into the practice. My dad gave me a guitar when I was 15, and I had a couple buddies who played guitar, I had this one buddy named Dan, we learned how to play guitar together and we had our first band together called Helicopters...And I started playing guitar, I played drums in a couple

166 bands but wasn't a very good drummer, and so got kicked out of them all, and started playing guitar more, I mean I played guitar already but my friends said play more guitar and so I did, started doing shows in '99. (Masters 2007)

Masters's song, "Centennial Swell," is from an album of the same name, which features songs on the topics of life in Alberta, cowboy history, and narratives of mythical heroes. His low range and expressive voice aid in the telling of his engaging tales, and it is supported by a collection of country-identified instruments on Masters's recordings, which range from honky-tonk piano to soaring pedal steel. "Centennial Swell" is an overt tribute to

Johnny Cash in more ways than one—its extended narrative, bass-string echoing guitar riff reminiscent of Cash's Sun Recordings, and scooped, wavering, declamatory articulation in the low register of his voice all pay homage to Cash. Cash's sounds are used here as a double- voiced utterance in a way: Masters employs the familiar codes of Cash's sound, but the interpretation of these codes is open—by functioning as a language for Masters's performance, they are either implicitly understood by an audience familiar with Cash, or are reinterpreted or ignored for Masters's recording. The song is situated in familiar Alberta locales, unlikely known to an audience beyond the province's borders and connects the places to the weather, local events, and ordinary characters, relocating this imitation of Cash for a new context and audience. Here, he refers specifically to the floods of 2005 (during Alberta's centennial year) due to unexpected and lengthy periods of rain in June that caused local rivers to overflow (see http://www.calgaryarea.com/calgary flood.htm for pictures).

The bass strings create a chugging rhythm between I and V while strummed chords are played on top (reminiscent of Cash's mother-in-law, Maybelle's, guitar playing) and a harmonica soon joins in. He employs a regular vibrato/waver at the ends of his phrases, although the vibrato is somewhat uncontrolled and adds to the character of his voice. Bearing

167 a similar register to Phillips, with an even more resonant timbre, his voice becomes richer in its lower regions. The verses tend to centre on a fairly static melody for the purpose of accommodating dense lyrics and avoiding additional complications to them. The melody moves more in the chorus which acts as a hook around which the rest of the song circulates.

Masters is a bit like Hus in his articulation patterns, scooping up to emphasize words and almost spitting them out, which is reminiscent of both Cash and Connors.

Matt Masters "Centennial Swell" (2005) 0:00-1:20 Open, resonant timbre; slight vibrato and waver; mostly syllabic; clear articulation Range: an eleventh

Original Lyrics From Mount Alberta to Pincher Creek Those mountain streams were at their peak From three straight weeks of nonstop heavy rains Centennial Swell came flooding down The foothills through the prairie town Black Diamond and High River got washed out

And farmers need moisture you know They don't need floods, it's worse than snow It carries all the topsoil away Topsoil isn't all that was took When rivers grew from babbling brook Took people, fences, trailers, homes, and dreams

Chorus: Centennial Swell came flooding down Foothills through the prairie towns Centennial Swell came flooding down Prairie towns

Mayor Bronco up in Calgary Declared a civic state of emergency For the first time in the city's history Saskatchewan, Bow, and Red Deer Were swelling and the crest was near Sandbagging was the order from the mayor

And thousands of evacuees They volunteered or were forced to flee The centennial swell was flooding the prairie

168 Vocal/Lyric Analysis u >nu >u [] > FrommmMount'Alberda da Pincherrr'Creek > ~ ~ > ~ u >n~ Those moun'nn streams werrre at'their peak >u >u~ > Frmmm'three straight weeks'a'nonstop heavy rainz > n > un Centennial Swell came floodin'down

> n~>~ >u The foothillllz'through the prairie towns— u >u ~ ~ n~ > n

Black Diamond'and'High River got'washed'out

(skipped verse for analysis) u u> >~~ u ~ u~~ Centennial Swell... came floodinn'down... u >u > — >unu u ~~ Foothills through the prairiee towns-a >u >u >n~ > uun~n~~ A'Centennial'a'Swell'a came floodinn'down >unn >n~ A'Prairie townza

169 Transcription

From Mount Al • Ber - ta to Pin - cher Creek Those Moun - tain streams were at their peak From

flood-ing down. The foot-hills through the pral-rie towns Black Dia-mond and High Ri-vergot wash - ed out

Cen - ten-ni - al Swell came flood-tng down Foot - hills through pral - rte_ towns

Cen • ten - nl - al Swell came flood ing_ down Prai • rle towns_

The surprisingly large range of an eleventh is the biggest of these examples and perhaps reveals his musical and his interest in using disparate regions of his voice for expressive effects. Indeed, the timbre of his two vocal areas is quite different, with the upper area sounding thinner and more strained (but also quite open) than the resonant lower one.

The rhythmic movement of the voice is fairly regular, and while syncopated at times, still utilizes equal note values throughout the syncopation. The longer, held notes allow for his vibrato and wavers to emerge, and he scoops up to most of the higher notes, beginnings of phrases, or emphasized lyrics. Often the scoops lead nowhere—that is, Masters does not choose an exact pitch, but strays somewhere between a sung and a spoken note (i.e., "ten-ial- swell" in the first line; "farmers need"), which again bridges the gap between speech and singing seen in other examples and perhaps gives the sense of familiarity for the audience.

170 The obstruction of pitch in these moments also balances out the more trained sound emerging from his wavered notes.

Words often begin and end with extra vowels and this becomes more pronounced as the song continues. Perhaps the most interesting moment is when his breath catches in his throat and produces an intriguing effect on his tongue's movement and subsequent word pronunciation. In the first instance of "foothills through," the move from the "s" sound to the

"th" sound gives the listener a sense of actual physical movement through the back of his throat, under his tongue to the front of his mouth, to where the tongue finally rests between the teeth. It is these moments that give a sense of the "real" spoken of by these musicians and provide a counterpart to his accurately sung high pitches in the chorus. And it is here where

Barthes' notion of the extra-musical noises produced by bodily functions provides the vocal performance with the phenomenological experience of singing for both performer and listener and acts as genosong properties that are evidence of the manipulation of language within melody and the performer's embodied production of both.

Example 4: Jane Hawley, "Trick of the Trade "

Jane Hawley grew up in Toronto, studying music formally with violin lessons and

Royal Conservatory training. However, a sustained interest in country music since her childhood directed her stylistic choices more than the lessons did. Hawley is probably best- known for her unique singing voice, often characterized as possessing the "high lonesome" sound of early bluegrass or the child-like quality found in Emmylou Harris's early recordings.

She did not receive formal training in voice, thanks to advice from Harris's producer, Brian

Ahearn. I asked her about her training and her approach to learning and developing her style:

I took lessons, in the public school system in Toronto, they had a violin teacher that came around to all the schools at lunch hour so I took it in school and I took piano at

171 the Royal Conservatory in Toronto. And I had my grade 6 piano and I went up to grade 13 [in the public school system] with my violin and then I went to York after that and yeah, but it, you know, technically I'm not a very good player, but I got so into the emotion of the music. And that's what consumed me, I had no time whatsoever to sit there and learn the technical part of it. (Hawley 2008)

And, regarding her vocal sound and taking lessons:

[I told Brian Ahearn] Oh, I'm taking vocal lessons and he freaked, he said do not take vocal lessons. And he said Emmylou's voice changed once she took vocal lessons. He said it didn't wreck it or anything, but it changed. And he worked with her on her first 11 albums. And it was after the 11th album, you can hear, there's a difference. She almost, like she lost the innocence in her voice and it became more, 'oh I know what my style is, oh I know what it is I'm supposed to do.' You know. And it's kind of interesting that he said that...He said it's childlike, angelic..And that's what's the best part about the, like I used to have fights with this guy in high school, he was an amazing guitar player, and I wasn't very technically good, but I said I can go out and pay for technique, but I can't pay for soul. And he said, we'd fight about that for hours. I said, I don't care. I know what the music is, I can feel it, I have that, I can go out and buy the technique. But he didn't have that soul part. And that's something, yeah, you either got it or you don't [laughs], (ibid.)

Hawley began singing in Toronto clubs when she was fifteen years old, and worked in the 1980s country-rock scene of Queen Street West. Shortly after university she moved out west, singing in bands in Whitehorse, Yellowknife, Edmonton, and Calgary. She was a featured vocalist in the alt-country band Junior Gone Wild through her Edmonton years, and has played with the bands Sorrow Bound and Beautiful Joe in Calgary. This aesthetic she speaks of—singing and playing with soul—underlies her early influences of Dolly Parton,

Emmylou Harris, Loretta Lynn, and Ricky Skaggs, and also governs her current stylistic choices in recording. She tends towards country-influenced acoustic arrangements, using her strong voice to drive the momentum of the songs. Her chosen subject matter of frustration in the music industry, personal struggle, and romantic relationships belie a preference for the personal and subjective rather than the universal. She understands this to be a hindering factor

172 in achieving mainstream success, and says, regarding a conversation she had with a fellow

(very successful) songwriter:

But she made the comment because I said to her, you know, what should I do, but she said, she just made the comment that my songs are so personal that they'll never get played. And it was good for her to say that and she goes, 'but you know what? It's your decision whether to change that or not. I can't write songs like that because I have to make a living.' So, but it was an interesting point she made, that they were just so personal. You know, I wrote about Saskatoon, all the things I did, and they all are very personal, my songs, (ibid.)

Hawley possesses an interesting voice, thanks not only to its unique timbre but because it varies greatly between a rough, growling, aggressive sound on one extreme (similar to singers like Lucinda Williams) and a gentle, sweet, introspective sound on the other. She often employs both sides of her voice within one song, but there is little question that its power pierces through any supporting voices or instruments. On "Trick of the Trade," she alludes to personal frustration that can either be connected to relationship matters or dealing with the music industry, allowing that anger to be evident through her timbre.

Jane Hawley "Trick of the Trade" (2006) 0:00-0:37 Uses both smooth and piercing timbres; syllabic; scoops; clear articulation Range: an octave (mostly limited to a fifth)

Original Lyrics Yeah sure I'm pissed off About things I've gone through And I don't even think That I still love you Well I never face up To all I confess Whatever it is I'll just leave in a mess

Chorus And I've learned the trick of the trade And I've learned what had to be said And I've learned to take what I gave Yes I've learned the trick of the trade

Well I can't even seem To get out of my bed With all of this junk I've got stuck in my head

173 Well I'd be better off If I never let on And I was too weak And you were too strong

Chorus

Well I'll just go on back To where I belong I can't even think And I know it ain't wrong If I ever look back I wish it were now And everything else Would not be so loud

Chorus

Vocal/Lyric Analysis

~ > Yeah surel'mmm pissed off— > > n 'bout tthhhings I've gone throughnn > n >n nnnnl don't evennnthink u u> n >n That I stiilllllove you—

> ~ > Well I never faccceup— >nn > ToawllIII've confess'd— > ~ ~n Whateverrr iiit is u > > ~ > I'llljust 'eave innaammess—nn u >u n > ~ >n nnndl've learnnn the trick of the trade--. u u~>n~ >~~ >n Annd I've learned what haaad to be said >~ >n >n~ >~~ And I've learnned to taaake what I gave- >n > >n

YessI've learrnned the trick of the trade

Transcription

Yeah sure I'm piss" doff bout things I've gone thru And I don'tev - en think that I still love you Well I Ne-ver face up To

all I con • fess What ev - er it is I'll just leave in a mess And I've learned the trick of the trade

A E D A E D A D A >n ~ > r > rv >n >n~ n-- >n > >n

learned what had to be sald_ And I've learned to take what I gave_ Yes I've learned the trick of the trade

The melodic range of "Trick of the Trade" is very limited, especially given the potential wide-ranging possibilities Hawley's voice is capable of. It mostly spans a fifth, with the occasional leap to the octave for emphasis, and the melody is surprisingly flat (oblique motion) throughout the verse. While this may suggest an attempt at a more accessible persona from a well-trained artist, I suspect the function of such a melody is to allow the near-manic frustration of the lyric content to emerge. Daley suggests that Robert Johnson's most distinct timbral variations occurred on repeated or derivative phrases (Daley 2009a: 7), and here the repeated pitches serve the same purpose. By focusing on one note, the timbre of Hawley's voice can (and does) become increasingly intense. Her vocal rhythm is fairly consistent with the beat (limited syncopation), which would similarly emphasize a driving anger. When she falls to the first low A, she sits on it only for a sixteenth note and immediately scoops back up to E with a portamento to emphasize the "I" in her emotional confusion. The only time we hear the upper A is in the final half of the chorus, which gives the listener a temporary window into the potential power of her upper register. The accompaniment is a simple rhythmic guitar

175 part in triple time and a mandolin riff, which serve to highlight her melody, and the vocal harmony in the chorus does little to detract from Hawley's voice as well.

Hawley's use of an open, back-of-the-throat timbre is rare and occurs only at times where her voice is relaxed in the lower notes. The listener could possibly focus on her resonance because of the repeated pitches. At the same time, the very forceful quality of her focused timbre in the higher notes sounds very constricted, and the closed throat that produces such a timbre amplifies its power. In addition, a slight waver on certain pitches reveals the significant meaning of the emotional content of the lyrics for Hawley as well as a natural talent that could give way to vibrato. That said, her pitch tends to be very accurate throughout, likely the result of extensive training and a good ear developed from playing violin. This may also be the reason behind the clear articulation of lyrics, as opposed to the more muddied sounds of Coffey or McCann, but I tend to think that her clear articulation might be a result of the influence of country singers such as Harris and Parton. Despite Hawley's suggestion that she is a highly subjective author, the lyrics are left open for numerous interpretations by an audience; as in Barthes' discussion, she has compiled familiar truisms regarding relationships and the music industry that are available for varied constructions of meaning by a listening audience. Here, Hawley's singing reveals a double-voiced possibility in that the language she uses is left open to reader interpretation while simultaneously evoking familiar codes of

speaking about these subjects. She simultaneously employs Moore's first and second person authenticity by not only referencing what may be a highly personal struggle, but by leaving that struggle open for a listener to map their individual experiences onto the song.

176 Example 5: Steve Coffey, "Stanley's Hope "

Coffey grew up partly in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, but moved to the small town of

Innisfail, Alberta later in his childhood. He grew up listening to his parents play music: his

father was a steel guitar player for 45 years in several bands, and his mother was a songwriter.

He too was influenced by folk singers and country artists equally, which is evident in his

current songwriting. Working now in Calgary with his band The Lokels, he indulges in lyrical

play, evocative sonorities, and a spontaneous, "live off the floor" recording approach that

contributes to a stripped-down production quality. Rural life, family, humour, and ballad-type

stories are investigated in his songwriting, and he typically employs country instruments

alongside a whining, distorted guitar sound. Below are Coffey's own comments regarding his

influences and style:

My mom was kind of a songwriter at the time, my dad was in a band called KC and the Rhythm Wranglers, he was a steel guitar player for about 45 years. So I kinda come from that background. And raised on, we were just talking about it the other day, you know how Johnny Cash became a huge legend, right, but when I was eight years old, nobody wanted to listen to him. So anyway, I was nuts for Johnny Cash at the time, when I was a kid growing up. My brother loved Merle Haggard... I always went to sleep at night with the band playing in the basement all the time. So I was really, I was around it all the time.. .1 picked up the guitar when I was fourteen. I think I tried to write a song on the first day. I wasn't interested in doing anyone else's stuff. And it was my dad that said that to me, he said why beat the shit out of somebody else's music when you can beat the shit out of your own... I listened to a lot of R.E.M. [1980s-90s rock band] through university. And who else, Creedence Clearwater [Revival, 1970s rock band]. There's lots, it's really across the board. I listen to, I love listening to classical music, I don't really focus on one in particular [genre]. Really a big fan of Leonard Cohen, I love listening to that stuff. Sometimes he's really dark and heavy, like in my life now, I'm trying to, I'm more into positive things, you know. (Coffey 2004)

The album art by Coffey is noteworthy. He is also a painter, and much of his artwork

concentrates on the landscape of the prairies. It is not surprising then, to see Coffey's own

work on his album jackets. His Kitchen Boys CD, Passion Town (1994) features a lone figure

177 on a small town street standing in front of a hotel and a grain building with a stormy looking sky above (see Fig. 20, under the "Visuals and Costuming" section at the end of this chapter).

The cover of Steve Coffey and The Lokels East of East Coulee (2002) is comparable in its portrayal of an empty road on a rural landscape, likely headed through the foothills of Alberta.

Other images on East of East Coulee consist of casual shots of the band as they engage in rehearsal and the recording process in an old barn; he uses nostalgic images, which resonate with the sounds of his compositions (see Chapter 4 for a further discussion of this). He appears on the album as the artist positioned to talk about the past and the conditions of the landscape, as though he is an objective observer (see a further discussion of album covers and visuals below).

Coffey's voice is often strained and the tightness in his throat gives way to descending runs at the ends of phrases, and allow for a slight grumble to enter in the lower register.

Coffey's vocal utterances are layered and complex, with the potential for multiple tones or jagged closures to emerge. Although not heard in the phrases transcribed below, often phrases are drawn to a close with a vocal grunt or growl, which reveals effort on his part and endears him to a listener seeking accessibility in the performer. Words come together at particular moments, blurring meaning and clear articulation into muddied sound. This too could allow for numerous interpretations with the effects of jouissance, the bliss found through a non- linguistic interpretation of a text. This is done through his embodied vocal performance created by the strained voice and effects of the tongue, throat, and nose creating the sonic result of disrupting (or possibly guiding) the reception of the song's words by the listener.

This is not to suggest that Coffey is an imprecise singer; he largely remains on pitch, but he is guided by an aesthetic drawn from punk, rock, and early influences such as Bob Dylan. In

178 fact, much of the crossover between Coffey's spoken and sung lyrics is similar to that of

Dylan. In "Stanley's Hope" in particular, Coffey employs a nasal timbre and the sliding pitches and speechlike rhythmic declamatory style that is characteristic of Dylan's popular mid-1960s recordings. At times, Coffey does not clearly sing a pitch, but hovers around a general region, using a more spoken projection of the lyrics than a sung note. The song is accompanied by a driving Johnny Cash-influenced guitar riff and a playful steel guitar fill in between verses, as well as a rhythmic backdrop of strummed acoustic guitar and plucked banjo. The lack of percussion creates a slightly sparse-sounding texture that is characteristic even in his texturally dense arrangements, and serves to highlight the quick delivery of the lyrics.

Steve Coffey "Stanley's Hope" (2002) 0:00-1:12 Rough timbre; syllabic; closed throat and strained singing; muddied articulation; rapid rhythms Range: a fifth

Original Lyrics Well there once was a man by the name of Stan He could play his guitar with only one hand He could do the two-step without any band And he could smoke without a smoke And he'd walk he'd walk Stan talked

Well he'd travel around from town to town Making the odd buck on the odd sound He'd sing like an angel with a cowboy crown And he'd smoke without a smoke And he'd walk he walked Stan talked

But he figured his fame was an early grave He started writing tunes in a tuneless way Hoping his fan club would fold and fade And he smoked without a smoke And he'd walk he walked Stan talked

Chorus So ride on your riverboat Stan we know you play for fun But Stan this plan of writing bad is just drawing everyone Oh Stan Stan Stan you smoke

So Stan sat around in a confused state Knowing his heart would have to create How could he live? what was his fate? when he smoked

179 Without a smoke And he walked he walked Stan talked

Well he moved to a city full of homeless folk Opened a kitchen called 'Stanley's hope' And all the needy were fed and clothed And he smoked without a smoke And he walks he walks Stan talks

But then one day Stan's pockets went dry A million people all began to cry So Stan cocked his pen and began to write songs He began to write songs, brand new songs

So the story turns around and around Stan travels about from town to town He makes his soup and the odd sound And he smokes without a smoke He walks he walks Stan talks

So ride on your riverboat Stan We know you are the one And Stan this plan of writing has Good reason for everyone Oh Stan Stan we'll stop At Stanley's hope

So ride on your riverboat Stan We know you are the one And Stan this plan of writing has Good reason for everyone Oh Stan Stan we'll stop At Stanley's hope

Vocal/Lyric Analysis U > > > [] > > [] Well there once was a maaann by the naammea'Staann

He cou-play'is gitaarr wiii'onlyonne'haann

> > [] >[] mini He coulddo the two-step withou'aanybannn [] rrr [] >f1rrr U> fl nnAn hecou'smoke— without a smoke

>f|rr fl > >n

Annnhe'walk'd— he'walk'dStan talked

(verses skipped for analysis)

180 [] >[] [] [] [] [] >[] [] n [][] >[] [] [] [] > So riiiide'ooonnnyourrriverboatsStan weenno you'play for fun—

[] >[] [] rr >[] [ ] rr > [ ] rr [] [] [][] > [] [] [] [] Ann' Staaannn thissplaaannn' a' writinggbaaadis jus 'drawing' eeeveryone- U[]>[] []>[][]> rr [ ] ~n n [ ] spoken

Oh'Staann Staann Staann you smoke Smoke a'that, Stan!

Transcription

Well there once was a man by the name of stan He could play his gui • tar with on • ly one hand He could do

the two- step with - out an - y band and he could smoke with • out a smoke And he'd walk

C >n r * r

[] > ii ii ii ii n>[][] ii n F> n [] ii ii >

on your ri-verboat Stan we know you play for fun

> [ ] I > [ ] T > [ ] IT [ ] [ i [] > [j ii n ii ii ft-

this plan of wri - ting Is just draw - Ing

The internal rhyming of the lyrics (i.e., "Stan/hand/band") give long phrases a sense of cohesion and play, allowing for the fast rhythmic delivery to make more sense to the listener.

The lyrics are marked by rapid breaths in between each phrase, highlighting Coffey's intense focus on the material. They also mark him as a substantially different performer than those discussed earlier in this chapter, since his melodic content is so limited. While Hawley's melody was also limited, she employs sustained notes and vibrato to contribute to the musicality of the performance, whereas Coffey is clearly more interested in the more immediately satisfying effects of rhythm and intonation.15 Fox claims that recitation songs are fairly common to the country repertoire and resemble intonationally heightened speech, but suggests that metrical talk within song performance became less common after 1970 (Fox

2004:274). Fox also notes that recitation is often reserved for the climactic verse and is sometimes improvised (ibid., 275).16 More importantly, metrical speech in between verses and calls out to the audience and side players, or additions to a sung narrative mark the intersection between speech and song (ibid.). Coffey engages in this several times throughout

"Stanley's Hope" ("Smoke a-that, Stan!"), as well as occasionally calling out to his side players in the live show.

In live performance (see the accompanying DVD), the indulgence in vocal experimentation is seen more fully. He adds numerous growls to the ends of phrases, emphasizes the shouted and spoken portions of the text to elicit audience excitement and engagement with his band, and employs frequent scoops between notes, even during oblique stretches of melody. He moves his head around the microphone and grimaces during growled portions of the lyrics, adding visible signs to his physical effort for the audience. In a clear effort to communicate with his band members, and at times, the audience, Coffey looks around during certain emphasized sections of rapid lyrics, and purposely stutters through parts that he wants to draw attention to. During the remaining time, his upper body is quite still, likely due to the concentration required to sing lyrics with such speed. At times, he is out of sync with the band, either speeding up, or adding lyrics and slowing down to create unequal

15 Although, I would argue that it is possible that Coffey is playing on the words "He started writing tunes in a tuneless way/Hoping his fan club would fold and fade," perhaps making that clear in this tuneless melody of his own. These lyrics also evoke the rapid-fire delivery characteristic of Johnny Cash songs like "A Boy Named Sue." 16 A period of pop-country music repertoire from the 1960s and 1970s features this, particularly in duets, (i.e., Bill Anderson and Jan Howard's "For Loving You" 1967).

182 phrasing. The band, likely used to this practice, keeps tempo, which makes for an interesting division between the two and a layered performance between individual and group.

Example 6: Dave McCann, "Graincar"

McCann grew up in Peterborough, Ontario, and stopped in Calgary while moving out to British Columbia in the late 1990s. He stayed after finding he was attracted to the landscape, close-knit music community, and performance opportunities in the city. He has since produced three country-influenced albums, incorporating rock riffs, electric guitar distortion, and metal influences. His full band normally consists of banjo, pedal steel, mandolin, and guitar, bass, and drums. McCann has found that Calgary has been receptive to his mix of country and rock, and he plays many of the same venues as Phillips and Coffey

(such as the Calgary Folk Festival, the Ironwood Stage, and Vern's Tavern), as well as touring around the province. Here, he speaks about his musical background:

Peterborough was always a weird town because I grew up sorta in the bars, watching Washboard Hank and the Honkers, and Reverend Canon and the Lost Followers. There was always a weird sort of obscure jug band kind of theme in Peterborough. So I cut my teeth listening to that sort of stuff and you know, I think the first record I ever bought was Kiss Destroyer and the one I remember the most is probably Back in Black.. .Mom always listened to country AM radio and my dad didn't listen to any radio. He grew up in Toronto, going to see Ronnie Hawkins and stuff like that growing up, so he was always sort of influential, always telling me about Toronto and what was going on there.. .1 play guitar, pretty much anything with strings on it. And yeah, pretty much self-taught, I can remember probably early in my teens, looking into Bob Dylan and Neil Young and all that sort of stuff. And that's when I decided I wanted to play guitar, right, I mean it wasn't when I was listening to that other stuff, that was earlier on. So it was probably that sort of stuff. (McCann 2004)

His singing voice has a similar quality to his speaking voice, carrying the same timbre, but becomes quite melodic in performance. He tends to follow the arpeggiated notes of chords in his melodies and aims for wider leaps than the other singers discussed, making his melodic content fairly disjunct. McCann has a more relaxed timbre than Coffey in his lower notes, but

183 his voice is strained in the upper register. The pinched quality to the words on higher notes

also has a somewhat nasal quality, which highlights the strain to reach the upper E. However,

McCann appears to be fairly relaxed in performance, both recorded and live, which in this

case results in a slower delivery of words than other musicians discussed in this chapter, as well as the drawl heard throughout his lyrics. He rarely trails the ends of his phrases with a

grumble. Instead he is more likely to close his phrases cleanly. He slides between notes

freely, and uses a declamatory style in much of the singing, which results in a mainly syllabic performance of the lyrics. At times, his pronunciation is unclear, making it difficult to understand the words, particularly when his voice is lower in the mix among the electric

guitars. "Grain Car" features prominent pedal steel interludes in between the vocal phrases,

augmenting his melodic contour. In live performance, many of the musical elements remain the same—the instruments attempt to re-create the recorded performance, and McCann's vocal

style deviates little from his original version. However, there are slight variances on pitch.

Although he generally replicates the recording closely, the live version reveals small

alterations, which is to be expected in the live context. This may help to connect him to his

audience, as would the similarities between his singing and speaking voice, and his direct

address to the crowd both before the song and as it fades out.

Dave McCann, "Grain Car" (2000) 0:00-1:28 Both open and closed throat; relaxed timbre; some melisma; some muddied articulation; arpeggiated melody Range: a tenth

Original Lyrics Trade in the red wine For old roads that roll by And faces that smile Like you used to know. Your last kiss it burns in Places I can't win But if I, if I get Back here again some day.

184 Chorus Like a rich man on the mountain, like a dog in his dying day, The storm she rolls right in, right in through the open gate. You can't keep warm on a grain car, the good is get when the gettin's gone, The sky tonight my friend is singing a different song.

Why things are changing Faces look strange and I don't feel all that fit now to complain Doubt raises answers You question the cancers You set yourself, set yourself back there from the line Chorus

Old thoughts they burn me Clearly I can't see All these here thoughts That blow this circle down The old wind a blowing Train starts to rolling I best hold on

This ride gonna last all night.

Chorus Vocal/Lyric Analysis >u >u >u u Y'Trade innyer red wine u u>[] n~ Ferrr'Ohh roads that ro-bye >u > E'faces that smii-ii-iii...

>U[] Like'yoou used to kno-ho-oh...

>U[] > [] Yerr'last kiiesss it burns iiinn

>U[] u N'Pla-ces I caaa-wiinnn...

U [] [] But if-III-iff-I get- [][][] []

Back— here ageaain some'day.

185 n > > >u Like a rich maayan on a'mountn, like a dog in'his dying day,

U> U >U[] [] ~ SSstorm she rolls right iiann, right iiann through the opin gate

U [] U U U ~ []~ [] [] N'You cin— keep warrmmm onnn a-grain cah-ah-ar, the good is git when the gettin's gone >unn> > >n n n~>n >•

The sky ta-night—my~friennd— isa singin singin' a diffr'nt soownng

Transcription

Like you used to kno oo-ww your last kiss it bums iii • iii • in pla - ces I can't win

But if I I If I get back here a • gain some day.

right In right in through the op - en ga - aa te You can't keep warm on a grain caa_ aar the good is

get when the get- Un's_ go-oo ne Thesky to- nlght_ my.frlendls a sing-ing slng-ln a diff-er - ent song In the live version (also found on the accompanying CD), McCann emphasizes the beginning of words, and reemphasizes these initial vowel sounds even during tied notes, reinforcing his typical declamatory style as well as the shift to different pitches. ("Car-har- har" or "sing-hin"). At other points, both in the live and original versions, he eliminates unwieldy consonants ("moun-in" instead of "mountain") in order to draw words together more smoothly much in the way that Coffey does. Moreover, McCann regularly employs a drawl

186 on the extended words, demonstrated in the analysis by multiple vowels over an extended pronunciation ("rich man," "your last kiss"), which immediately connects him to connotations of southern culture and earlier country music in the way it does with Phillips. He also frequently attaches the first word of the next phrase to the one that has just ended as a way of providing continuity and settling the rhyme scheme. The plethora of accents throughout both versions alludes to the influence of Dylan and Johnny Cash, and the abrupt cut-off at the ends of some words emerges from similar aesthetic preferences. McCann is unlike the other singers discussed here in that his melodic content is substantially more complex (made even more interesting with layered harmonies in the chorus), but his natural-sounding voice serves to balance out the more virtuosic vocal melodies.

The connections between his speech and singing are made fairly obvious by the relative similarity between both the live and recorded voices. The embodiment of effort to sing is made especially clear by his strained voice and closed throat on the higher notes (E in particular), which produces a slightly nasal timbre that is located in the connections between his voice, breath, and throat. He employs multiple scoops near the ends of phrases, which indicate a falling away of the breath, but his timbre rarely moves into a raspier territory.

McCann is fairly active onstage (see accompanying DVD, Track 6), which would contribute to the sounds of effort in his singing (this is true also of Coffey and Phillips). While the melismas at the ends of phrases ("it burns in," "the getting's gone") might suggest extensive training in vocal technique (they are rapid and accurately pitched), he uncovers a more vulnerable side in his more ubiquitous wavers at the ends of words ("roll by," "dying day,"

"grain car"). These wavers suggest a slight lack of control over the voice, which would likely endear him to an audience listening closely. As well, they reveal his effort in singing. The

187 accompaniment of heavy and distorted guitar, heard in other selections, as well as the regular presence of minor chords to darken the harmonic content, reveal his link to early metal and rock in his youth. In the live version he is accompanied by steel guitar, as well as banjo, mandolin, and acoustic guitar, which create a lighter but active texture underneath.

Example 7: Scott MacLeod, "Broken Heart"

Scott MacLeod comes from Prince Edward Island; he trained as a nurse in Montreal and then moved to Calgary to practice. His style comes from multiple country and rock

influences, including Bruce Springsteen, Blue Rodeo, and Kathleen Edwards. He commented

on his early playing and stylistic development:

I guess music was always a big part of my life, my mom would have me sing in the church and all that sort of stuff and then music was always around the house and that sort of thing. Yeah, it was just a family thing, and then I was in some bands in high school.. .after high school, I lived in Montreal for two years and that's where I started writing a couple songs, or the beginnings of songs anyway, and then I moved out to Calgary and stayed with my aunt and uncle in Canmore for the summer and that's when I got my first guitar and started to play and sort of put together chords and chord structure and words and stuff. And my uncle has a little studio in Canmore and so I recorded one song that I wrote there about a certain community... My influences would be Blue Rodeo, huge influence, Gordon Lightfoot, a lot of Canadian singer- songwriters, Nathan Wiley, Jim Bryson, yeah, you know the Maritime stuff too, like Stan Rogers, out west here, Corb Lund and John Wort Hannam and Tim Hus and a lot of Alberta singer-songwriters, and Justin Rutledge, who's out of Toronto, is an influence. A lot of Canadian and of course CCR [Creedence Clearwater Revival], Waylon Jennings, and Johnny Cash, they're always an influence. But I would have to say the main influence, that changed so much for me is Blue Rodeo, just couldn't get enough of them, just sit there with their CD insert and reading the lyrics and listening to the songs, I was just mesmerized, they just blew me away. (MacLeod 2007)

In "Broken Heart," MacLeod adopts a more mainstream sound than his Calgarian

counterparts. The song is driven by a standard rock line-up with the addition of pedal steel

fills throughout and acoustic guitar strumming. The pedal steel lines draw on the "open

space" aesthetic that drives Blue Rodeo's 1990s recordings such as Five Days in July.

Partway through the first section, a fuller texture emerges with the bass playing on beats one

188 and three in a I-V repetition and a Hammond organ joins the mix as well. Without the presence of pedal steel, "Broken Heart" would fit nicely into a pop-rock format. The dense texture differs substantially from that heard in the Coffey and Masters examples, but aligns with McCann's more typically full sound.

MacLeod's voice is reserved and husky, lacking the intensity heard in the performance by Phillips and Coffey. It fits the relaxed groove of the song, and corresponds with his debut album's overall themes of wide open spaces, rural life, nostalgia, and meandering travel. His melody is static at times, and his subdued approach to the melodic content suggests a lack of concern with virtuosic display. This is further exemplified by the scoops up to the beginnings of phrases, and is reflected in the lyrics of disengagement, sorrow, and despair. He tends to fall off the ends of phrases with scoops down and sighs, but in the chorus becomes more engaged with the melodic material, where he also begins the phrases with multiple scoops on each syllable. His vocal performance retains the husky timbre but intensifies in the chorus, exploring despair at length. This despair is then made clearer by the sympathetic whining of the pedal steel.

Scott MacLeod "Broken Heart" (2005) 0:00-2:25 (omitting verses) Husky, slightly breathy timbre; mostly syllabic; some muddied articulation; mostly static melody Range: an octave

Original Lyrics I hate to tell you All this loneliness It's comfortable and blue Something So familiar Like my old lost shoes

Out on the sidewalks Can they sense it All intrigued by my eyes Look away dear Look away dear You don't want to see what's inside

189 Chorus Was I born with a broken heart Was it busted from the start Was I born with a broken heart Did I tear you all apart All afraid of my eyes

And the twilight Brings the streetlight Calmness settles in I'll be here with My drunken brothers Wrapped in all my sins

End tag: Can you fix it/now's the time to start/now's the time to start

Vocal/Lyric Analysis

>U [] U U [] rr [] [] n I hate ta'tell you all this loneliness

>U [ ] [ ] >u Tss'comf tabulll an'blue >u u [] u D > n [] Sommmething so familiaarr

U U [] U U [] U [] _-_-_ Just like my old lost shoes

>U U>U [][] >U [] [] ~ Wazz'I bo'n with a'broken haaht

>U >U[] >U >[] Wazz'it busted from th'staaht...

>U U>U []~ >U[] ~~ Wazz'I bohn with a'broken haaht >u u >u n n >u [] n Did I teahh you awll'apaaht... u ut] n...>un>[jn.. Rawl innntreeee by my eyeee Transcription

Was I born with— bro - ken he - art Was It bus - ted from _ the start Did I tear you all a - part

All In - tri - I) - il - II - gued of my eye - ee - es MacLeod's lack of formal training is not evident on this track in terms of harmonic complexity or attunement to instrumental arranging. He progresses through Dm, C, E, and

Am in the verses and switches to a I-IV-I-V progression in C in the chorus. The lack of F and

G chords in the verse creates ambiguity by keeping the key from firmly residing in C until the chorus, which serves to partially confound listener expectations. At the same time, his melodic rhythm is relatively simple, guided by occasional syncopations and leaps up to middle

C during longer note values. The melody is more active in the chorus, moving through the higher end of his range in mostly conjunct motion, while the verse sees more limited movement between notes and stays constrained to a fourth. His words are often strung together with added vowels and consonants, or muddied as one long line, while still other words fade away without finishing. These elements would serve to make MacLeod accessible to an audience perhaps uncertain of what to expect with a slightly altered and minor-driven

191 chord progression, but who are possibly familiar with the timbral and structural tropes that he has borrowed from influences such as Blue Rodeo.

MacLeod's voice is that of the weary young traveling man, one who has experienced an inordinate amount of heartbreak and tragedy for his age, as evidenced by his tired voice, falls at the end of lyrical phrases, and strained upper range. His vocal performance thus aligns with the alt-country identity expounded by Peterson/Beal and Fox and Ching, in that he is a young, educated, disillusioned, and exhausted urban middle-class white male. The slight wavers at the ends of the phrase "Was I born with/a broken heart" each time it is sung suggests vulnerability and emotional exposure in the vein of Moore's first person authenticity, which would subsequently engender a second person authenticity for his sympathetic audience. His lyrical subject and performance then likely generate wide appeal for a younger alt-country- oriented audience, and this is evidenced by the relative youth of the audience members I have seen at his shows in Toronto. Moreover, he is drawing on familiar influences for an audience of this age, rather than overtly reaching back to the influences of Cash, Haggard, or Williams like his contemporaries.

Roots Examples Beyond Alt-Country

There are several other Calgary artists that deserve brief mention in terms of stylistic and vocal performance practices. The roots scene in Calgary houses many artists that play genres other than country and alt-country, yet there are many musical similarities between these genres (such as bluegrass and folk) and alt-country. I will focus on the vocal performance of examples from these other genres in particular because I believe singing connects roots genres where other musical parameters do not. As a result, performers in the

Calgary scene can be loosely defined by their vocal performance practices.

192 Billy Cowsill/The Co-Dependents /Sorrow Bound

A particularly interesting example is Billy Cowsill. Cowsill was originally a member of The Cowsills, a singing family that later inspired the Partridge Family TV show. Cowsill moved to Vancouver after the band broke up in the early 1970s, where he performed as part of the Blue Shadows, then was brought to Calgary by friends Neil MacGonigill and Jann Arden in the mid-1990s to recover from drug addictions and he resumed performing in the late 90s on local stages. Cowsill was directly involved with most of my participants and the burgeoning country-rock scene in the city throughout the 1990s and 2000s, leading two

important bands (The Co-Dependents and Sorrow Bound)17. He also maintained a relatively

successful independent career, supporting and playing for other recording projects around the

city, and friend and manager MacGonigill has released much of the material from these

ventures.

Unfortunately, Cowsill passed away on February 18, 2006 at the height of his fame in

Calgary, before I could get a chance to speak with him. Since his passing, his substantial

contribution to the Calgary scene has been remembered in tribute concerts and radio shows on

CKUA. The Sorrow Bound disc (2006) is particularly marked by tragedy. As the pet project

of new Ruby Moon Records owner, Joel Shortt, it served to recognize the influence of Hank

Williams on Calgarian country musicians, provide an outlet for promoting the Calgary scene,

and act as an intertextual artifact of and mediator between both Hank Williams cover songs

and new "songs in the vein of' Williams. During the mixing of the album's songs, Shortt also

passed away, unexpectedly, leaving the label to fade away from the Calgary scene, the Sorrow

17 See Appendix B for connections between groups and overlapping band members.

193 Bound project reflecting the potential promise of the label and musical strength of its members.

Cowsill's participation in Sorrow Bound and his other artistic endeavours are marked by consistent sonic factors such as his gift for harmony and his distinct voice. On the Co-

Dependents discs, the band performs covers from early rockabilly, rock and roll, and

1950s/60s country. Cowsill's performance is the embodiment of whoever's voice he chooses to assume, making him a repository for intertextual references and meanings. On "Return to

Sender," Cowsill employs the heavy scoops and nervously excited vibrato of Elvis Presley's early recording, drawing words together with delayed consonants ("I (I-I-I-I)'ll understand'V'time") and added vowels to the ends of words, while adding hiccups and vocal breaks over larger interval leaps. On "Only the Lonely," Cowsill evokes Roy Orbison's vibrato-ridden croon, with exaggerated vocal cries ("heart"), finishing the song with an extended leap into his falsetto range in order to evoke the heartbroken tone of the lyrics. This type of singing falls into Wise's description of the second species of yodel, that which breaks register while singing a word (word-breaking), or the non-wordless yodel, which is a version of the standard stylized yodel (Wise 2007:5,14). Cowsill's use of the register-breaking yodeleme here has a significant expressive effect, as it portrays the sorrow of Orbison's lyrics, made even more apparent by the lack of accompaniment in this section. The lack of attempt to smooth over the break, as similarly heard in Phillips's singing, of course, is a widely appreciated aesthetic of more hardcore country styles such as honky tonk and hillbilly. As with Phillips, Cowsill is adopting what acted as genosong properties for Presley and

Orbison—Presley's exaggerated portamento and gulped lyrics were sonically adventurous during his time, as were Orbison's extended journeys into the falsetto range for expressive

194 effect. However, now with the expectations of past performance style governing cover songs

(for Elvis impersonators in particular), these properties have become standard and coded phenosong devices that cannot be removed from contemporary performances, and serve to burden the singer who cannot properly replicate them.

Cowsill's ear for harmony is evident in Everly Brothers' covers such as "Walk Right

Back," where he sings in close and pleasantly consonant thirds with Co-Dependents partner

Steve Pineo. Despite (or perhaps because of) the ragged-voice inducing effects of emphysema and his dependence on an oxygen tank during Sorrow Bound's recording sessions, Cowsill's performances of Williams's "You Win Again" and "Your Cheatin' Heart" are rife with vocal cries and hiccups, and the weary, drawn-out phrases that characterized Williams's slower ballads. His upper notes have lost the rich resonance heard on previous recordings (and are

surprisingly vibrato-free), but the resulting strained delivery perfectly evoke similar performances by Williams. This evocation could be deliberate, given his ability to imitate many singers. Discussions of his performances reveal that audience members notice his

ability to replicate any past and distinct musical voice, including Elvis, Howlin' Wolf, Merle

Haggard, and (!) Brenda Lee (from reader comments online in Robertson:2006).

Tim Williams

Tim Williams has been a central figure on the Calgary scene for 19 years, working as a

soloist, producer, songwriter, and session player. His influence can be heard on nearly all of

the city's roots players' recordings, as he often produces or plays for them. While best known

as a virtuosic blues guitarist (his preferred genre), he also frequently performs in folk and

country settings. He was hired as Ruby Moon Records' producer, and has consulted on the

195 $10K 20 series of grants from 97.7 FM (see Chapter 6), working in studios such as Sundae

Sound to help grant recipients record their albums.

Williams was part of the Sorrow Bound band and project, contributing vocals and guitar on his own songs and Hank Williams covers. However, his solo work is worth a brief discussion here as well. His 2007 album, Songster, Musicianer, Music Physicianer features

"Shake 'Em On Down," a slide-guitar driven blues song, which sounds as though it is accompanied by beat-boxing. The timbre of the guitar is rough and his use of slide playing creates multiple layers of accompaniment. His ability to discern what is aesthetically pleasing from a production perspective is evident, as he manipulates a relatively sparse texture of guitar, beat, and vocals to sound texturally complex. His vocals, which often take a backseat to technically proficient playing, are characterized by elements often commonly linked to blues singing. At times, a drawl is evident, and leaps to upper intervals are brought about by scoops. While there is some vibrato evident throughout the song, Williams generally uses a vibrato-free voice (which would probably sound less cultivated to listeners) and incorporates hiccups and growls, particularly towards the end of the song. He also alternates between drawing words together, like many of the country performers discussed above, and cutting words off abruptly as fits the accompaniment.

The Fates

There is a fairly strong folk contingent alongside the country presence in the city, although this group is by no means as cohesive as their country counterparts. Most incorporate some aspects of the singer-songwriter norms established in 1960s folk music into their playing, songwriting, or singing, but these are manifested in various ways. The Fates is a group comprised of three individual performers, who, simultaneous to their own careers,

196 recorded as a band. The three women—Jenny Allen, Lin Elder, and Lori Reid—share songwriting, playing, and lead singing credits and tour western Canada frequently, despite

Allen's current residence in Toronto.

The group's music is typically marked by complex harmonies and personal subject matter. Their themes, combined with slightly unpredictable song structures and actively rhythmic guitar accompaniment, pushes the material into the realm of folk-pop at times. This may also be due to the fact that Allen has sung backup for several Calgary performers, including McCann, and Elder has done much of the background vocal work for Jann Arden.

Their song, "Farmer," from the live album Slam (2006), features a percussive strummed guitar accompaniment and solo verse, later backed by harmonized interjections from the other singers, which display their wide tessitura. The vocal phrases are fairly rhythmic, cutting off abruptly rather than extending finishing notes, and a full sound is created by the dense vocal texture. Countermelodies are also favoured by the group, which adds an element of the importance individual expression holds within the context of the group dynamic. Their timbres, while varied, tend to be relatively husky and feature shaky vibrato, which at times seems to be driven by the emotional content of the lyrics.

John Wort Hannam

John Wort Hannam actually lives just outside Calgary in Fort MacLeod, and he used to work as a teacher, although his performing career has recently picked up and become his full- time job, sending him on tours across Canada. He is one of the few artists in this group who possesses a record label contract (with Black Hen Music), and as a result, the production on his recordings tends to be more stylized than is the case with the independent records discussed above. This has a significant effect on the overall mood of his albums, and has also

197 served to make him a folk festival and folk club favourite. Hannam's recordings feature a full band, driven mainly by acoustic instruments that play in their higher registers, which give the songs a light texture and cheerful mood. He reflects a lineage of introspective folk singer- songwriters (e.g., Gordon Lightfoot), and writes lyrics comprising local/regional subject matter such as quaint hotels and coal mining, but his songs also adopt elements of country such as quick-moving single-note mandolin and guitar solos (from bluegrass) and drawled phrases in laid-back ballads. At times, Hannam uses a fuller sound that is driven by amplified instruments, and the songs that feature this tend to have a pop-country sensibility.

In "Two-Bit Suit," from the 2007 album of the same name, we hear a sparse texture, which enables the listener to focus on his lyrics. These are light-hearted and rhythmically quick, mainly syllabic and within a melodically limited range for the most part. However,

Hannam's voice is very interesting—he sings mostly in a head voice, and while this isn't necessarily the loft voice of falsetto singing identified by Hollien (Wise 2007:10), it is predominantly nasal in quality, producing a somewhat pinched timbre that is clearly residing in the space between his nose and the back of his throat. This mode of singing produces an easily identifiable timbre, which would possibly endear him to his audience despite its clear landing on correct pitches and vibrato at the ends of longer words, and it is clearly within his comfortable singing range. As a result, his timbre rarely changes, and it is obvious that this comfortable range is fairly wide, since it can be heard on all of the album's selections.

Kris Demeanor/Chantal Vitalis

Two singers who embody more of a "quirky folk" style are Kris Demeanor and

Chantal Vitalis. I discuss these two in conjunction here because their solo careers have partially resulted from their frequent collaboration. Vitalis is a principal coordinator for the

198 Rockergirl Camp that takes place every July in Calgary, and performs a type of mellow folk pop regularly throughout the city. Demeanor's experimental folk is driven mainly by rapid delivery of dense lyrics, electronic sounds, and musique concrete effects. He often speaks sections of lyrics, as in "Speed it Up" (from Party All Night [2003]), and gasps for breath between long sections of recitation. The melody in this example is fairly static, dancing around two or three notes for the most part, although at times he leaps into a falsetto range for expressive effect.

Vitalis's voice is husky at times, possessing a relaxed timbre that matches the relaxed mood of her songs. Like most of the other singers, her vibrato is limited, and heard even less due to the abrupt endings to phrases. She balances static melodies with wide leaps, and due to the atmospheric nature of her songs the vocals are also balanced against the guitar in the mix.

Vitalis explores guitar timbres and uses arpeggiated accompaniment and is much less wordy that Demeanor. She moves into higher-energy tempos and funk-like guitar in songs like

"Charlotte" (Today's Special [2002]). While most of Vitalis's lyrics focus on personal issues and relationships (i.e., as in "Is My Coming Round a Problem"), she also broaches the political and humorous, as in the country-driven two song dialogue between a meat-eater and a pig who is about to be killed ("Pigs [Makes Ham]," "Herbert's Reply").

Widow Maker

Widow Maker is one of the more prominent bluegrass groups in the city, featuring several gifted instrumentalists. Led by Craig Korth and Julie Kerr, the band contends with dispersed members in BC and Alberta, and with the complications brought about by raising young children. They gather in Calgary regularly to rehearse, record, and perform at venues like the folk festival and folk clubs, and generally play in a traditional form of bluegrass,

199 avoiding the more experimental ventures of recent groups. However, most of their repertoire is written by members of the group and features strong harmonized singing and extended instrumental solos. The singers tend to use the nasal voices common to bluegrass in order to sing in a "high lonesome" twangy fashion. They affect a drawl like Phillips and Williams, which also contributes to that aesthetic. The accompaniment for instrumental solos is light, with backbeat "chopping" on banjo and mandolin, and a I/V alternation on beats one and three in the bass. In "Water's Rising," from The Awful Truth (2007), the tempo is fairly slow and features minimal percussion that evokes horse's hooves trotting. While the singing is smooth and well-harmonized, rhythmically together and devoid of mistakes, there are a few non- melodic noises heard in the vocal production, especially hiccups in the male voices. The articulation of beginning and ending consonants is limited in an effort to smooth over rough edges in the voices, and to blend the two voices together. The voices are forward in the mix, but despite their accuracy and blend, they are relaxed and natural-sounding, which balances out the virtuosic nature of the instrumental playing.

Musical Iconography

A brief discussion of the visual presentation of these artists is necessary, as the costuming and imagery used signify both the genre codes set out by alt-country and the

"norms" established by ideas of western identity in Calgary. The three "cowboy" singers,

Tom Phillips, Tim Hus, and Matt Masters, maintain cowboy costuming in their album art and live performances, and this is kept year round regardless of the timing of cowboy-themed events like Stampede (for example, Phillips's live recording on the accompanying DVD is from December 2008, five days before Christmas). The most extreme of these is Masters, who often wears all of the stereotypical cowboy singer gear, including western shirts, boots,

200 hat, chaps, and vest (see Figure 8). Phillips is almost always seen in a hat and boots, and often also features pictures of himself as a child riding horses in his album covers; he is also often pictured as a wandering, weary cowboy troubadour (see Figure 9). In performance, he 1 X maintains this costuming, often appearing exactly as he is seen in Fig. 10.

Tim Hus limits his cowboy costuming to boots and a hat, and pictures himself against outdoor backdrops that represent rural work. On Alberta Crude, he overtly uses symbols linked to the oil industry, whereas on Bush Pilot Buckaroo, he is pictured on a glacier-like frozen lake and in front of a parked semi-trailer (see Figs. 11, 12, 13, and 14). There is also a prominent message with regard to Alberta's centennial birthday in Alberta Crude (Fig. 12), signifying his connection to the region, and the romanticization of all of the symbols associated with the west: hard work, frontier spirit, and images of horseshoes and weathered wood. Hus regularly wears similar costuming in live performance, as seen in Fig. 15. Jane

Hawley adopts elements of the rural in her album imagery but in a much different and more personalized way, perhaps in an effort to connect her visual image with the themes of her lyrics. Her dress is not visible, nor are many markers of her surroundings. Instead, a close-up of her face is pictured against a gravel road with the horses that represent her ranch life with her husband in the distant background. These images portray a blurred, nostalgic reference to a simpler life lived in connection with the outdoors (see Figs. 16 and 17).

This nostalgia is more forcefully present in those artists connected to rock and punk.

Perhaps this is the result of the persistent imagery of the past in early alt-country artists who were operating from a punk perspective (such as Uncle Tupelo). In these artists, the downtrodden rural spaces, farming garb, and angst noted by Peterson and Beal (237) are

18 All in-concert photographs here except Fig. 14 were taken by me during fieldwork.

201 ubiquitous. For example, Steve Coffey uses prairie imagery extensively, either in album pictures (see Fig. 18, which is likely a photograph of his grandparents working on their farm) or his own paintings, which include vast prairie fields, grain elevators, oil rigs, and urban chaos surrounded by pollution and clouds. Coffey himself is generally clothed in more casual wear, and does not usually adopt western clothing, although he has been seen in western- themed shirts, as has his band (see Fig. 19). Scott MacLeod appears in similar clothing such as plaid shirts and jeans, and uses images of prairie grasses as a connection to his nostalgic and rural-themed songs (see Figs. 20 and 21); Dave McCann presents the same kinds of images.

McCann's career as a graphic artist is evident in his album art, which evokes the rural with sepia-toned scenes of him and his band in a tavern (Fig. 22) and outside on an ancient-looking pickup truck (Fig. 23).

This continues with artists like Steve Pineo, evoking the past with his album cover focused on an antique car (Fig. 24) and with John Wort Hannam's contemplative stare while he browses through records in an antique store (Fig. 25). Tim Williams is pictured as a serious musician and music historian, which lends him authenticity in the realm of the blues

(Fig. 26). Figures 16,17, 18, 22, 23, 24, and 25 fall into the grainy and blurry amateur album category noted by Fox and Ching, while Figures 27, 28, 29, and 30 occupy the folk-artsy realm. The ironic illustration category is more rare for the Calgary artists, but elements of it can be seen in Fig. 31. All of these images, in some sense or another, evoke either the West or the past, and at times the two are conflated. The use of sepia-tone, the constant imagery of the rural landscape and symbols associated with rural life and work, and the consistent farm- and cowboy-identified clothing, all serve to reflect on a past that created a solid Alberta identity, and represented an idealized better way of life. The music produced by these artists goes hand

202 in hand with these images, utilizing stripped-down production, natural-sounding singing, and past country styles. Fig. 9>: Tom Phillips

Fig. 1®: Torn Phillips 5m concert

204 Fig. 11: Cover of Tim Hus's Alberta Crude album

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Fig 12: Inside of the Alberta Crude album Fig 13: Inside of Bush Pilot Buckaroo album

Fig 14: Inside of Bush Pilot Buckaroo album

206 Fig 15: Tim Huns nm live performance Fig 16: Cover of Jane Hawley's Ordinary Dream album

Fig 17: Back of Hawley's album Fig 18: Back of Steve Coffey's Passion Town album

Fig 19: Steve Coffey and the Lokels in live performance (from left: Dave Bauer, Lance Loree, Coffey, and Russ Baker)

209 Fig 2®: Cover of Scott MacLeod's detoimt album

Fig 21: Scott MacLeod (from his Facebook profile)

210 Fig 22: Dave McCann and band (from album inserts) Fig 23: Dave McCann and band (from album inserts)

Fig 24: Cover of Steve Pineo's A Perfectly Good Friendship album A. V* * 4 V '' t »H A-

K o 4 Fig. 27: Steve Coffey Passion Town cover

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Fig 28: Dave McCann Country Medicine cover Fig. 29: Kris Demeanor cover

Fig. 30: Matt Masters Centennial Swell cover Fig. 31: Tom Phillips Downtown Cowboy cover

ComdiiiisioE

This chapter has investigated the stylistic parameters of roots artists in Calgary,

focusing on alt-country artists in particular. By first reviewing the extant literature on alt- country and its ancestry in recorded music, I have discerned the particular ideologies, practices, and musical influences that governed its development. I connected this discourse on

alt-country to theories of intertextuality, which aid in analyzing alt-country's mix of cobbled-

together styles and the reasons for their reinterpretation in the alt-country context.

Intertextuality also helps to reveal the role of individual authors and audiences, placing the

weight of interpretation equally on receptive contexts, author motivation, past texts and

stylistic conventions, and genre expectations. Thus, the meanings that are derived from alt-

country are highly individualized, dependent on one's understanding of country music history,

216 the relationship between musician and audience, and the more general influence of popular culture.

A number of integrated elements constitute the sound of alt-country in Calgary. First and foremost among these is the timbre or grain of the voice, which, although varied across the artists discussed above, maintains a common thread of sounding "natural,"19 rough, or distinct. The quality of the voice is paramount to the aesthetic of alt-country, not only because it functions to distinguish the genre from mainstream country music, but because it reveals the independent nature of the genre's practitioners in a tangibly sonic way. By allowing the

embodied effort of singing to be heard through grunts, growls, hiccups, cries, and sighs, the artists analyzed here have made the stylistic choice to not smooth over these sounds during recording and post-production, something that may typically be imposed by A&R executives at major record labels.

In his argument that the grain of the voice is somewhat ineffable, yet puts music

listeners on the path to jouissance, Barthes says

A voice lacking in any 'grain', in signifying weight, fits well with the demands of an average culture. Such a culture, defined by the growth of the number of listeners and the disappearance of practitioners (no more amateurs), wants art, wants music, provided they be clear, that they 'translate' an emotion and represent a signified (the 'meaning' of a poem); an art that inoculates pleasure (by reducing it to a known, coded emotion) and reconciles the subject to what in music can be said.. .by Institution, Criticism, Opinion. (Barthes 1988:185)

Speaking more specifically of one lesser known artist, Barthes continues: "perhaps.. .because

this art was already marginal,.. .it was able to bear traces of signifiance, to escape the tyranny

of meaning" (ibid.). I would like to suggest that mainstream country falls under Barthes's

description of the music and audience in the first quote, and that alt-country, being a marginal

19 That is, with little difference between a speaking and singing voice.

217 genre, falls under his second description, and I suspect this is a commonly felt distinction for alt-country audiences. Furthermore, the vocal performance practice found in alt-country not only comes from other roots genres such as bluegrass, blues, and folk, but it continues to be central to common understandings of how a broader roots genre is sonically defined.

Moreover, the stripped-down approach to production, the DIY aesthetic that governs recording processes and musical styles, and the more obvious elements of song structure and instrumentation are common to both roots and alt-country. I thus have applied my interpretation of alt-country's sound to other roots artists in the city, many of whom regularly play and cross paths with Calgarian alt-country singers.

For those involved in roots and alt-country music production, where the "natural" singing voice is understood as inherently better than the voices heard in mainstream country and pop, there is no doubt that this element is highly valued among alt-country's artists and audiences, and serves to increase the sense of an artist's authenticity. This authenticity is constructed in a complex way by the genre's producers and consumers: in recognizing the constraints imposed by the commercial realm in which alt-country is created and listened to, aspects of nostalgia, tradition, homage, irony, pastiche, and innovation are accepted as part of the distinct character of alt-country in particular. Furthermore, the intertextual nature of alt-

country is not only manifest in layers of references, the interpretive possibilities of the sung text and musical text, and the articulation of lyrics in previously heard manners, but by the visual imagery used by the artists. The following chapter will address this imagery more

explicitly by examining the role that it plays in creating nostalgia and a roots music landscape, particularly in gentrified regions of the city.

218 Chapter 4: "Land of the In Between": Nostalgia, Gentrification, and Desired Landscapes in Calgarian Roots Music

In April, 2009, the Alberta government launched a re-branding campaign designed to attract new inhabitants and remind current citizens of why the province was a desirable location. Alberta is in the habit of reconstructing its public identity regularly, especially in order to shed any remnants of the "old west" when it may be politically beneficial (see

Chapter 1). However, this campaign was particularly marked by scandal when it was discovered that the photo used in most advertisements, showing two children running freely along one of the province's not-so-ubiquitous "shorelines," was a stock photo of the beach near Sir Lancelot's castle in Northumberland, England (see Figure 32) (Simons 2009).

Figure 32: Promotional advertisement for Alberta's $25-million re-branding campaign

In denying any wrongdoing, those behind the campaign suggested that " 'this slide represents

Albertans' concern for the future of the world,'" and that " 'there's no attempt to make people think that this is Alberta.. .there's no attempt to mislead. That picture just fit the mood and tone of what we were trying to do.'" Instead, the picture "was specifically chosen because of its foreign location to represent Albertans' interest in global issues" (ibid.). Quite strange: is

Alberta not continually celebrated for its diverse landscapes and the opportunity that they have afforded? Why not use pictures of the vast prairies, the spectacular downtown landscapes of

Calgary or Edmonton, or any number of the picturesque locations found in the Rocky

219 Mountains? It seemed as though this was yet another instance of Alberta denying aspects of its identity in the effort to promote itself.

But the campaign did not end there. An accompanying promotional video, found on the Alberta Brand website (http://www.albertabrand.com/) features numerous paradoxical statements, images, and assumptions about Albertan identity, all clearly tied directly to a deified and static landscape. Opening with the postulation that before Alberta was "Alberta"

(that is, before white European immigration) it was simply an unmarked and wide open space begging to be imbued with meaning by human activity, the video continues to employ persuasive phrasing and imagery throughout. Using pictures of happy families and groups of friends or relaxing individuals in solitude against the imposing backdrop of mountains, the ad suggests Alberta is a place for those with "courage and determination" to achieve success.

Similar words that function to portray Alberta's values appear throughout, such as

"aspirational, dynamic, strong, genuine;" progress is represented by "We don't just dream.

We do;" and the root of "strength" is found in "tradition." The video also seems to herald the

"open door" policy of Alberta, which "embraces diversity," yet only features three (at most— two are ambiguous) non-Caucasian people. The conclusion of the piece features the phrase,

"We hold true to the belief that our path from the past to the future can be made wide enough to carry the dreams of all Alberta" accompanied by shimmering strings, which crescendo as the video shifts to a picture of an individual standing on top of a mountain.

The landscape is considered to be central to Albertan, and more specifically, Calgarian, identity—those who live within the province's borders feel deeply attached to the land; those from outside Alberta comment frequently on its emotional and physical impact. A discussion of that connection between identity and place needs to be taken further into an investigation of

220 how the surrounding environment is embedded in the life, culture, and collective- and self- expression of Calgary. As demonstrated by the above-mentioned video, the landscape of

Alberta is invoked for any number of reasons, but that landscape is inextricably connected to the values and self-identification not only propagated by the province but felt by its inhabitants. This makes the denial of the local landscape in the campaign's print advertising so perplexing, but as will be illuminated below, Alberta seems to be constantly caught between wanting to promote itself, and feeling that that promotion has to somehow deny things that are specifically Albertan. Recent literature addressing music and place has reversed the trend of assuming a unidirectional impact of landscape on music and identity, and instead suggests that music constructs a place, creating an identifiable and unique soundscape

(Cohen 1998; Connell and Gibson 2003; Doyle 2005; Feld and Basso 1996; Leyshon, Matless, and Revill 1998; Swiss, Herman, and Sloop 1997; Wrazen 2007). Thus perceptions of place are continually shifting as the sonic environment changes one's experience of it.

While I draw on these reconfigured theories of music and place in this chapter, I do not wish to dwell on them for long. Instead, they are used as a foundation from which I approach the complex relationship that Calgarian artists and audiences sustain with their environments.

Relying principally on the works of authors such as Louise Wrazen, who suggests that place is not only remembered and re-imagined through musical performance, but is presented through the favourable lens that nostalgia provides (2007), I argue that Calgarians actually imagine

their landscape20 much in the way that diasporic populations do, through a nostalgic idea of

20 Landscape is a highly charged term with multiple uses in geographical and anthropological discourse. Here, I am using landscape largely as a term for "a socially constructed (or imagined) landscape." That is, landscape functions throughout this chapter as that which is imagined from the physical experience of places. The term "soundscape" functions in the same way and has a similar complex background. Here, I am not using the frequently referenced notion of soundscape attributed to R. Murray Schafer, wherein soundscape accounts for all humanly produced and naturally occurring sounds in the environment. His analytical system for understanding 221 what it once was, or is but cannot be seen. This nostalgia for that which is physically real but visibly absent in daily life, or for that which is of an imagined past way of life, functions to construct the contemporary landscape of Calgary. As such, city planning, the layout of the city, the way inhabitants create paths and discourse around it, and ultimately, the soundscape that emerges from it, all rely on these imagined ideas of what the land is and does. This is not to say that experiences of the urban landscape, outlying suburbs, and farther away mountains and prairies are not real for inhabitants; rather, they more frequently operate as images by which to distinguish Calgary and its music from other places. I elucidate these ideas through an initial discussion of recent work on nostalgia as well as theories of music and place, then address more specific issues of the construction of Calgarian soundscapes, gentrification trends in the city, and the use of space and how that affects music consumption. Finally, I turn to specific musical examples that demonstrate these theories.

Nostalgia

We're surrounded by ranchers and farmers; that has influenced what I write about. And obviously living in a small town with those little characters. My drummer said the other day, I played a new song, and he said, "I can't believe you have a song without the words 'Main street,'" somewhere in the song, [laughs] (Wort Hannam 2007)

"How can one be homesick for a home that one never had?" asks Svetlana Boym

(2001 :xiii). Fantasizing about another place or time characterizes the mindset behind

discourse on place in Calgary and the impetus for preserving sites of heritage. But the nostalgia that drives these fantasies is actually, as defined by Boym, "a longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed. Nostalgia is a sentiment of loss and displacement, but it

interactions between humans and their sonic environment, while underpinning most discussions of soundscape, does not apply here, as I am not dealing with the entirety of an acoustic ecological system. Instead, I understand soundscape as a socially constructed or imagined understanding of place through aural experiences, most of which are musical in nature. 222 is also a romance with one's own fantasy" (ibid.). This commonly felt sentiment, regardless of social background, physical location, or personal history, has moved from being thought of as a physical disease (Boym; Lowenthal) to a persistent trope in contemporary popular culture and tourist sites. In fact, it is rare to encounter recollections of bygone eras without a sense of loss or sadness creeping in, particularly in pop culture. Historical reconstructions and reminiscences of past years, whether in the form of collective or personal experience, are framed within a yearning for that which is no longer. But nostalgia often blurs reality and fantasy, particularly when it comes to remembering places, as Boym notes, "The danger of nostalgia is that it tends to confuse the actual home and the imaginary one" (ibid., xvi).

Lowenthal agrees: "nostalgia is memory with the pain removed" (Lowenthal 1985:8), and this ignorance of reality can frequently enable a descent into idealized visions of the past. But these drawbacks are not meant to diminish the power and importance of nostalgia; it connects disparate groups and individuals across temporal and spatial distance, and adds emotional weight to artistic expression.

Because nostalgia has been most prevalent in the ages of modernity and post- modernity, its object is not just earlier years, but places one is not currently experiencing.

This "sideways" longing is especially enabled by increased global travel and the virtual accessibility of other places through technological means. Boym concurs: "Nostalgia is.. .a result of a new understanding of time and space that made the division into 'local' and

'universal' possible...[it is] about the relationship between individual biography and the biography of groups or nations, between personal and collective memory" (Boym 2001:xvi).

Nostalgia's earlier manifestations in immigrants far from their homelands and soldiers at war, while considered physical ailments, were inextricably linked to place-specific markers such as

223 food and art, the most prevalent of these being music. The sounds of one's childhood home, the ingrained melodies and timbres of indigenous music, are often considered to be the initial stimulant for nostalgic feeling (Lowenthal 1985:10).

What, then, is the function of nostalgia? The most obvious purpose is its facilitation of pain-free recollection, but it has wider implications and uses. For Lowenthal, who examines the benefits and risks of revisiting the past in great detail, nostalgia provides comfort in an uncomfortable present, offering relief through the lens of contemporary ignorance. Concern for the past helps to create a communal identity and ensure continuity with previous generations (ibid., xvi). In the case of a place such as Calgary, often the past seems more familiar than the present, which is ever-changing and uncertain. The past, or places not habitually accessed, provides the foundation for identity construction within a contemporary climate of flux and instability (Boym 2001:53). Among Lowenthal's top reasons for resurrecting or reflecting on the past is its role in our sense of identity; the "ability to recall and identify with our own past gives existence meaning, purpose, and value;" "to know what we were confirms that we are" (Lowenthal 1985:41; 197). An abdication of guilt that is enabled through nostalgia helps to hide historical or unknown moments of wrongdoing and imperfection (Boym 2001:xiv).

Key to my discussion is not so much individual nostalgia enacted through remembrances of childhood; rather it is the collective longing that is produced by expressive culture and institutions promulgating heritage that influences conceptions of place in Calgary.

For Lowenthal, personal memories, private and subject to revision, are confirmed when they are shared, providing groups with a sense of cohesion and certainty (Lowenthal 1985:196).

While I am mindful of Boym's use of collective memory, "the common landmarks of

224 everyday life.. .shared social frameworks of individual recollections... [which] offer us mere

signposts for individual reminiscences that could suggest multiple narratives," I am interested

in how that collective memory intersects with rhetoric from institutional memory, or what

Boym terms "national memory [which] tends to make a single teleological plot out of shared

everyday recollections" (Boym 2001:53). The point of connection between collective (here,

Calgarian21) and regional (prairie; Western) memory generates the space in which musical

enactments of place and nostalgia occur in Calgary.

Nostalgia and the City

[T]he country life that I grew up in at Bragg Creek, it's gone now, you know, I mean it's part of the city now in general. That encroaching of the city on rural life kind of leaves me with a melancholy that I think may occur in my music in some ways. I realize it's gotta happen, there's no stopping it, but it just kind of makes me sad to watch all these people that I knew, the places being subdivided and gone.. .1 would situate myself as one of those refugees, where, the country that I know, or the rural aspect that I know, it's gone anyway. Not a hell of a lot I can do about it but Calgary is part of it, right, and so I grew up here too, so it's all one to me. Though, I think, there's a certain goodness of will in a lot of rural people and a lot of original Calgarians, and people all over the world, I notice, 'cause they still have part of that country thing with them, it hasn't gone away, it's been influenced through generations. (Phillips 2002)

The city is a complex place where past and future are continually acted out in tandem.

While cities such as Calgary focus on development and progress, a habitual looking back or

towards landscapes beyond the city tempers such tendencies and characterizes processes like

gentrification. By improvising on its past, the city can imagine its future; the longing for a

real or imagined city of the past typifies reconstruction and new urban rituals (Boym:75).

Naturally, this process takes varying shapes depending on the city in question—Calgary's

21 While not necessarily conceiving of a socially uniform group of Calgary inhabitants, I do use collective here as a way to refer to residents of the city who have lived there long enough (approximately a year or longer) to begin to understand the rhetoric of place-based experience put forth by long-term residents, the popular press, and general discourse in the city. 225 reconstruction is still outweighed by its spread to outlying suburban regions. The longing for rural life and its perceived serenity nevertheless pervades Calgarian nostalgia; yet the landscape of the city allows for these longings to be acted out: "the city, then, is an ideal crossroads between longing and estrangement, memory and freedom, nostalgia and modernity" (ibid., 76). It is key to remember here that Calgary functions as context for nostalgia, not as the symbol of it, since it rarely embodies the physical elements of place that are attributed to it (ibid., 77).

Place functions to provide those who are nostalgic with a context for remembering, yet the particularities of place are both individually forgotten and collectively imagined in recollection. This is manifested in Calgary in complex ways: for the city's inhabitants, the places that are celebrated are often physically and/or temporally distanced from the typical urban resident. One may live in the downtown core and be thus removed from an easily accessible sight of the mountains; similarly that resident might never venture forty minutes to the north by car to experience the rural prairie area beyond the city limits. This displacement from the reality of phenomenological place-based experiences that underlie the daily discourse of Calgarians is referenced by Wrazen in her discussion of Gorale populations. The prominent role given to the mountainous landscape surrounding the Podhale region of Poland was surprising to Wrazen given the absence of said mountains in the line of vision from the town of Rogoznik (Wrazen 2007:189).

My own relationship with the landscape became more apparent as I went back to

Alberta for fieldwork trips between 2003 and 2009. The drive from the airport to the place at which I stayed made me feel as though my constituent parts, which had become off-kilter during my absence, were re-aligned as 1 caught sight of the expanse of flatness north of the

226 airport and the seemingly limitless sky above that open space. I felt relieved as though my identity was once again intact. Within a day or two of being in the city, I would gratefully spot the snow-covered Rocky Mountain peaks in the distance and proudly think I was somehow of those mountains and I could return to Toronto and brag about the magnificent sights available in my hometown. Similarly, I would seek out movies that had been filmed in

Alberta during my time in Toronto, gratefully taking in the flattering cinematic depiction of mountainous landscapes and windy fields, feeling as though I was the only person in the audience who had actually experienced it. Yet, I rarely went into the mountains when I lived in Calgary; I only visited Banff and Canmore (the nearest mountain towns to the city) a handful of times, and had otherwise only experienced the Rockies during childhood drives through them to B.C. in the summers. Why then, did it feel like I was "back to normal" seeing the mountains when I had actually spent the majority of my youth couched in the depths of suburbia with no nearby view of mountains or prairies?

This experience could be applied to the majority of Calgarians born in the city; it is perhaps even more applicable to recent immigrants who may not have ventured beyond the city's borders at all yet. Nevertheless, it is not expansive suburban streets, low-rise buildings, or the winding Bow River through downtown that figure into Calgary's place discourse. It is these outlying areas, existing mainly in Calgarians' collective imagination, that constitute the city's place-based identity. Thus citizens not only desire a return to the ways of past

Calgarians, as noted above, they desire an existence within a place to which they do not have immediate access, yet they believe they are perpetually in that imagined place, as noted by folk singer Kris Demeanor:

227 There tends to be a vague, sentimental feeling about some sort of pleasant, rural type of existence that doesn't really exist. Even if you go out to the rural areas, half of the places in the rural areas now stink because they're full of gas flares and every little chunk of land has a stake in it that belongs to either Esso or Husky, everything belongs to either the oil and gas or the ranching community, there are very few public places now that don't have that. So that's not an idyllic place anymore. It's like Alberta artists sometimes, have been creating this false reality that they have come to believe and that the rest of the country has come to believe. And that doesn't serve anybody.. .and on the flip side, there are many times that I go out to the prairies and I do feel it's wonderful and beautiful and open, the reason that I rail against the other stuff is because I like that stuff so much that I'm protective of it and I want that reality to exist as well. And the problem that I have with people talking about the sentimental side of it, is that in fifty years, they're going to turn around and realize that's all gone. So that's why I think it's important to look at both sides of the reality now. (Demeanor 2006)

Contemporary inhabitants of Calgary22 may argue that the enveloping influence of nostalgia is not acting against urban renewal and change; in the architecture alone, the old is quickly demolished to make way for the new, and this aesthetic is celebrated across the city.

There is a tension between the two effects of urban renewal: it is acting against nostalgia at the same time that renewal is encouraging nostalgia. By prioritizing the age of old neighbourhoods and preserving that which represents past years, urban renewal institutionalizes nostalgia through a renovation of it. I argue that three types of longing are happening at once in the Calgary urban mindset. Here, I use longing in the way that

22 The broad title of "Calgarian" used throughout this chapter runs the risk of essentializing widely diverse experiences of the city and its landscape. What appeal does nostalgia for a bygone, rurally influenced city hold for new, urban-raised generations or recent immigrants with no attachment to that past? As such, I do not wish to imply that the relationship Calgary residents maintain with their surroundings is universal. Nevertheless, keeping in mind that many newer inhabitants of the city may not experience the nostalgia common to long-time inhabitants, I base my analysis on several sources: 1) my own experience of living in and thinking about the city's environment; 2) the place-based discourse I have encountered in personal conversations; daily experience in the city; and more formal interview settings; and 3) formal analyses of place-based experience in Calgary and Alberta, such as those listed in Chapter 1, and more popular press-oriented documentation of connections between prairie identity and the landscape. It was often evident in interviews that for those who had lived in the city for a very short time, even less than a year (Newson; McCann), that adopting a western identity, acclimatizing to the city's dominant culture, and enjoying the physical surroundings were not as difficult as had been anticipated. At a gathering of former Calgarians and other friends, a friend of mine noted that one of her "anarchist, punk, extremely left-wing" friends had quickly and eagerly participated in the dress and events of the Stampede regardless of its associations with Alberta history and politics. This rapid transformation, while initially surprising my friend, was a familiar story to many of us Calgarians in the group. 228 Lowenthal and Boym do in their discussions of nostalgia. Longing suggests a desire for that which is not currently available and signifies a distancing between that which is desired and that which is immediately accessible. Moreover, the object of longing may never have actually existed but may be the product of imagination, or is an altered object of desire, changed in the imagination by one's separation from it. The object of longing is also not necessarily unattainable, although its general state of near-perfection in the imaginary makes the object less attainable in reality. As such, the three types of longing experienced by

Calgarians are as follows:

1) Calgarians long for landscapes that are accessible but physically/visually out of reach (in particular the mountains and prairies). 2) Calgarians long for a way of life that is implicitly linked to the outlying rural regions of the city. 3) Calgarians long for a past city that is partially resurrected by invented traditions such as the Stampede, but is also imagined and consciously recreated by gentrification processes.

These three longings often collide, producing layered and intriguing views of life in the city, and support Boym's question: "how did it happen that an antinostalgic modern city that used to be a stronghold of progress become a nostalgic site?" (Boym 2001:80). Calgarians are conflating time and place, believing that outlying areas hold past ideals and simpler lifestyles that are not only fundamental to their identity, but remain static. Until recently, there has been very little preservation in Calgary outside of traditions and icons linked to the Stampede (see

Chapter 1), but the Stampede in particular is marked by a higher degree of "symbolic

fomalization and ritualization than the.. .conventions after which [it was] patterned" (ibid.,

42). The reason for this may in fact be the lack of preservation and the rapid pace of urban

change found within Calgary (Boym 2001:42). Calgary is what Boym terms as a particularly

"porous" city, one that embodies a variety of temporal dimensions in its physical space, "a

229 place of continuous improvisation that irritates out-of-town developers" (ibid., 77). Thus, the increasing presence of institutionalized heritage helps to alleviate the city of its unsettled identity.

Nostalgia and Heritage

Patricia Wood calls heritage the "aesthetic of history" (Wood 2000:34). Explained by

Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, heritage is "the transvaluation of the obsolete, the mistaken, the outmoded, the dead, and the defunct.. .created through a process of exhibition.. .Exhibition endows heritage thus conceived with a second life" (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995:369), and is most obviously seen in the dedicated sites of nostalgic historical re-enactments in Calgary such as Heritage Park and Fort Calgary. But heritage, as a marketing tool or self-affirming device, is also continually present in the soundscape of the city, whether through radio and festival programming, through the strains of live music emerging from venues, or through the discourse on the importance of roots and country music in shaping Calgarian identity. Like the city itself, those producing the roots music soundscape of Calgary must tread lightly between notions of progress and tradition, drawing on entrenched notions of the past, playing on nostalgic appeal, using contemporary modes of transmission, in order to signify nostalgia's importance in present-day Calgarians' lives.

Heritage is a favoured concept in Alberta (Wood 2000:34), seen in outright homage to past practices. But Kirshenblatt-Gimblett suggests that conscious recognition and exhibition of heritage is problematic—why protect something that has proven itself to be unsustainable

(Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995:370)? For her, heritage functions to "produce something new in the present that has recourse to the past" (ibid.), allowing urban populations to find comfort in visiting heritage sites and view them as surrogate hometowns when their present landscape

230 becomes unrecognizable (Lowenthal 1985:xv). Similarly, Boym argues that nostalgia has been co-opted and institutionalized as heritage, making the past knowable (2001:15).

Calgary's difficult relationship with the old and the new is tempered by nostalgia-producing sounds and sites, which signify the city's sense of unknown and limited history.

Indeed, despite the availability of heritage sites in Calgary, they are rarely visited by inhabitants23, but function to comfort them that indeed the city has a history. This history is being well-documented and preserved, in however small a form, which allows a yearning for, but not an actual search for, the past (Lowenthal 1985:7; 42) and alleviates the crisis of memory for a city that requires prostheses such as museums and commemorative events to create common spaces of memory (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 1995:376). Wood examines Fort

Calgary and Heritage Park in Calgary through the lens of a consciously constructed aesthetic of heritage, which is more highly valued than historical accuracy. She suggests that this aesthetic works to confine the past to specific sites (as with western-influenced public art, as noted in Chapter 1), which separates it from the political and economic drives of the city

(Wood 2000:33). In this vein, Wood suggests that the act of confining heritage helps reinforce the role the past plays in a culture's self-perception and self-definition (ibid., 34). Of particular relevance here, although Wood does not examine the sonic or musical aspects of either site, is the place that Fort Calgary Historic Park occupies. Fort Calgary, its interpretive centre, and the Deane House Historic Site and Restaurant, all lie on the banks of the city's rivers near downtown, in a neighbourhood that is perpetually under reconstruction and gentrification. She notes that the actual site's importance is increasingly marginalized to the

23 Based on my own observations of people I know and of the visitors to these sites, who exhibit a variety of tourist-associated behaviours. 231 exhibits available on the site, which, contained by the limiting boundaries of the park, could actually be placed anywhere in the city with equal effect (ibid., 39).

I am interested in this explicit sidelining of the past to a tense, or class conflict-ridden, neighbourhood of the city because this is also the neighbourhood where much of the city's live roots music activity takes place. The area broadly known as the East Village or Inglewood, houses the Ironwood Stage and Grill, where my informants have received a great deal of attention and consistent support. Thus, the "presentation of the time of the past as a place to be visited.. .distancing the past from the present" (ibid., 40, emphasis original) is bound up with a soundtrack of music drawing on traditions of past music, and satisfies the urban desire

felt in Calgary to revisit history as encased in a pleasantly nostalgic package. However, before

discussing the implications of this sonic environment, I examine the changes of the East

Village, contextualized within a broader theory of gentrification.

Gentrification: The Soundtrack to Transformation

The field of gentrification studies is driven by topic and it intersects multiple

disciplines and has yet to benefit from a coherent theoretical foundation.24 The result is that

case studies are framed from a multitude of perspectives, and in some instances, this has

proven to be advantageous to city case studies that do not follow a predictable gentrification

trajectory. On the other hand, these varying perspectives can hinder a solid explanation of the

complex factors that induce gentrification. I thus draw on some recent studies that emphasize

the role of the artist in particular, but which also underscore the implicit force of globalization,

both of which, I believe, play a significant role in Calgary's self-identification and

transformation.

24 However, the recent publication, Gentrification, ed. Loretta Lees, Tom Slater, and Elvin Wyly (2008), aims to coalesce these multiple theoretical perspectives in a textbook-style format. 232 In general, gentrification is viewed as the process by which neglected neighbourhoods

are revitalized and marketed to a higher economic class. The end result is unpredictable and

frequently complicated by several forces, including the stasis of original populations, tensions between classes, failure to "remake" the neighbourhood in its entirety, and a homogenization

or over-commercialization of that which was once viewed as authentic or unique. The term has been favoured by academics and the popular press, but derided at the institutional level, with governing bodies preferring the positive terms of "revitalization" or "urban renaissance" to obliterate references to class-driven displacement (Lees, Slater, and Wyly 2008:xix).

Hamnett's discussion of recent middle-class changes in London takes the following as a working definition of gentrification: "Gentrification is the social and spatial manifestation of the transition from an industrial to a post-industrial urban economy based on financial, business and creative services, with associated changes in the nature and location of work, in

occupational class structure, earnings and incomes, life styles and the structure of the housing market" (Hamnett 2003:2402), which is useful in this context to explain the slow process

experienced by neighbourhoods in Calgary. David Ley, working from Bourdieu's cultural

capital framework, suggests that "the origins of gentrification included the establishment of an urbane habitus that drew its identity from a perspective rich in cultural capital but (initially weak in economic capital)" (Ley 2003:2536).

Hamnett acknowledges the diversity of academic literature on the rise of gentrification

and locates three dominant and competing explanations for the process. The first suggests that

gentrification relies on a switch from a manufacturing-dominated industry to a service-based

one, wherein white-collar professionals replace working class populations and not only create

a professional, financial, service-driven economy, but demand a suitable cultural and

233 economic context for their lifestyle preferences (Hamnett 2003:2402). Tyler's overview of

Calgary's geography and shifting population (2004) concurs with this view of increasing professionalization, as does Carroll's account of westward-moving corporate power (2001).

Related to this change is Hamnett's second category of explanation: the result of class changes have ordered a shift in cultural preferences, which direct them towards living in city centres rather than suburbia. The availability of more options for entertainment and cultural consumption in city centres contributes to a desire to live in the places where these options are available, thus increasing the cultural capital of those who reside in areas bustling with artistic activity. Thirdly, a more economic perspective has suggested that an increasing gap between inner-city land values and rising property prices has created a desire for gentrified, but undervalued inner-city housing, that is, developers and landlords are charging high prices for the allure of remade loft-inspired downtown living (Hamnett 2003:2402-03). Others agree to similar categorizations of the literature (i.e., Butler and Robson 2003), and I would argue that all three are true of Calgary's East Village, and have followed in chronological order—that is, a shift in population is required to change the demand for inner-city housing and its accompanying lifestyle accoutrements.

Tom Slater further proposes that an additional perspective needs to broaden the discourse on gentrification—that of continentalism. He argues that the heavy body of literature on the subject privileges either very large cities or European ones, neglecting a rampant trend among numerous smaller cities in North America that are distinct from

European trends (Slater 2002:132). Drawing on earlier literature, Slater differentiates between the "revanchist" city of the United States, wherein fear of inner-city regions gives way to threatening middle-class takeover and revision of the city's social fabric, and the

234 "emancipatory" city of Canada, which unites populations of diverse economic, racial, and social backgrounds and fosters a space of tolerance, understanding, and freedom within gentrified areas (ibid.). Of course, in the case of Calgary, where the majority of the city's homeless population resides in the East Village, a space of understanding and tolerance has irrefutably not been established; rising tensions between the original population and new- home buyers have skyrocketed over the last decade, prompting the City to implement more and more plans to rebuild the region. Slater is mindful of this, and notes, "Gentrification may be liberating for young, bohemian, counter-cultural groups seeking to forge and express their

identities in central-city locations, but there are serious consequences once this group become

Ley's 'new middle class.' Among these are the displacement of low-income groups through

rising rents and real-estate speculation" (ibid., 145).

Gentrification in Calgary: The East Village

Keeping these theories in mind, I turn now to ideas that can be applied more

specifically to the case of the East Village in Calgary. While there are other areas of the city

at various stages of gentrification, each functioning for a different branch of the middle and

upper classes, the concentration of roots music in the East Village leads me to focus primarily

on this area. Calgary's massive growth in the recent past has helped place it within a national

and international consciousness, and has amplified the desire for cosmopolitanism and

sophistication. But its recent thrust into the global arena could sit uncomfortably with a city

that equally prides itself on its marginal status. Butler and Robson suggest that gentrification

actually acts "as an attempt to reconcile this view of the present with a somewhat nostalgic

view of [the] past.. .manifested by a desire to build a local community within the global city

that maps onto their particular set of values, backgrounds, aspirations, and resources" (Butler

235 and Robson 2003:1795). In Calgary, gentrifiers view themselves as cosmopolitan and global in nature, but still need to fuel a local identity by mapping fantasies of the past and the rural onto specific neighbourhoods like the East Village. Part of this is stimulated by "an all- embracing work culture" (ibid., 1798) that frequently takes one away from home and necessitates an intense experience of nostalgic ideas of home when the opportunity is available.

Drawing on both initiatives of the city of Calgary to revitalize the East Village and

David Ley's ideas of artist-driven gentrification, I suggest that Calgary's initiatives have instigated the progression of the neighbourhood to its current state. Ley uses Bourdieu's concept of cultural capital to argue that elite classes follow artist movement into inner-city neighbourhoods. Those with limited economic capital but substantial cultural capital gain dominant class status and stimulate movement from those with substantial economic capital

(Ley 2003:2533). A rejection of the commodification "that depreciates the meaning of place" can be "valorised as [an] authentic, symbolically rich [ideology]" (ibid., 2535), which is only enhanced by the presence of artistic activity. There is no question that the artistic activity found in the East Village, as discussed below, has been a major factor in hastening the gentrification of the area. Ley suggests that while artistic activity may not inevitably lead to gentrification, there is often a correlation between the two, especially in light of the

"valorisation of cultural competency among segments of the middle class" (ibid., 2540).

Keeping the following idea from Ley in mind, I will provide an overview of the East Village's renewal, which has led to its current state, equally appealing to the middle class and appalling to those who are being forced out: "The aesthetic appropriation of place, with its valuation of the commonplace and off-centre, appeals to other professionals, particularly those who are

236 also higher in cultural capital than in economic capital and who share something of the artist's antipathy towards commerce and convention" (ibid.).

There has been, until recently, little downtown development in Calgary in terms of housing, with the landscape largely dominated by corporate office towers. Downtown activity outside of office hours is rather absent, as most professionals commute from the outlying suburbs of the city. David Lampe suggests that "a cultural bias in favour of rural open space has contributed to the suburbanization urge since the late 1940s.. .in too many central-city downtowns, the patina of prosperity that prevails during business hours is replaced after 6:00

PM with a marginal and desperate street life" (Lampe 1993:365). But the city's expanse has become unmanageable, creating constant gridlock on thoroughfares and driving times of upwards of an hour across Calgary. The growing population means that a deconcentration of suburban spaces is necessitated by the changing framework of the city and the tenets of its inhabitants. The City of Calgary has recognized this, and in an effort to both curb outward growth and rejuvenate inner city areas, it has attempted to initiate projects in the places that are most in need of overhauling.

The East Village, Calgary's oldest neighbourhood, has become the prioritized target for such work. It is situated slightly east of downtown, immediately south of the Bow River, which runs throughout the city, and north of the Stampede Grounds (see Figure 33).

237 '"il"' II -.-• — - " — L •'.-SanaamptBiSe -~-Z ' * -- ^ -i _ l 1 lOAveSe _ - -i ~ # ~ - ' — ( H vii vv ~ // J] , f - —-- - ' X *- ~ - - t- - ' \ 5 * I I1 S ** , » , ** „„ - 13 Ave & ^ $ S P *. * g ^ # "fej ^%oHWDOd Stage USAveSefi &ti 17 Ave S

if i I * . " " « c|e tamM? ji , 21 Ave Se Tabsmao / 1 J? ~l i ( « • l, . ^ ^ 22 Ave Se^ £ &1S» -s) , , - , . ,„. - , ' « ~ ~ • 3 r SS- . 23 Avese Si - I Sji3 i it _ _ 'v •.-, —-Jirzi— ir— ^

Figure 33: Map of Calgary's East Village (source: www.mapquest.com)

It is well known for both its heritage sites, such as the Deane House and Fort Calgary, as well as its reputation for being a refuge for the working poor and homeless (Calgary's main shelters, the Calgary Drop-In Centre and the Salvation Army, are located here), and as the site of the highest crime rate in the city. In 1994, City Council approved an Area Redevelopment

Plan (ARP) that proposed the East Village be developed as a residential area, but changed that proposal to name it a mixed-use neighbourhood in 2001 (City of Calgary 1994). There has been great controversy over the projected development of the area, not only out of concern for the homeless community (half of the neighbourhood's 2,080 residents are homeless [Fekete and McGuinnis 2005]), but over the preservation of specific sites; the inevitable traffic congestion that will occur; the inability to control crime, drug dealing, and prostitution; and the estimated budget for the project, which has ranged from $1.5 million to $10 billion in various accounts. Unanticipated costs include the approximately $3 million settlement of a 238 dissolved partnership between the city and their original private development partner, the East

Village Partnership, Inc (ibid.).

However, the loss of taxpayer money on such matters is of little concern to the generally wealthy and conservative population of Calgary when the subject of the neighbourhood's population is broached. Accounts from potential home-buyers of being approached by "dark figures" emerging from shadows are common in the local press (Thomas

2003), which continues to discourage middle-class movement into the area. While there are efforts being made, such as the formation of the Downtown East Central Community

Association (DECCA), to create a neighbourhood that caters to a mixed population from different social, economic, or cultural backgrounds, the City has not attempted to follow suit, instead committing to more infrastructure-related expenditures such as $70 million for improving road conditions, sewers, and sidewalks in the hopes that this will attract private developers. The official plan of the city includes proposals for a central square, a (possible) downtown campus for the University of Calgary, pedestrian-friendly walkways, numerous entertainment prospects, massive condominium projects and retail ventures (Thomas 2004).

There are also numerous environmental concerns, not the least of which is the potential flooding of the Bow River into the area, predicted to happen within the next fifty years (ibid.).

The city ultimately views this project as a necessary progression that will only increase the perception of Calgary as a prosperous, attractive landscape.

This may not be the view of the local artists involved in the East Village's revitalization. While many of them are attracted to the area for the low property prices and central location, their goal may not necessarily be to perpetuate a middle-class invasion.

Despite Ley's conviction that artists hold special places in the middle-class roster because of

239 their education, awareness of pressing social issues, and avant-garde approach, many of them despise what the possible homogenization of trendy neighbourhoods represents. As such, they tend to be in favour of mixed-population regions that showcase cultural variety and a tolerant mindset. I propose that the aural landscape presented by the Ironwood Stage and Grill and the

King Edward Hotel blues bar signifies this way of thinking and I will contrast these two venues with the locations and musical offerings of two folk clubs in the city. The range of artists displayed at these venues contributes to a larger notion of a global sensibility that also retains the nostalgic character of Calgary and the East Village especially, with roots music residing at the forefront of this nostalgia. Moreover, this sensibility is present in visual markers fixed to the venues as well, making the links between place and music particularly evocative in the case of the Ironwood.

The Ironwood Stage and Grill

The Ironwood Stage and Grill opened in April 2003 (see Chapter 5 for a full discussion of the Ironwood's history and ownership). Aside from a small hiccup in ownership that closed its doors temporarily during the summer of 2004, it has thrived in the East Village. The

Ironwood opened with a mandate to showcase local roots and world music, as well as roots artists who are on tour. It is usually open every night of the week, featuring live bands daily.

The Ironwood is located on 9th Avenue Southeast, slightly west of 15th Street, east of the Stampede Park, and just south of the Bow River. 9th Avenue is the busiest stretch of road in Inglewood (the main neighbourhood of the East Village), with most businesses located along its length. While there are businesses that are typical of gentrified areas housed here, such as cafes, pubs, boutiques, and a plethora of tiny antique stores, there are other unexpected ventures such as the gun shop across the street from the Ironwood (see Figures 34 and 35).

240 The sidewalks encourage a considerable amount of pedestrian traffic, but they are often largely empty of middle-class wanderers, perhaps because members of the homeless population have attempted to retain a sense of territory and community by frequenting 9th

Avenue. This strip of business activity does not extend much farther east of 15th Street; both this area and north of 9th Avenue are occupied by a mixture of dilapidated (or restored) houses and newly constructed condominium complexes. Storefronts are similarly run down; the bright colour and streamlined architecture that is generally characteristic of well-established gentrified neighbourhoods has not been realized in Inglewood. However, the area retains a sense of the quaint and the old-fashioned, redolent of original urban neighbourhoods, which could be referred to as charming. The Ironwood's front entrance looks somewhat like a barn in shape, with white siding; windows along the front allow passersby to peer in and view the stage, which faces them.

241 Figure 34: Fromt of tie Ironwood Stage and GrilJ

Figure 35: Storefronts across from the Iromwood

(Photo credits: Susan Turnbull) The Inside of the Ironwood is constructed like most other bar venues. A stage at the back of the room faces out onto a small room full of tables and chairs, with a bar running along one side and a kitchen behind that. The decorators used a mixture of markers to emphasize the meeting of the nostalgic and contemporary on the stage and throughout the city.

While the walls are painted in vibrant colours and adorned with chic sconces, the glass-topped tables house photos of old-time country bands, past country singers such as Hank Williams, and rural snapshots. The stage is constructed to induce participation—it is nearly at the same level as the wood floor, and a small space is available in front of it to be used as a dance floor.

The entire room gives the feel of an updated barn. The pub's website is also constructed to present signifiers of rural life and music, with a tattered-looking wood sign as the backdrop for all the pages, and sepia-tinted photographs of string bands embellishing several frames (see

Figures 36 and 37). Thus, this visual imagery works to complement the music that emerges from the stage, creating a soundscape of nostalgia and sentiment that reinforce notions of

Calgarian identity.

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Figures 36 and 37: Ironwood's website (www.ironwoodstage.ca)

A full examination of the Ironwood's programming practices can be found in Chapter

5; for the purposes of this discussion, I wish only to briefly look at how these sounds foster a

sense of nostalgia for the performers, the audiences, and those accessing its sounds from the

street. The Ironwood maintains a fairly consistent program of folk, country, and blues artists,

and here folk is loosely defined to include the pop and singer-songwriter tendencies of certain performers. While world music-based acts that might be typically found at the Calgary Folk

Festival are occasionally featured, the Ironwood has increased roots programming in recent years. This is partially due to regular features such as "Chicks with Licks," featuring local

singer-songwriters Heather Blush and Susan Wheatley; Big Band Brunches and blues jams

every weekend; Open Mic Nights hosted by local roots players Tim Leacock and Kit Johnson;

and "Fools on Stools" with Tom Phillips and Steve Coffey. Furthermore, in July, the bar

concentrates heavily on country acts to coincide with the Stampede, pushing the roots-based

programming into higher percentages. While there are still elements of other genres such as

244 klezmer, ska, and funk present in visiting bands, the focus predominantly centres on folk and country. The Ironwood is a primary destination for Canadian touring acts, functioning as a mid-level alternative venue to places like the Calgary Folk Club. The aural soundscape that is thus created from its live acts coincides with the preservation efforts of the Inglewood area in general: homey acoustic folk songs, contemporary roots pop, and traditional country often drift through its open windows and reinforce the ideology behind a continually changing setting of small boutiques, turn-of-the-century buildings, and various social groups on the streets.

This is not to say that music somehow transcends the tensions brought about by uncomfortable collisions of middle-class encroachment, homeless displacement, and city council initiatives. However, the music that emerges from the Ironwood can somehow speak to, or engage with, many of those who pass by and access the complex mix of aural and visual markers. Whether or not these sounds resonate positively with passersby is not the issue; rather, the sounds of roots and country music engage with the entrenched history of the neighbourhood to construct a sense of Calgary's past and contemporary identities. The presence of these sounds also indicates a number of hegemonic forces at work: in particular, the initiatives of institutional bodies such as the municipal government, along with the profit- driven ventures of venues like the Ironwood and King Eddy, enforce a somewhat monolithic continuing rhetoric that connects Calgary's history, contemporary music programming, and gentrification. While slowly shifting to incorporate alternative experiences of the city (such as in the presence of non-roots music genres at the Ironwood), it is evident in the East Village that the trajectory of a nostalgia-directed, western-influenced history of Calgary maintains its stronghold.

245 Folk Clubs

Conversely, the city's folk clubs, largely occupying a much different area, farther north than the East Village, inevitably construct a soundscape distinct from that of the Ironwood.

As noted in Chapter 5, the audience demographics of the Ironwood are relatively widespread, whereas the folk clubs tend to be more exclusive. There are numerous reasons for this, primary among them the need for a membership in order to access many shows at the clubs, and the tendency of folk clubs to vary only slightly in their year-to-year offerings, presenting a fairly predictable and sure-selling set of artists that fall within tight genre restrictions. I would argue, in addition, that the location of these clubs is both attractive to their subscription audiences and off-putting to those who do not attend regularly. The Calgary Folk Club is located in the northwest corner of the city in the Dalhousie Community Centre; whereas both the Nickelodeon and Rocky Mountain Folk Clubs are more central, located in the northwest quadrants of the city closer to the University of Calgary and the Southern Alberta Institute for

Technology (SAIT). As Calgary's suburban spread increases significantly, those people who are not centrally located are less and less likely to want to drive to locations that seem out of reach, and this may help clubs that are located in rural regions beyond the city limits.25

While these clubs are beneficial to local folk performers who need additional venues, they generally do not feature any country acts, and thus create a markedly different soundscape than the Ironwood. The acoustic-based folk blues and singer-songwriter aural environment is obviously more welcome in residential neighbourhoods, where all of the folk clubs are located because it is quieter than the amplified music in clubs like the Ironwood.

Moreover, the nature of these venues—the consistent subscription-based audience, the fairly

25 Calgary's poor public transportation systems are rarely used by inhabitants who have any chance of owning a car; this system has not been able to keep up with outward development. 246 coherent demographic of white, upper-middle class, educated, middle-aged Calgarians, and the show structure of long sets broken by short breaks to buy drinks and food—mean that there is little lingering outside the venue, and limited bar-related behaviour of loud conversation, heavy drinking, and extended jamming from the musicians. This agreed-upon structure and ensuing social behaviour thus concurs with the public image of a folk club and allows it to be situated in the community centres of residential neighbourhoods, whereas a bar such as the Ironwood would not be tolerated. The sounds emerging from these clubs are gentler, acoustic,26 and family-friendly, while the acts at the Ironwood have more freedom in terms of the level of noise and genre experimentation. Several informants agreed that the location, in particular, and programming of venues dictates attendance in Calgary:

[T]he city is so spread out, it's a challenge for someone who lives way out southwest, has just worked all day downtown in an office, drive home, fight the traffic, and then come back in, all the way back in to say downtown to catch a show at the Ironwood? The city is so spread out. The Ironwood at least got blessed and they've hung on. (Ward 2008)

(Referring to people complaining about getting to venues): Oh no, I can't get to it, how do I get to it. Same with the university, people used to say, oh god, it's so far away. You go to Toronto, and try to get to Hugh's Room from Scarborough, you know?...To be honest, I don't know if that makes it, all those folk clubs are scattered in the 'burbs, right? But they all have subscription memberships. So that's built in, everybody wants them in their own neighbourhood, right? They always say neighbourhood pubs, everybody wants a neighbourhood pub, but nobody wants it in their neighbourhood. There's part of me that thinks that pub districts are better. (MacGonigill, 2008)

Tom Phillips summed up the problems of venue accessibility in his personal account of travel in the city:

Calgary has gotten so congested, on the roads and stuff, it seems like a pain for me to drive to Northwest Calgary, aw, do I have to go up there? I just can't figure it out. And Calgary has always been bad for traffic. Inglewood is a really cool district with

26 The artistic director of the Calgary Folk Club insisted that young, loud (meaning non-acoustic) acts were never hired by the club, as they had to consider its reputation, its long-standing programming practices, its surrounding environment, and the desires of its audience. For more on this, see Chapter 5. 247 the Ironwood, but people just don't go down there. It's just weird. (GT: sketchy?) Rough. But the only problem with that area is where it crosses the river, it's pretty sketchy right there. Yeah, I think Calgary has always had that problem, people just don't go out downtown. (Phillips 2008)

The King Eddy Blues Bar

The King Edward Hotel in the East Village (at 4th Street and 9th Avenue Southeast; see

Figure 33 for location) has become the focus of a variety of groups in the city. Built in 1905, the hotel has an intriguing history. It was initially known as a haven for ranchers and Calgary newcomers; in 1946 its bar began controversially serving free beer to black patrons in an explicit protest against segregated public spaces, and by the 1980s the bar was well established as Calgary's "Home of the Blues." In 2001, it was bought by the City of Calgary, but in 2004 it was condemned due to structural and mould problems and its doors were closed to the public (LaFortune 2006). This induced an outcry among the city's inhabitants, particularly those who viewed it as one of the few remaining heritage sites of the city, as well as those who frequented its live shows and afternoon blues jams. In 2008, the owner, the Calgary

Municipal Land Corporation (CMLC), solicited ideas on how to preserve the hotel, which had been listed by the Calgary Heritage Authority as a Category A Potential Heritage Site

(Derworiz 2008).

At this point, the Cantos Foundation stepped in. The Cantos Foundation is a long- running institution in Calgary that is partially privately funded and has been responsible for numerous music-related projects and events around the city. Under several different titles, the

Cantos Foundation has founded the Esther Honens Piano Competition, the Calgary Organ

Festival, and the Cantos Music Collection, which features hundreds of keyboards, pianos, and organs, and provides rehearsal space for local musicians, school programs, and guided tours.

Despite its earlier associations with classical music events, its scope is not limited to any 248 particular genre: it sponsors the Calgary Folk Festival every year both financially and by providing instruments for performances; it runs programs on the history of rock music; and it promises to expand its reach into more popular- and roots-based music programs in the near future.27 In May 2008, the city invited bids for the King Eddy's restoration and the Cantos

Foundation won, proposing a national music centre, museum space for its collection, a bar and restaurant featuring local blues acts, a recording studio with vintage equipment used by the

Rolling Stones, and office space for musicians in the 80,000 square foot area (Gignac; Cantos

Foundation website 2008). The plans for the building were released in October 2008 during a street party that was clearly a meeting place for a confluence of both nostalgia and progress, with screens available for graffiti artists to leave their virtual mark and images of past glory days of the hotel projected behind live music (Sylvester 2008; see Cantos website for pictures of this event).

Plans for the project have intensified in recent months, culminating in the choosing of five international architectural firms to propose their ideas for the space. The conditions for the hotel's revamping include maintaining portions of its original structure in line with its status as a heritage site; restoring the original blues bar to become an "all music" venue; building the recording studio; creating a broadcast radio studio that plays local and independent music; building a digital library resource centre; and providing sufficient and adequate space for the collection and for the various programs run by Cantos. The projected budget for the project is $50-55 million, to be raised between government grants, private donation, and fundraising efforts; it is planned to be completed by 2012 and aims to reach up

271 was employed as a docent for the Foundation in 1999, at which time the collection already featured many electronic keyboards, unique keyboard-based machines, Theremins, and hundreds of pianos from around the world, including many that were waiting in storage for restoration. The collection has grown considerably since that time. 249 to 120,000 visitors per year (Cantos Music Foundation Request for Expression of Interest

2009).

The King Eddy has thus become a beacon of hope for improving the area's sorry state.

Discourse surrounding its restoration and Cantos's role exacerbates the hyper-optimistic nature of gentrification rhetoric that is characteristic of city councils. Music is held at the centre of this hope, both in reflections on the soundscape originally provided by the King

Eddy, and in its ability to unite the diverse segments of the East Village's population. The former owner of the bar, Gerry Garvey, described its sound, linking the bar's sonic appeal to physically tangible aspects of its construction: " 'The [number one] thing about it was the sound. I don't know if it was the wood panelling or the smoke saturated in the walls or what, but if you talked to any musicians, they say the room had a great, gritty sound' " (Wardle

2008). Here, it is as though the walls themselves embody the music of generations, absorbing and retaining sounds of the past that are resurrected and felt every time audiences and performers enter the room.

But similar discourse is used to describe the happy coexistence of normally socially disparate groups, first within the walls of the King Eddy, and by extension, out on the streets of the East Village: " 'You'd have Hell's Angels, students, university professors all together, and never any problems. You'd have more fights at Cowboys [a local country bar], where at the Eddy everybody got along. You had Buddy Guy walking outside, playing on the street. It had a je ne c 'ais quoi [sic] you can't recreate' " (ibid.). The Cantos Foundation and the city have capitalized on these idealized notions of the Eddy's performing and listening population to suggest that the new centre will be the site at which all class tensions inherent in the East

Village will be resolved through the common experience and enjoyment of music. " 'We

250 think this will be a great kickstart for the East Village and we're going to do it with the power of music' " (quote from Andrew Mosker, executive director of Cantos, Logan 2008). Yet again, the area's revitalization has been shifted to a new, more promising site since previous projects have failed to change the neighbourhood in any significant way. Cantos's request for

Expressions of Interest from architectural firms claims that the King Eddy will be the catalyst for changing the East Village for good:

East Village was the birthplace of the city 130 years ago.. .it is steeped in visions of the past and dreams of the future while wrestling with the social issues of the present. It is home to the homeless. It is heartbreaking and dream making and it represents decline and potential all at once. Now, Calgary's East Village is on the verge of realizing the potential of becoming one of the most innovative communities in Canada. It now has the potential to become the crossroads: a public place where music becomes the catalyst for fusing innovation, discovery and renewal, creating a district unrivalled anywhere else in Canada. The revitalization of the King Edward Hotel as a new music centre is the beginning of a bigger long-term vision; the King Eddy is the soul of this district; the first major revitalization step of many that will catalyze a vision that is bold, big and destined to put another piece of Calgary and Canada on the international map. (Cantos Music Foundation Request for Expression of Interest 2009)

Summary: Gentrification and Music in the East Village

Rofe (2003) suggests that the gentrifying class, previously enjoying the display of wealth enabled through local gentrified spaces, is losing a distinct sense of identity thanks to the increasing commodification of their lifestyles. As a result, a global community of gentrifiers is emerging, connecting those who want to experience a cosmopolitan lifestyle to

like-minded others across the globe. Rofe argues that "consumptionscapes" act as landscapes of power on which the display of wealth by an elite class can be mapped, and this class acts as

arbiters of taste, transforming their discoveries into cultural capital (Rofe 2003:2521-22). The

Ironwood's and King Eddy's audiences, partially composed of the gentrifying class, consist of

those who discover the roots scene of the city and attract a bigger audience by influencing

discourse about the venue and scene in corporate environments, local journalism, and social 251 circles. Calgary's East Village occupies a unique position in the gentrification process in that it simultaneously operates as the old (seen in the presence of Fort Calgary and the Deane

House), the recent past (as the downtrodden, "unsafe" area of homeless occupancy), and the newly revitalized (seen in the used bookstores, antique shops, and live venues, which, oddly enough, present their own form of the past through the lens of the new and exciting).

Thus, the East Village is experiencing nostalgia at several different levels. Those in support of the Calgary Drop-In Centre and public assistance for those who have been displaced by the recent housing boom or are otherwise marginalized by their class position aim to maintain the East Village as a refuge unburdened by middle-class presence.

Meanwhile, government-supported initiatives such as Fort Calgary are invested in the relocation of the homeless population in the interest of increasing tourist activity in the area, and play on outsider and insider nostalgic notions of what constituted a simpler time in the city. Finally, both artists who use the area as a space for collaboration and self-expression and gentrifiers who consume that self-expression in the form of concerts, galleries, eateries, and boutiques, attempt to integrate nostalgia for the past with the present. This group advocates a lifestyle and mindset that similarly drives fantasies of living beyond the restricting confines of the inner-city landscape. Moreover, this group may be what Butler and Robson call

"increasingly alienated by the commodification of their area... as commodification displaces affective localism" (Butler and Robson 2003:1805); a middle-class nostalgia for the authenticity of one's surroundings may drive a reconfiguration of downtrodden areas into unique arenas of experience.

Nostalgia is contained within particular spaces in the city that are also gentrified and constructed to present and maintain hegemonic ideas of the city's conception of heritage.

252 Music is inextricably connected to those sites, since the East Village is the main area of the city where this music is heard and consumed on a daily basis. Thus nostalgia is located, limited, and available for consumption in the East Village, which keeps it separate and unthreatening to the values of cosmopolitanism and newness that the city presents as its public image. My central argument here has been that the contained and controlled manifestation of nostalgia in the gentrified centre of Calgary allows for the city's history to be available for consumption and memory while not infringing upon the daily promotion of sophistication and progress so central to Calgary's contemporary urban identity.

Creating the Country and the City in Composition

I now wish to turn to a more specific discussion of music and how nostalgia for desired places, the current landscape of the city, and composition processes intersect for musicians in

Calgary. I examine the references to both concrete places and abstract ideas of space in four songs by Calgarian musicians, and augment that analysis with commentary from participants.

While it was often difficult for participants to articulate their connection to their surroundings, this commentary grounds both the analysis and the broader ideas of nostalgia that inform the construction of Calgary's landscape and soundscape.

Place or Space?

To this point, I have employed the terms space and place somewhat interchangeably, however both terms have become contentious and loaded in recent place-based anthropological studies. While I do not wish to disrupt my above discussion, in which place could be understood as specific sites and space as either a more general area that could be under transformation or as a rather undefined quality of a site (thus explaining that "sense of

253 space" or sense of expanse and openness28 often alluded to by Calgarians when referring to big skies and uninterrupted horizons), I would like to properly define how I will use these terms in the following music analysis.

Wrazen differentiates between place and landscape by suggesting that landscape is conceptual, understood as a social construct, and refers "to a way of seeing the world and imagining a relationship to nature, or place" (Wrazen 2007:186). My previous references to both landscape and soundscape are thus compatible with this definition, but I am more concerned with the use of place versus space in the ensuing discussion. I also agree with

Wrazen's (and Casey's) suggestions that place is concrete while space is imagined. Wrazen suggests that space "is relational and is associated with the background potentialities beyond the everyday" (ibid.) and Casey's discussion complements this. His argument stems from the idea that every physical location must be experienced phenomenologically in order to be imbued with human meaning. Because the term space implies universality, constancy, and blankness, it cannot be applied to locations that have witnessed human activity. Thus space remains an ideal, something which is kept in the realm of the imagination (Casey). Negus agrees, suggesting that "A place and a sense of space are different - materially, experientially and conceptually. A place as the particular, concrete site of specific social activities does not always coincide with a 'sense of space,' the more abstract way in which we might locate ourself in the world, that 'stretched' sense of where we belong in relation to other parts of the planet" (Negus 1996:184, emphasis original).

28 In order to avoid confusion with the term space, I will from here on use the term "sense of expanse" when referring to how Calgary inhabitants experience their surroundings. This is often referred to in place-based discourse as a "sense of space," but here I wish to disentangle the term space from everyday language and look at its theoretical underpinnings. Calgary inhabitants frequently comment on the relatively empty landscape around them, which contributes to a sense of expanse not experienced in cities with denser populations and landscapes. 254 There is an implied hierarchy within these terms, which requires some additional

clarification. Space is perhaps at the most extreme end of the spectrum of abstraction given its residency in the imaginary. Similarly, landscape, as a socially constructed human

interpretation of place, often resides at the same abstract level as space since it is governed by what is known and felt. However, place must be experienced first and foremost in order for the concepts of space and landscape to be conceived. Space is relational, thus its potentiality

and one's relationship with space come from phenomenologically being in a place, thus knowing or creating space. Landscape is likewise built from both individual and collective understandings of being in a place and constructing the relationality of space.

I explore the following musical pieces keeping these distinctions in mind. I suggest

that an idealized vision of a landscape characterized by the expanse of a blank open space is

inspirational to Calgarian composers, who try to evoke this sonically, and that nostalgic

reflections of particular places both construct and reveal what it means to exist in the urban

and rural landscapes of Calgary and its surrounding area. Casey suggests that it is possible

that the idea of space could be posterior to place, that is, knowledge of a particular place precedes (and informs) a sense of space (Casey: 16-17). Furthermore, knowledge of a place,

rather than being subsequent to perception, is an ingredient in perception itself (ibid., 18). I

propose that Calgarian artists perceive their places and use that experience to create a sense of

expanse. That is, Casey's argument that no perception is precultural or presocial (ibid.)

dictates that discourses of open spaces already present in the city inform Calgarians'

perceptions and reflections of the places they experience. Calgarians create a conceptual

sense of space informed by the memories and nostalgia for the landscape of open expanses—

that which is longed for inside the built environment of the city.

255 Peter Doyle's volume, Echo and Reverb: Fabricating Space in Popular Music

Recording 1900-1960 attempts to locate the aesthetics and processes behind creating highly resonant and reverberant recordings in early country and rockabilly music. Doyle examines a

multitude of experiments, such as singers turning away from microphones to sing out to the

walls in the expansive halls in which recordings were made or lining up backing vocalists progressively away from microphones, as conscious efforts to replicate a visual western

landscape aurally (Doyle 2005:104-05). Doyle suggests that the various layers of western film

soundtracks, such as the silent gaps that accompany the protagonist's accorded contemplative

space during long treks, the employment of echo on sound effects, and the equation of

particular instruments with solitude and empty landscapes function to create concrete practices

for evoking space sonically within country music recording (ibid., 106-07). Through his

analysis, Doyle suggests that an aural representation of space is the result of first experiencing

a place. That is, in the way that Calgarians imagine space from their place-based experience

of expanse and emptiness, so too does Doyle suggest space is evoked sonically from a place-

based construction of space in the imagination.

The evocation of space is evident in four musical examples, Steve Coffey's "Valley of

Wildflower," and "Lydia's Land," Scott MacLeod's "This Old Farmhouse," and Dave

McCann's "Pocket of Love," which also illustrate how the artist's experience of place is

articulated musically. Their arrangements, instrumentation, and lyrics construct the specifics

of place in the Calgarian imagination. By using a collectively determined nostalgia for what

the urban gaze and contemporary existence cannot access, these artists contribute to the sense

of place, with its inherent component built on a sense of space that is constructed by Calgary's

inhabitants.

256 Example 1: Steve Coffey, "Valley of Wildflower" (2001)

Steve Coffey's song, "Valley of Wildflower," constructs the landscape of the open prairies most identifiably through an evocative arrangement, particular instrumental timbres, and recording quality. Coffey is perhaps the musician most connected to the landscape of the prairies. His identity as a landscape painter, his life growing up on the prairies, and his musical influences of earlier folk and country singers all contribute equally to his musical attachment to the land. "Valley of Wildflower" opens with a slide guitar whine that evokes a train whistle, while the underlying accompaniment of rapidly strummed acoustic guitar chords similarly suggests the chugging of a train's wheels across tracks. Here is a sonic reference to traversing expanses of place, thus rooting an experience of expanse and the more abstract sense of space. This type of mimetic playing is commonly found throughout the history of country recording, particularly with rhythm instruments, guitars, slide guitar, and harmonica

(ibid., 134). Halfway through the introduction, a rolling banjo lick begins, employed with heavy echo effects, while the slide guitar drops away and a motive played on the guitar's bass strings takes over. The banjo's distinct lick keeps the pace quick and coincides with the strummed rhythm to suggest movement across a wide area. What is particularly notable on this track is the reverb quality on all of the instruments, which enriches their timbres and serves to fatten their individual roles within the arrangement. Yet, there is a simultaneous empty quality to the track, as though all of the instruments are located at vast distances from each other. Coffey's practice of recording tracks together as a band, which should make the resulting mix seem as though the members were in the same room, does not seem evident here. When Coffey sings the verses, he is augmented by high-register arpeggiated chords on the mandolin, which ring out into the air and fade away, similarly evoking broad, empty

257 places. A bass motive emerges to anchor the band approximately halfway through the song, but its fairly quick-moving notes contribute to the sense of movement already achieved by the guitar and banjo.

Coffey's voice is strained, as in previous examples (see Chapter 3), suggesting a forward projection that needs to travel long distances. When a second (male) vocal enters behind Coffey in the last verse, the harmonies are spatially distant; Coffey's voice retains its low register, while the accompanying male harmony vocal stretches to the upper reaches of his register. They are slightly rhythmically displaced from each other with the closing of consonants at the ends of words, which again implies a distancing from each other. The abrupt ending to the song, which leaves a resonant trail of the final sounds, suggests that these sounds too are traversing a great expanse. Coffey's lyrics confirm the sense that this song is set on the wide expanse of the surrounding landscape:

A valley of wildflowers, blues, pinks and orange rolling like a soft river swell reminds me of you my darlin' for I know this vision well And in the fall when the flowers are aged and dry the impending hush of winter's edge the sun hardens its warm summer shine (Coffey 2001)

Doyle notes that

[T]he sonic marker of the mountain is the echo. In the real world, the phenomenon of echo in open spaces is caused when sound waves encounter a large obstacle and are reflected in such a way that they retain enough of their original characteristics to be heard as a delayed, reduced replica of the original sound.. .But echo as encountered by the human listener is an uncanny phenomenon, as if the sound has been emitted by the mass that reflects it. An echoed human voice then sets up the anthropomorphic illusion that the mountainside (or whatever reflected the sound) has 'spoken'.. .On the one hand the echo is clearly of the self that produced the original signal, operating as a powerful signifier of aloneness.. .At the same time it signifies the animate other, the double, and its very existence hints at the chance of a participatory bridging of separations. Indeed, echo effects so powerfully evoke notions of simultaneous aloneness and of invisible presences as to forcefully background social collectivist associations. (Doyle 2005:108)

258 Here, Coffey is transforming the particular physical qualities of the wildflower valley and its submission to the powerful weather into an abstract "space" through music. By referring to those commonly agreed-upon characteristics of open expanses beyond the border of the city, and giving them verbal descriptions, Coffey has made that place real for the purpose of his emotional expression. He constructs both a sense of place and a space in this song. It then falls upon the evocative sonorities of the instruments' timbres, the dichotomies of high and low registers, and the special effects of echo and reverb to convert that individualized experience into a broadly recognized empty space onto which listeners can map their own individual attachments or emotions through the process of performance. Coffey is redirecting a common trajectory of imagining "a plane of abstract perfection and purity onto which complexities and dirty details come crowding" (Casey 1996:45). By presenting his own particular place as a potential abstract space, he redirects what Casey refers to as Whitehead's

Fallacy of Misplaced Abstractness:

The fallacy consists in believing the plane to be a priori and settled, the complications a posterior and changing. The abstractnesss of this plane is misplaced in that its status as prior is the reverse of what actually obtains; the plane is itself an abstraction from what is concrete, that is, from that which is supposedly only secondary and epiphenomenal and yet is in fact phenomenally given as primary, (ibid., 45-46)

When I asked Coffey what he thought of the concept of space in music, he answered:

[I]t could very well be such things as stripping down the music. Getting to the guts of it.. .kind of an understated production.. .and that takes a lot of that prairie influence in there. The vastness. Few frills to me is space. So I think it probably works that way. In terms of the lyrics, I don't know, everybody has their own kind of thing, but it's interesting you know. I think in this town, or in Alberta in general, actually across the prairies there's kind of almost a loneliness to a lot of the music. Whether it's lonely or just isolation, there's some kind of something. It's really cool. I like that. GT: Do you find that in music from the East? SC: No, actually, I find that the East has, there's a much more kind of, God only knows why, but a celebratory kind of thing. Theirs is more kind of a, I don't know what the word would be. Sort of group driven, you know. Here it's very solo-like. (Coffey 2004) 259 Example 2: Dave McCann: "Pocket of Love" (2000)

Dave McCann's song, "Pocket of Love," manipulates timbre and rhythm to foster

nostalgia for an earlier, rurally based way of life. Opening with a lazy violin waltz

accompanied by a light, plunky mandolin, the song suggests wistful images of schoolhouse

dances and sunny prairie evenings. The first half of the song relies only on these two

instruments, which again create a sense of expanse due to the slow tempo, the light touch

employed in their playing and high registers, while the sliding, imprecise notes on the fiddle

suggests slow movement and long periods of contemplative dreaming. The second half of the

song has a drone, played by a harmonica, which serves to anchor the lightness of the two

stringed instruments. When McCann sings of tears, the instruments drop away slightly,

evoking a melancholy mood; this melancholy underlies the bittersweet hopefulness of the

lyrics in general:

She is a cave bear a quiet and calling Out to a night that's a far cry from cold. The stars start to fold in the cloud's crazy laughter And I am a dreamer a long ways from home. And hey there my Molly and you're such a traitor A fire breathing rascal, so out of control And I dreamed that I saw you with wings high above us, Laughing along with the old mountain wolves. The rain burns a hole clear through the concrete Like talk, love is cheap, you must give it away. As we go further, the song just gets louder, We're a long ways off from a smile on the sun. These troubles & tears they come on like lightning, But we'll hang em, for now to dry on that line. The troubles & tears they come on like lightning, But we'll hang em, for now just to dry on that line (McCann 2000).

Example 3: Scott MacLeod, "This Old Farmhouse" (2005)

MacLeod's song is more densely layered than either McCann's or Coffey's. It features

a full rock band and pedal steel behind his mournful lyrics and harmonica interjections.

However, the introduction, featuring long harmonica notes and simple strumming on acoustic

guitar, is redolent of a long tradition of folk songwriting in Canada, which features similar

textures and instrumentation. Combined with the evocative imagery on the cover of his album

(see Figure 38), the arrangement of the introduction serves to iconicize the open expanses

260 often equated with the Canadian landscape. The Intersection of the new and old are evident In the new fencepost juxtaposed against its general state of dilapidation, suggesting that rural areas are not immune to the shifting of static ideals about expanse's character or meaning.

Figure 38: Cover of Scott MacLeod's album

However, his immediate shift into the full-band accompaniment behind the sung verse suggests that an urban angst is driving that romanticization of an unavailable or left-behind landscape. Caught in the chaotic environment of the city, MacLeod verbally expresses his

longing for the past, and the simplicity, and "wisdom" afforded by life in the country. This longing simultaneously affirms MacLeod's identity as rural, misplaced, and out-of-sync in the city ("I cannot forget where I come from"), the latter evoked by the busy texture of the band.

The cheerful guitar riff in the chorus, alongside the spatial distance between MacLeod and the backup harmonies, serve to remind the listener that MacLeod is constantly remembering the happy perfection of life in the country. The instrumental section in the middle of the song is markedly different from the rest of the song, changing tempo, and serving to enhance the

slowing-down of life that is enabled by escaping the city, at which point, he returns to the

261 wistful lyrics (that are simultaneously conflating a forgotten relationship and the place in which it occurred):

(Full lyrics) Autumn days are upon us now and I Harvest them in my mind and I'm Still a kid in a fresh cut field Running free But those years went and walked away Forward son, you'll hear them say Find a place, find a place to pray Pray for us This old farmhouse, this old farmhouse This old farmhouse brings me wisdom This old farmhouse, this old farmhouse This old farmhouse brings me wisdom And I cannot forget where I come from And I cannot forget where I come from The air is cool, feel it on your face Florescent sky, the sun it says goodnight I just wanted, I just wanted To see you again (MacLeod 2009)

Both MacLeod and McCann are constructing nostalgia for a conflated different place and time. McCann's line, "And I am a dreamer a long ways from home," coincides with the suggestion that the simple music from the triple time waltz and acoustic instruments is of a different place and era than what is generally available in the city. Meanwhile, MacLeod, similarly to Coffey, is de-particularizing the subject of his song, "this old farmhouse," between the imagery presented on the cover, and the familiar trope of harmonica and acoustic guitar meant to immediately call to mind travel across the vast Canadian landscape. That place (the farmhouse), familiar to him, and the place in which his identity and memories are inextricably bound up, is likewise transformed into a more abstract space for listeners by those familiar tropes of the city versus the country, so that nostalgic desire for something other and far away can be imagined in individual engagement with the song.

262 Example 4: Steve Coffey, "Lydia's Land" (2007)

I wish to briefly examine one additional example of Coffey's simply because of the significant impact that the instrumentation bears on constructing nostalgia for the listener.

"Lydia's Land" is obviously based on Coffey's appreciation for his new life on rural property he bought in Vulcan, Alberta, in 2007. The accompanying video to the song, released on a collection of videos as a DVD with the Same Boy recording, features his daughter, Lydia,

dressed in a pink sundress that complements the wild growth of pink flowers around her, toddling through gardens, featured in a slow-motion, blurry, and dream-like way, while

accompanied by a slow country shuffle. Coffey's lyrics allude to the happiness and change of pace that the country has enabled, while simultaneously referencing the intimate details of his

family: his identity as an artist, his children's experience of the place, and his wife's career as

a dancer:

This morning smells like fallen leaves A killing frost for September grieves But this time for me, it breathes and breathes and breathes As I look out on Lydia's land This morning has a painter's eye The changing hue of an impressionist sky This morning has a primary grin And now I'm standing on Lydia's land This morning has a dancer's heart A graceful stretch to a blue eyed start This morning has a baby's light And now I'm catching a flight to Lydia's land (Coffey 2007)

Coffey links these personal details directly to the landscape he encounters, the effects it

endures from the weather, and his own emotions. The visuals in the video, his clear relief

from being able to move to the site, and the dreamy quality of the music, all serve to create

nostalgia for the life he desired and thus constructed. I suggest that in this song Coffey is

doing exactly what the other examples notably also do: creating a space in which the listener

can imagine their own similar desires, not through the contemplative lyrics, but through the 263 timbres and spatial sonorities used by the band, in particular, the pedal steel. The pedal steel is well-known and widely used for its ability to illustrate isolation and empty western landscapes, as noted by Doyle. Doyle suggests that the steel guitar often acts as the obbligato, the second voice type of accompaniment, that is a necessary or indispensable component of the music, and frequently heard as an instrumental playing behind the vocal (Doyle 2005:137).

The type of effect found in steel work is used to reference "offstage" places, or somewhere outside the singer's personal space. Here, the echo of the pedal steel acts as "a kind of sentient.. .spirit of place" (ibid., 138), its spatial distancing from the voice evoking the distancing of broadly spaced rural areas. The steel has the dual effect here of evoking Lydia's present innocence at the same time that it is nostalgic for something long passed, and this is made even more emphatic by the accompanying visuals. In the words of Doyle, "The steel guitar's location.. .is indeterminate, and its role as secondary voice is never wholly stable.. .perhaps the sound is coming from a place that is specifically not visually accessible"

(ibid., 139). The innocence of Lydia is not lost here either, as it directly corresponds with

Coffey's recollections of growing up in rural areas, and his effort to retrieve those memories in a combined sonic and visual realization. Here, he has actualized the possibility of the imaginary offered by the song in depicting very vivid images of his personal life and feelings towards it (also evident in the close harmonies between him and his female backup singer, which signifies intimacy and affectionate feelings for the song's thematic content). However, the pedal steel's inextricable connections to an idealized West, made possible through early western films and country recordings, are familiar enough to a local listener that its role here is to create a space to imagine one's own desire for a particular place.

264 Conclusion: Music, Desire, and Imagination

Facing our landscapes inside outside Four walls of answers cradle of questions I guess we've all seen these landscapes before Maybe within our past lives But the cradle's a model for architect tower The cradle is our little world Hot rain falling down from the sky I hear you calling for a ride Across the land of the in between A bag of one life but many (From "Land of the In Between," Coffey 2007)

Calgary is a place, provides a space, and creates a landscape that is in between—in between real experience and imagination, in between the urban and the rural, in between change and stasis, in between progress and heritage. Coffey's lyrics above tread the line between the personal and the collective, the past, the present, and the future, all of which are embodied in the lived spaces of Calgary and its surroundings. There is no place where the intersections of lived experience, physical landscapes, and expressive culture are not complex, but in Calgary, the role that place occupies in the collective imagination is particularly significant for local artistic expression. Here, I have argued that places in Calgary are constructed by a number of factors: the preservation of heritage sites; the discourse surrounding that preservation; the containment of heritage, the past, and the corresponding artistic and musical endeavours in particular places that often serve as tourist sites; and the nostalgia for a place and time that do not exist in the daily experience of the city's inhabitants.

Crossing all of those factors are the sounds created by the roots musicians of Calgary, whether seeping through the doors of the Ironwood, the King Eddy, or the folk clubs, whether emerging from the Stampede grounds throughout July, or through the celebration of music that represents both the city's traditions of the past and the change of its future.

265 Paramount to the nostalgia that characterizes discourse on place in Calgary is the actual landscape that surrounds the city, the confluence of the imposing Rocky Mountains and the expansive prairie grasses which meet in the urban area and imaginations of Calgarians.

This is reflected in the images used to represent the landscape of the province (see Figures 39

and 40), and in the commentary provided by musicians on the inspiration for their

songwriting.

Figure 39: From the liner notes of Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights (Smithsonian Folkways)

266 Figure 40: From the liner notes of Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights (Smithsonian Folkways)

In their volume on music and place, Leyshon, Matless, and Revill suggest that "space and place [are] not simply as sites where or about which music happens to be made, or over which music has diffused; rather, here different spatialities are suggested as being formative of the sounding and resounding of music" (Leyshon, Matless, Revill 1998:4). Thus musical activities are invoked to illustrate their role in the social production of places, promoting "a view of music and place not as fixed and bounded texts or things, but as social practice involving relations between people, musical sounds, images and artifacts, and the material environment" (Cohen 1998:276). In Calgary, as sites are constructed and re-made, as collective agreements as to what it means to be Calgarian are renegotiated, so music contributes to and reflects these reconstructions. As seen in the case of the Ironwood, at times the aural landscape promotes an increasingly diverse population, while at other times it 267 provides a singular history of the city, based in the traditions of ranching culture and country and roots music, and these presentations coincide with the advantageous promotion of specific social agendas (such as encouraging attendance at the Stampede or evoking American music

"traditions" in the effort to gentrify the East Village). In any case, the roots music community has been at the forefront of the collective place-based imagination, creating a Calgary that is sonically meaningful in a variety of ways.

268 Chapter 5: "Trick of the Trade": Venues and Industry in Calgary

This chapter will discuss the venue, record label, and industry infrastructure of the city

and will present an overview of the business aspect of the roots scene in order to expose those

areas that are undeveloped both in conception and practice. The industry in Calgary is presently in a state of flux; due to venue closings and the movement of artists in and out of the

city, it changes rapidly, and as a result, the independent practices of musicians are frequently

reconceptualized. Although I believe that the principles of independence discussed in Chapter

2 are guiding the evolution of the roots industry, I will not draw firm conclusions here.

Rather, I will illuminate how the webs of professional activity are constructed, keeping in

mind that industry centres of power, ideologies guiding independence, and more measurable

factors such as the local economy and changes in population influence the development of

venues and record labels in the city.

I will begin with a discussion of the prevailing venues presenting roots music in the

city, which include the Calgary Folk Festival, the Ironwood Stage, and the Calgary and

Nickelodeon Folk Clubs. Other venues that have been influential, but have closed down,

including the Mecca Cafe and A Bar Named Sue, will be briefly mentioned. Finally, I will

then examine two local record labels, Saved By Radio Records and Ruby Moon Records, and

how they have contributed to the development of roots music in the city.

269 The Calgary Folk Music Festival

History and Background

The Calgary Folk Festival29 was founded by Mitch Podolak, founder of the Winnipeg and Edmonton Festivals, in 1980. Podolak, known for the Western Canadian festival format of main and side stages30, and the communal approach to deciding on, dividing, and doing work, partnered with the head of the Calgary Folk Club (CFC), Mansel Davies, to appeal to the Lougheed-led Conservative government for festival funding that would amplify celebrations surrounding Alberta's 75th anniversary. The festival continued to operate as a branch of the CFC, plagued throughout the 1980s by bad weather and dwindling audiences, not to mention perpetual arguments over what should and should not be allowed as folk programming. Vic Bell, head of the Nickelodeon Music Club, took over as artistic director in the 1990s, separated the festival from the management of the CFC, and incorporated it as a non-profit organization. As Jerry Keogh, previous board member, told me, the festival began to change significantly with the shift in programming in the mid-90s, which were also partially the result of bringing Edmonton Folk Festival producer Terry Wickham on as a consulting producer. Staying in its original home of Prince's Island Park (see Figures 41 and 42), despite continual battles with nearby residents over the noise, the festival grew throughout the late 90s and early 2000s, bringing on many headlining acts and opening its roster every year to more and more acts from around the world (Brooker 2004; Keogh pc 2007; siemieniuk 2008).

While the site is vulnerable to the elements and complaints from residents, few would suggest that the festival could take place anywhere else:

29 Information in this section is partially derived from my 15-year attendance and 11 -year position as a Hospitality and Green Room volunteer at the Festival. I conducted extensive fieldwork during this period, and much of my commentary is thus drawn from conversations and fieldnotes from that time. 30 Although the side stage format first appeared at the Mariposa Folk Festival in its early days. 270 Prince's Island is a very, very attractive natural venue for the folk festival. When I think of other outdoor venues, McMahon Stadium, the Stampede Grounds, Shaw Millennium Park, Olympic Plaza, Canada Olympic Park, none can really compare even though some can hold a much larger audience. There was a significant political straggle for the folk festival and other events, to secure the use of Prince's Island in the 90s. Some factions felt that music events had no place in a "natural" park. For us, the park was the "natural" place to present music. When attending the folk festival you will see family groups or individuals taking a break from the crowds and the music by sitting under the trees or down by the river and lagoon. I can't imagine presenting the festival on the pavement of the Stampede Grounds, for example, it simply would not work. (Bell 2008)

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Figure 41: Maimstage at the Calgary Folk Festival

271 Figure 42: Backstage (ttltae "Greemi Roomm") at the Festival

The audience principally consists of relatively affluent Calgarians who return year

after year. The festival conducts an annual survey, and although the survey often generates a

small percentage of responses (approximately 400 out of 10,000 attendees in 2008), it is

considered to be indicative of the audience at large, and guides future programming,

advertising, sponsorship, and administrative decisions. A summary of the results that are

significant for the present study are presented here, but the full results of the festival's official

survey (which Incorporate results since 1998) can be found on the festival website

(http://www.calgaryfolkfest.com/users/getdownload.asp?DownloadID=135)

Folk Festival attendees in 2008 were typically: -Female (63%): consistent with previous years.

272 -Relatively youthful: almost 3 in 5 (58%) were under 55 years (down from 2006 Festival). -Calgarian (83%): Among these local attendees, 1 in 7 (14%) brought out-of-town-guests. -Affluent: Among participants providing a response, almost half had an annual household income of over $80,000; with a mean of $87,000/year (higher than the average Calgary household). -Attend in groups with other adults (69%): The average group size was 4.0 persons. However, families also attended the Festival with just about 1 in 5 (21%) in groups with children under 17 years.

-Just over one-quarter (27%) of attendees had never been to the Festival before (down from 2006), while 33% of attendees have been attending for 4+ years (about the same as in 2006). About one in six (16%) of attendees were from outside Calgary (5% from Edmonton, 6% other Alberta and 5% outside Alberta, with the balance accompanying Calgarians). -Lowest level last 10 years - likely due to increased gas prices and travel-related costs. -While less in number, their spend was substantial - almost $4 million. -Among self-identified out-of-town attendees (n=72), 90% specifically came to Calgary for the Folk Festival a 6 percentage point increase over 2006.

In short, an overall view of the audience can be determined from Table 3:

Table 3: Calgary Folk Festival Audience Demographics

STATISTICS % MARITAL STATUS % Female 63 Single, no children 39 Male 37 Single, with children 7 Married, cohabiting, no children 24 Married, cohabiting, with children 30

AGE % HOUSEHOLD INCOME % Under 24 11 $20,000 to under $35,000 20 25-34 26 $35,000 to under $50,000 10 35-44 21 $50,000 to under $80,000 22 44-54 21 $80,000 to under $100,000 14 55+ 11 $100,000 + 34 Average age 41 Average income $87,000

(Source: Sponsorship Guide; Calgary Folk Festival website)

The percentage of female attendees is somewhat surprising and inexplicable. This is a trend that has continued over the festival's documented surveys, and may simply be the result of particular tendencies in audience groups to either return year after year, or be more willing to

273 fill out surveys at the festival The other results are not surprising; those in higher income brackets may be more likely to have holiday time or grown children and are able to attend for

the Ml weekend, whereas those in lower brackets may be young (I.e., university age; working

at part-time jobs) or working in arts-related industries, which might encourage interest in and

attendance at the festival.

Music: Programming the Festival

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Figure 43: Sidestage at the CFF, featuring Widow Maker, the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and Jayme Stome

Programming a folk festival has never been without its problems; Brooker notes that

the earliest manifestations of the contemporary Canadian folk festival at Mariposa

encountered criticism for not programming true "folk" music (2004). The literature

274 investigating what constitutes folk is substantial and ever-changing; these discussions influence contemporary discourse on the subject, which in turn perpetually shapes how the

CFF approaches its programming.31

As can be seen in the above photo (Figure 43), which features a diverse mix of musicians onstage, festival programming depends on the ideologies governing what constitutes folk music, the tastes of the audience, precedents set by past successful festivals, and most importantly, on the availability of funding, either from government grants, ticket revenues, or corporate assistance, such as the sponsorship of side stages on site (this stage sponsored by local oil company Conoco Phillips). The CFF's funding comes from a variety of sources and has increased exponentially in recent years, thanks to its growth and prominence in the city. The government granting agencies supporting the festival include Canadian

Heritage at the federal level, which provided $120,000 in 2008; at the provincial level the festival received $75,000. This is in great contrast to previous years: during Ralph Klein's tenure as premier, and prior to that, the money given to the arts in general did not change over

18 years. This meant that, given the increasing amount of competition for this limited funding from other events, the CFF got as little as $29,000 some years (siemieniuk 2008). The restructuring of arts funding that emerged with premier Ed Stelmach has provided a significant increase for the CFF and related ventures, fostering the growth of the arts across the province.

At the municipal level, more money is available to the festival; it received $80,000 in 2008

31 For example, see Neil Rosenberg's edited volume, Transforming Traditions (1993), in which authors attempt to investigate the intersections of the traditional, the popular, and the ideological strains of folk music, particularly in relation to the 1960s folk revival. Monographs such as Grunning's Millennium Folk: American Folk Music Since the Sixties (2006), MacKinnon's The British Folk Scene: Musical Performance and Social Identity (1994), and Narvaez and Laba's Media Sense: The Folklore-Popular Culture Continuum (1986) similarly problematize the folk-popular debate, focusing on issues of authenticity, technology, the incorporation of world music into definitions of folk, the role of festival and club programming, and the reconciliation of these with a middle-class urban identity that is often responsible for shifting definitions of folk. 275 from the Calgary Region Arts Foundation (CRAF), which is in the midst of being rebranded as the Calgary Arts Development (CADA) (ibid.). Equally important are ticket revenues, which

reach upwards of $1 million per year, and the corporate sponsors, which vary widely both in

source and level of funding.

But there is a reason why this corporate sponsorship is so great and why the audience

size and revenue has increased so drastically in recent years. The influence of Terry Wickham

as consulting producer pushed the CFF into a mainstream realm. By hiring headlining acts on the premise of "spending money to make money," the festival moved from being a grassroots,

small-scale event to one that appealed to a cross-section of Calgarians. Evidence of this is

seen in the substantial percentage of audience members who came to the festival primarily to

see Blue Rodeo,32 but also in the changes in programming over the last decade to include performers such as Steve Earle, Arrested Development, Macy Gray, Elvis Costello, Emmylou

Harris, Glen Campbell, Kris Kristofferson, and David Byrne, among others, all of whom have

achieved substantial mainstream success during their careers. Wickham's approach has found

great success at the Edmonton Folk Festival, and, although following suit to a smaller degree,

the Winnipeg Folk Festival has adopted a similar approach recently. Why the headliners?

The reasons are numerous, but clearly in a climate of a rapidly growing population, the

decrease of so-called "traditional" folk music's popularity, and the desire to keep the festival

going and meaningful to its potential audience have contributed to the presence of these

headliners. And while those performers may be a central draw for the audience, they remain a

small percentage of the total performers at any given festival (perhaps 20-25%). Siemieniuk

concurs:

32 Considered in folk festival circles to be a mainstream act. 276 Yes, you do need some headliners, we're charging $130 for people to shell out, that's a pretty good deal for 60 bands, but it's still $130, and I have a test for, it's called does my brother know them? He knows Blue Rodeo, and it's not just Blue Rodeo, we need five or six of those names and we need a Billy Bragg, a Tom Cochrane, Cowboy Junkies, Spirit of the West, oh there's six or seven bands I know. That's good, I'll take a chance on the others. And of course, that's what they get all excited about. But you still gotta have a critical mass. (2008)

The festival does not escape criticism for its programming practices, though, and the reasons for that are also numerous. Central to these criticisms are the tensions created by the folk-popular music divisions, as noted above, and these are not easily resolved, particularly for the "old guard" that conceives of a relatively narrow definition of folk music. Part of the problem for the festival is the recent change in artist promotion and communication that technological advances have brought about. Artists from around the world are now able to submit applications to play at the festival through email or the festival website, thus opening the door for Artistic Director Kerry Clarke to find many more performers. But this advantage is not without its problems, as not only is Clarke bombarded with requests, she is also forced to sort through many artists who might not be normally considered for the festival because of a lack of experience or talent. The ability any given artist now has to produce their own recordings has resulted in a certain flooding of the market (see Chapter 2), and consequently limits the amount of time Clarke can spend investigating more promising acts to program.

Siemieniuk describes the process:

[I]f I was a festival organizer who wanted to hire a band from Africa, I had to write, phone people in Africa, get them to send stuff, you know, who's there, what's the scene like, send me a bio. African music, boom! website, video, these guys are great! Here's their bio, you know? The other side of that is, everyone can find the festival [sighs] "you might like us." I might [laughs]. So there's good things and bad things because right now, you know, 20 years ago, what she got was what she got [referring here to Kerry Clarke], Now it's what she gets plus all the emails people send us, plus everything else. Well, she's only a human being, she can only listen to so much.. .but she tries. (2008)

277 John Wort Hannam agrees:

I think they [festivals] are very hard to get into, but I think they're very supportive. Once you get in, I would say that I hate the fact that I'm a white male singer- songwriter. There's a billion of us, and we're all trying to get into the same venues, the same festivals. And, I think it's very, the competition is unreal. (Wort Hannam 2007)

The festival thus approaches the problematic term folk as such: if it is a proven audience favourite, if it is interesting, innovative, or perhaps usually inaccessible to a typical Calgarian audience, if it falls within previously determined boundaries of folk (singer-songwriter, political, acoustic, of particular Western European and American traditions such as blues, country, or bluegrass), or if it is part of the local scene somehow, then it has a possibility of being on the roster.

Alberta Content at the Festival

Another arena where the festival is subject to criticism is in the amount of space devoted to local performers. For the festival, "local" means Albertan, so the inclusion of regional performers increases the competition for Calgarian musicians who may want to play.

The festival appears to be turning into a source of tension for roots musicians in the city; while most of my informants have been given at least one slot on the side stages in the last decade, many feel that the festival's broad approach to programming prevents the kind of local support it should be giving. I asked siemieniuk if the festival maintained a mandate for representing local acts, and while it does not officially, he and Clarke feel there should be some consistency:

There's nothing that's written in stone...but I've sort of noticed a) people do like to see favourites, like if you caught on to Jim White, you'd like to see him again. Not every year, but, so we try and bring people back, b) You always gotta put on new stuff, so who's never been here before. Gotta bring in some really new cool stuff, like people who have never played Calgary, it's really cool. Okay. We do need to have a local component, well how many? Enough! Enough that it's not tokenism, so we usually 278 hire, and by local, we mean Alberta, usually 8-10 out of 60. Okay, we need some singer-songwriters for workshops, that area, so that's 8-10, we need some world music, so you try to balance it. (ibid.)

Some would argue that it is irrefutably not enough, given that the eight to ten are spread across the province, and given the festival's very broad definition of folk. That is, local visual artists

featuring installations on the site, or urban funk bands studying at the University of Calgary's jazz program are included in the local category, thus reducing the available space for musicians who anchor themselves firmly in a folk-roots tradition as defined here (i.e., country, bluegrass, blues, acoustic singer-songwriter folk).

I traced the festival's representation of local content over the years 1999-2009 (see

Table 4), and have noted that it has decreased over that time, moving from a high of 21% of

total performers in 1999 to as low as 11% in 2009, which, coincidentally, is the festival's 30th

anniversary.

Table 4: Alberta Content at the Calgary Folk Festival, 1999-2009

Total % Artists Canadian Albertan Albertan 1999 46 20 10 21.74 2000 51 27 10 19.61 2001 49 28 9 18.37 2002 48 29 8 16.67 2003 56 34 11 19.64 2004 60 33 8 13.33 2005 57 29 10 17.54 2006 65 34 11 16.92 2007 67 37 10 14.93 2008 61 31 8 13.11 2009 62 33 7 11.29

Clearly, according to siemieniuk, budgetary constraints, artists' touring schedules, and

audience taste play a large part in programming decisions, which may partially explain the

279 high percentage of Canadian artists featured at the festival (which frequently exceeds 50% of

the total). In referencing complaints he had overheard about the Winnipeg Folk Festival's programming, Tim Hus suggested that he has encountered similar discussions in Alberta:

"We've got kind of an identity crisis here, we could do a lot better" (Hus 2004). When asked

what he thought of the festival, Tom Phillips replied, "The Calgary folk festival? I like it, I

think this year they had almost no Calgary acts. I counted one. And I don't know why. They used to have way, way more. I mean, I know Kerry [Clarke], the artistic director. And I don't

know, like I thought we were going to be playing there this year, she kept coming out to our

shows and saying yeah, we gotta get you guys back in, right?" (2008).

Artists are well aware of the difficulties of gaining access to the festival, and rarely

place their hopes on finding a spot; some recognize that all festivals are structured as such, and

do not depend on the festival circuit for income in any way:

Well you know, what I've been on about lately is any year that you put an album out, you're not likely'to get a festival [laughs]. Well, that's the way we see it.. .it's the year after...But, festivals, you know, bloody. It's the same thing every year, you just fire off a package. I mean I've gotten to the point, I don't even contact them, I just send the package. I mean I know better, you got different ideas, people say 'oh you should stay on them, man, 'cause you'll get the festival,' then you'll find out no, if you bug them too much they'll tell you to piss off. They don't want anything to do with you. It's all these silly little juggling things that you have to do. So, I figure, I see it as well, send them the music, if they like the music, they'll hire us. That's it. If they can find a spot for us. (Anon 2007)

Jenny Allen and Lin Elder of the Fates note:

JA: I've always done quite well on the folk festival circuit as a solo artist and, but with the amount of artists, again, that apply, ten years ago compared to now, it was a lot easier to get into the folk festivals, because not as many artists were applying. Now, there's a lot more artists applying for the same amount of spots. LE: The festivals have all been elevated to a certain degree because they all have access to world players, performers. (2007)

280 The Festival: A Summary

The struggle continues for the festival. Constantly negotiating between multiple desires and forces, it treads a line between the marginal and commercial, between grassroots and corporate, never fully being able to satisfy everyone. The attitude of "anything goes" has recently influenced the festival's programming, and seeps into many facets of its materialization over the four days. Perhaps the most obvious result of this attitude, and the biggest contributor to a sense of community, is the workshop format. The workshops run during the day on Saturday and Sunday on all six side stages, featuring most of the artists invited to the festival in various configurations. The most basic option in this format is to have each performer/band play one song, and move down the row of four or five artists until everyone has had a turn, then start again. However, interaction is encouraged, and performers usually give some structural clues about the song for anybody who wants to join in. As difficult as they are to program, they often lend themselves to unexpected musical collaboration and a challenging musical environment for participants.

Perhaps the Calgary Folk Festival is representative of the recurring tensions in Calgary at large. The obvious need to appeal to an increasingly diverse audience is part of what guides programming decisions, and aligns with similar initiatives seen at bars like the Ironwood (see below) or heard on the radio (see Chapter 6). But further to that, the guiding ideologies of folk and previous practices of folk festivals such as Mariposa, Edmonton, and Winnipeg encounter barriers. From a programming standpoint, the decreasing importance of a 1960s folk revival notion of folk music performers means that openness to alternative notions of folk music is necessary. Furthermore, competing festivals in the city and the influence of mainstream popular culture cannot be ignored if the festival wants to improve or maintain its box office

281 sales, and thus headliners encourage attendance from those who may not normally be attracted to conventional conceptions of folk music. Finally, the absence of funds at the municipal and provincial levels in the past has forced the festival to turn towards corporate sponsorship, which serves to generate advertising space and festival benefits such as free meals and tickets for donors, at the small price of displaying banners on site and ads in the program to an audience familiar with corporate imagery.

Folk Clubs in Calgary

Similar tensions pervade other areas of roots venue programming in Calgary. The folk clubs in the city are no exception to this, and perhaps are the most vulnerable to criticism, given their relatively narrow genre confines, as noted in Chapter 4. At the same time, they have provided an additional venue option for performers in the city that cannot be found at the same level anywhere else—Calgary has an unprecedented number of clubs for a city of its size. The biggest and longest running club is the Calgary Folk Club (CFC); in addition, the

Nickelodeon Music Club; Bow Valley Music Club; Rocky Mountain Folk Club; Chinook

Music Society; Fish Creek Concerts; and Foothills Bluegrass Music Society run subscription series all year. Here, I will focus on the programming practices of two of the main clubs, the

CFC and the Nickelodeon, in order to illuminate how they attempt to create a community of their own, how they reinforce and redefine what constitutes "folk," and how they support, or take attention away from, the local roots scene in Calgary.

Calgary Folk Club

The Calgary Folk Club was started in 1972 by Mansel Davies, a local musician interested in featuring traveling acts, and in securing a regular venue for himself and his band

(Casey 2008). It started as a singer-songwriter based club, reflecting the interest in the folk

282 revival acts that had emerged throughout the 1960s. Over time, notes Artistic Director Suze

Casey, the definition of "folk" has broadened for the club, extending beyond the solo singer- songwriter introspective type of performer to include politically based popular music, certain world musics that align with the club's overall presentation mandate, and music that is acoustic, non-commercial, and intellectual (2008). The club's permanent home is the

Dalhousie Community Center, located in the affluent suburbs of the city's northwest quadrant, and draws an audience from long-time subscribers.

Casey notes that the club's demographics consist of a largely white, upper-middle class audience, well educated, with over 80% possessing a college or advanced degree. While the majority of the audience is over age 50, the club is continually looking to expand to include younger audience members. Most of the attendees are professional, based in the oil and gas industry, working as teachers, in management, and other similar professions. The club sells

275 subscriptions per year, and the remaining seats (to 400 in total) are available for single ticket purchase at $20.00 each. It runs cheaply, using approximately 30-35 volunteers for each performance, receives grant money from the Alberta Foundation for the Arts and from Calgary

Arts Development, and also benefits from consistently sold-out performances. Although the club aims to reduce expenses in many ways, where it does not skimp is in performer benefits.

Long considered one of the venue pinnacles on the Canadian folk touring circuit, performers are treated to a dinner, a breakfast, and a "nice" hotel room; all of their transportation costs are covered, and the pay is substantially higher than what other venues can provide. The monetary benefits supplied by the CFC have drawn criticism from other venues who cannot afford to be so generous (Casey 2008).

283 The programming tends toward music which fits within an acoustic, singer-songwriter,

sometimes protest-based definition of folk. While the club is actually responsible for starting the Calgary Folk Festival, the current position of the CFC's administration is that the CFF has

strayed too far from what folk music is. Casey suggested that the festival catered too much to the mainstream crowd in the interest of selling tickets; while the side stages still provide

engaging and unique music, the mainstage is generally disappointing despite the fact that it

draws a large crowd (2008). Although the CFC has attempted in recent years to expand beyond their typical musical offerings, they must consider their substantial number of

subscribers who undeniably return to see their favourite acts, and those that fall within well-

established sonic and ideological parameters. The club outright refuses to book any act that is

"music of the youth," that is, music considered to be too loud, self-indulgent, or overly

commercial, while at the same time the club is interested in acts that are talented, exploring new avenues of traditional music, or convey some sort of "message" (ibid.).

A full listing of performers from 1979 to 2009 can be found on the club's website

(http://www.calgaryfolkclub.com/history.html), but it is worth briefly investigating some

notable programming trends. First and foremost, until very recently, the house band, the Wild

Colonial Boys, opened for every performance, thus limiting the possibility of presenting many

more acts throughout the year as openers. While this followed in the original intent of the

CFC, many have been of the opinion that local acts could have received beneficial visibility by

being hired as openers to higher level folk performers: "[T]he folk clubs, they book the same

acts over and over and over and over and over and over, year in, year out. And they always have a house band.. .so rather than have a really great opening act and introduce the audience

to a real special new artist, we gotta listen to that band do the same songs week in, week out"

284 (Anon 2008). Since the Wild Colonial Boys have retired, a new house band has been

established, which plays about half the time, thus slowly creating new spots for local artists to open for shows. While the substantial size of the club is no doubt excellent publicity for emerging folk performers touring across the country, or who are being brought in from abroad, the club tends to favour these acts to the detriment of local performers playing similar kinds of music. Casey notes that performers need to be at a certain professional level in order to be considered by the club: they must have released at least one quality CD, must be well-

established on a national or international folk scene, and must be "professional." That is, local

artists who have not toured beyond Calgary or Edmonton are not as likely to be eligible, since they have not yet acquired the necessary performance experience to satisfy the CFC's

audience (Casey 2008). Given that tickets consistently sell out, obviously local audience members are not only happy to have the opportunity to see such performers, they do not require that the club support a local scene so that musicians may find another playing opportunity.

That is not to say the CFC has no Alberta acts—throughout their programming history,

several favourites have visited the club time and again. For example, James Keelaghan, purveyor of British ballads and epic narrative songs, played the club both before and after his relocation (and thus new provincial identity) to Manitoba. Bill Bourne, an Edmonton-based

songwriter, is also a frequent headliner, with his timbrally unique voice and participation in

acoustic collectives such as Tri-Continental serving to endear him to a branch of folk revivalists. Ian Tyson, a perennial favourite of venues such as this (also of Hugh's Room, a

similar acoustically based listening room in Toronto), has no doubt established a reputation as

285 one of Canada's principal folk songwriters, and thus resides at the forefront of an emerging canon being established by the club.

The Nickelodeon Music Club

The Nickelodeon Music Club used the model of the CFC, which was based on British clubs that the CFC founders wanted to replicate in Calgary, when it began operations in 1980.

Similarly to the Wild Colonial Boys, who needed a regular venue at which to play, the "Nick" was established by musicians who collectively owned the pieces of a P. A. system. By setting up the system and running it for visiting bands that they wanted to host, the house band was also afforded its own regular performance spot (Bell 2008). The system was integral to the establishment and success of the club, as noted by Artistic Director Vic Bell: "It cannot be over-emphasized how crucial the free P.A. systems were to the development of the various

folk clubs in Calgary. Renting the gear, at that time, would have been prohibitively expensive and would have made hiring out of town performers unviable" (ibid.). By adopting the name

Nickelodeon Music Club, the administration hoped "to suggest that they had a broader musical palate in mind with their bookings. Despite that, to this day, the Nick is still regularly called the 'Nickelodeon Folk Club' by people as knowledgeable as Tom Coxworth, host of CKUA's

'Folk Routes' program. He can be forgiven though as the brand 'folk' has expanded to

include a great variety of genres that were not included in the early days" (ibid.).

Featuring acts in its home of the Crescent Heights Community Centre in northwest/central Calgary, the Nick prides itself on booking acts that could either not find

another venue to play in the city (in its early days of existence) or have not been featured at

other folk clubs yet (ibid.). There seems to be little competition between folk clubs in

Calgary, with each recognizing that they vary enough from their counterparts, and there is no

286 dearth of eager performers who want to play. My impression is that there is a fair bit of audience crossover between the clubs as well; while regular subscribers to one may not buy a membership to another, they certainly are willing to buy tickets to single shows that appeal to them. Similarly to the CFC, the Nick's ticket holders tends to be of the older, folk revivalist range, typically 40-65 years old, and from similar backgrounds as the CFC's audience. In an

initiative to draw a younger audience, the club recently recruited second-generation volunteers

(children of original volunteers) and simultaneously brought more "edgy" acts to the roster

(such as the D. Rangers, Kris Demeanor, or the Dust Poets); the club recognizes that this

should be done periodically to revitalize its audience. However, Bell has noted that the walk- up crowd does tend towards more diversity, depending on the performer, with notable piercings, strange haircuts, and members of marginalized groups appearing for particular acts

(2008).

The Nick's programming practices align with those of the CFC, although it is only half

its size (193 patrons), but varies in some small ways. First and foremost, the Nick maintains a

loose mandate to feature more Albertan acts; the opening spot has long been vacated by the

house band to make room for twelve smaller-scale, often local (although this has changed in

recent years to accommodate touring acts as well), acts throughout the year. The headliners

tend towards the singer-songwriter acoustic style regularly featured by the CFC. In its early

days, the Nick had more obscure performers on the roster, but they have recently incorporated

folk stars such as Ani DiFranco, Fred Eaglesmith, Willie P. Bennett, and Garnet Rogers. Also

similarly to the CFC, the Nick is mindful of its audience, given the unavoidable reliance on

season ticket holders for revenue. Thus, the club seeks suggestions from attendees, and Bell

keeps his ears open for potential featured guests on radio stations and at other venues:

287 Audience suggestions are always taken and are gleaned from twice yearly surveys. Audience members often come up to me at clubs to suggest acts they have discovered. For myself I keep my ears open to CKUA.. .1 pay attention. I note artists who are chosen to play at festivals or who win showcase spots at events like Kerrville. While I haven't attended in a few years, I have regularly gone to the International Folk Alliance conference where I usually hear 60 to 70 new (to me) performers in showcases. At any given time I usually have 20 CDs waiting to review, that I have received as unsolicited submissions. I usually attend three or more festivals each summer and have done so for the last thirty years. (Bell 2008)

Unfortunately, most of the musicians I spoke with took the same view of the Nick (and all of Calgary's folk clubs) that they did with regard to the CFC. That is, they saw these clubs as insular, driven by antiquated ideologies, and unfriendly to local musicians who might veer beyond the acoustic guitar-driven folk style. The reasons for this, I believe, have little to do with the clubs' programming or the prevalence of singer-songwriters, and more to do with conceptions of belonging, which I will expand on below. However, the Nick is clearly more supportive of Calgarian and Albertan artists, simply because it used to leave the opening spot open to local performers all of the time, and because locals can also be hired as headliners:

When the Nick started, local performers were regularly presented, both as openers and headliners. The Nick adopted a policy of presenting opening acts from the start and I view this as crucial to the development of local concert musicians. Many performers got their first shot at a concert audience via an opening spot at the Nick and it's a big learning curve to go from playing to a lounge, restaurant or bar crowd to facing 150 to 200 people who are sitting and listening. Looking back over our past openers, locals and others, we can see how performer development has worked. James Keelaghan, Oscar Lopez, David Wilkie, Cindy Church, Eileen McGann, Stephen Fearing, Jann Arden, Jennifer Berezan, Tariq, Seanachie, Chuck Brodsky, Maria Dunn, The Laws, Kris Demeanor, April Verch, The Wailin' Jennys, Widowmaker, and Little Miss Higgins have all performed as openers at the Nick, (ibid.)

Constructing Community at the Folk Clubs

My own experience with these clubs is somewhat limited. After listening to my informants' opinions on the clubs, I began to realize why. The communities constructed at the folk clubs are meaningful to regular participants, but may seem strange and cliquey to

288 outsiders. Both the Nick and the CFC herald their audience-friendly spaces as being conducive to communal musical experiences and accessible to multiple audiences. They sell refreshments and alcohol before the show and during breaks, encourage active listening and no talking during performances, and set up long tables for audience members to mingle at while waiting for the show. These long tables are intimidating to newcomers—spaces are clearly marked out territorially by long-time subscribers, who seem standoffish to those who may be there for one evening only. I attended both clubs, the CFC twice and the Nick only once. At the CFC, I went with my roommate, a friend, and my roommate's parents, who luckily had season's tickets and saved a spot for us at a crowded table. While the evening afforded a feeling of intimacy and connection with the performers, I, at 21 years old, felt out of place among a well-established community of "folkies."

When I attended a concert at the Nick, I again went with my roommate. We got there a little later than the bulk of the crowd, and were forced to sit at the back of the hall on two chairs that were squished against the wall. I couldn't really see the performer, and again felt like I was suspiciously out of place. The clubs have moved from being a spontaneous form of communitas to a normative one, governed by rules and rituals: "the spontaneity and immediacy of communitas—as opposed to the jural-political character of structure—can seldom be maintained for very long. Communitas itself soon develops a structure, in which free relationships between individuals become converted into norm-governed relationships between social personae" (Turner 1969:132). Yet, the clubs thrive on the folk ideology of being open and accessible to everyone, thereby invoking the ideological communitas to subvert their statuses as normative. It is little wonder, then, that these clubs seem inaccessible to those who do not hold yearly subscriptions. By their very nature, they are a club, which

289 implies a coveted belonging achieved only through purchasing a costly membership. But that membership is not simply something that can be purchased—Casey noted that subscriptions sell out immediately, making it nearly impossible for a newcomer to buy one—and even if one is bought by a newcomer, they must find a way to fit themselves into a previously established community with particular means of interacting and managing the performance space. Like joining a volunteer crew at the folk festival, a new audience member at one of these clubs must prove over time that they are like-minded and sympathetic to the clubs' and audiences' agendas.

Furthermore, while the relatively clear stylistic boundaries have provided an invaluable

(and monetarily beneficial) venue for performers that fall within those bounds, many artists in

Calgary have found the clubs to be of little use to them in furthering their careers. Whereas the folk festival's definition of folk was appropriately flexible to occasionally include roots musicians of multiple influences, the folk clubs are more limited. This makes sense, given the audience's demands, the nature of the community centres that are used, and the minimal number of concerts put on per year. As Bell notes, "Over the last decade we have taken on more out-of-province performers...but at the same time, far more opportunities for local roots music performers have become available in commercial venues." Thus, clubs like the

Ironwood fill a void that is left by the Calgary Folk Festival and the folk clubs, allowing for many local artists to find a welcoming home to a diversity of styles.

A New Roots Music Centre: The Ironwood Stage

The Ironwood Stage first opened its doors in April 2003. Desiring a supportive venue for roots musicians in Calgary that would also function to foster a sense of community and provide family-friendly events, owner Soren Borch bought the rundown building in the city's

290 slowly gentrifying neighbourhood of Inglewood. In her article on the opening of the club,

Mary-Lynn McEwan focused on the sense of authenticity generated by the scene in Calgary:

'These are people who are looking for a certain vibe, a certain atmosphere,' says Borch, who adds that this vibe can't be manufactured and put in a box. It has to be nurtured, and that's where the energy of the community comes into play. Whether it's music fans looking for a new hang-out, or a local musicians like Tom Phillips - who, along with his Men of Constant Sorrow, will be the house band at the Ironwood - they all need a place to call home. (McEwan 2003)

Partnered with other like-minded entrepreneurs, including Borch's wife Lynn Thorimbert,

Marty Park, local promoter and manager Josh Marantz, and musician Tom Phillips, Borch hoped that the club would become a central meeting place for local acts, one that might provide inexpensive studio space in off-hours, and that would feature live shows seven nights

a week (ibid.). CDs such as Phillips's Wee Hours recording with Ruby Moon Records were recorded there; Phillips's band, the Men of Constant Sorrow, became the weekly house band,

and many roots acts traveling through Calgary were featured as headliners.

Despite its early success, the Ironwood was doomed from the start. With the investing

partnership spread so thinly over a number of owners (and still others who had smaller

investment stakes), tensions inevitably arose, leading to its quick demise. Among the

problems were: the fact that the club did not open beyond its music show hours, thus limiting

the possibility of selling food and drinks to a drop-in crowd during the day; it did not run

seven days a week, but was more often open only three or four days; and the presence of a

house band on Friday nights, a key time for featuring various headliners, meant that, similarly

to the folk clubs, the audience could tire of the same music every week and seek out

alternative bands at other venues (MacGonigill 2008; Maclntyre 2009). When it closed

suddenly in 2004,1 was quite shocked, and began asking around to find out what had

happened. I questioned everyone from artists to DJs to fellow volunteers at the festival who 291 had connections to the scene, and could not get a straight answer from anybody. When the bar reopened later that year, I still questioned what had happened. Most people seemed to be uncertain, alluding to various lawsuits, Borch's divorce, too many owners, and general chaos surrounding its management and operations. Finally, in 2008, Tom Phillips revealed what had happened from his perspective as a previous owner:

I had a small investment in it. There were like ten people invested in it. The Ironwood's had a rocky history. Of all the weird things, you know King Henry the VHIth is where I still play, you've been down there right? The bartender from there bought the Ironwood from us. I didn't have a good share in it. But my manager, Josh, he had a big share in it. He was kind of the general manager of it. But he just, you know, I can't remember exactly what happened. It had a rocky history, when it started, the people who owned Karma started it, then they sold it to our group of investors. I was actually invested in their original Ironwood thing.. .Then things got—I don't even want to get into this, but things got fishy.. .so it was getting really rocky, so we bought it off them. But then, after they signed the deal and done everything, they decided that they'd sold it for too little. So they took all our Visa money [and, rumour has it, changed the locks], we'd been running it for two weeks, so we had to sue them. And we sued them and we won of course, I mean there was just no question, it's just like what? I And so went to court and everything, it was really awful, because the guy was a friend of mine, but it was just nothing you could do, right? (GT: And that was when it shut down?) That's when it shut down for a little while, and then Josh, and this group of investors I was involved with, most of them had invested in the first one, but we did another investment to get it up and running again. So we did that, and music clubs are hell to run, especially that one because of the size of it, it's 150 [seats] and so you need a certain amount of staff, the building is decrepit. And part of a lease is, whoever owns it has to do all that themselves, so something is always going wrong. Ah. And you know, to keep that place packed every night, well you just can't do it. But it's way better now, like I mean when we sold it, we had it running on an even keel, it was making a little bit of money, but you know, that's all I can say about that. Everybody was getting paid, but, that was working there, but it was making a little bit of money. And then, Josh said he didn't want to do it anymore, and then put it up for sale, and Pat, from Henry's, was looking, he'd been bartending there for ten years or something, or even more. So he bought it, which was great. (Phillips 2008)

Indeed, Pat Maclntyre left his post at a small pub in downtown Calgary, where he had established several regular features of live music from around the city, to buy and re-establish the Ironwood in 2006. The club now runs seven days a week, featuring live shows most nights, and continues to support local acts. It has a reputation for innovative food, a friendly 292 atmosphere, and well-attended shows. The audience demographics are not as well-defined as those of the folk clubs, although Maclntyre noted that audiences are largely white, well- educated, from various economic classes, mostly age 25-55, and, first and foremost, are

"fanatical music lovers" (Maclntyre 2009).

Programming the Ironwood

Maclntyre tries to maintain a self-proclaimed mandate when it comes to programming the club, "to be loyal to the local artists and open to the local artists while still drawing from all the touring artists, because there's a cornucopia of music out there and you can't have everybody. But I think it's important to be loyal to the local artists that are out there struggling as well. And drawing from all the people that are touring through" (ibid.). The club's reputation has grown recently; it is one of the premier spots to play when touring through western Canada.33 As a result, Maclntyre is now frequently bombarded by requests from both local and touring acts, and spends a good deal of time each day answering emails and attempting to book those that suit the atmosphere of the club, booking several months ahead. Many concerts sell out, while others are slower to build up an audience, but that does not deter Maclntyre from featuring acts that he deems to be quality and worthy of attention.

Maclntyre occasionally polls his audience to find out what they might recommend, or if they enjoy the current programming, and has found the audience to be supportive, which is also often evident in the number of tickets sold at events.

Fundamental to the current success and public perceptions of the club are the regularly scheduled series of jams and concerts featuring local artists. The Big Band Brunch runs bi- weekly on Saturday mornings while a blues jam takes place on alternate Saturdays. Two

33 For example, many Toronto artists such as NQ Arbuckle and Elliott Brood happily document their experiences playing at the Ironwood on their Myspace pages. 293 features, "Chicks with Licks," featuring local female singer-songwriters, and "Fools on

Stools," showcasing Tom Phillips, Steve Coffey, and a different guest each time, run once a month. A weekly Wednesday night jam rounds out the series schedule, hosted by local session players Kit Johnson and Tim Leacock. I asked Maclntyre what the impact of these series were, considering the potential disruptions they pose to presenting touring acts, and he noted:

[T]he people that are doing them, as long as they still enjoy doing them, there are some that I would never touch. Like our Wednesday night open jam with Tim Leacock and Kit Johnson, that is well attended, it's consistent, and I've only touched that twice, once for Charlie Major, and once for Tom Russell, and when I touch it, I get them to be the opener. So, I don't mess with the Wednesdays because the consistency within the neighbourhood is phenomenal. And as far as the other series go, the Chicks with Licks and the Fools on Stools, and the Blues Jam and the Big Band Jazz, as long as those people are willing to come down here and work and the pay, once the crowds start to build, the pay will increase obviously, but they're willing to put their ass on the line and come down here once a month and do that show, then I am not going to mess with them either. (Maclntyre 2009)

Twice during my fieldwork, I analyzed the programming schedule of the Ironwood, both to determine the general stylistic leanings of the club, and the extent to which Calgarian artists are featured. The generic boundaries seem to be more flexible here than at the folk clubs, since the Ironwood's location, its extensive P.A. and recording system, and its wider audience base allow for acts of varying genre orientations to play. During the first course of analysis, from December 2004 to February 2005, the genre range appeared to be a fair bit wider—while roots musics such as blues, country, and folk were regularly slotted on the schedule, other, more experimental music such as klezmer, zydeco, funk, soul, rock, and jazz were just as common. During that period in 2004-05, Calgarian artists received approximately

70% of the headlining spots, not including regular series at the time, which were the open stage, the Big Band Brunch, and Phillips's house band evenings. Note that during this time,

294 the club had re-opened, but had not yet been bought by Maclntyre. A review of the listings for the months June-July 2009 reveal that, aside from the series, which obviously feature local musicians, about two-thirds of the headline spots featured local acts. Maclntyre's focus on bringing attractive external acts blends well with the numerous series and individual concerts by Calgarians, which seems to increase the audience size at times. Maclntyre also has a collaborative relationship with the Calgary and Bow Valley Folk Clubs, which means that when an act sells out at the folk club, he may be contacted to host a second night for the featured act at the Ironwood, thus blurring whatever well-defined audience lines and genre tendencies exist at the venues.

Constructing Community at the Ironwood

Despite its problematic location in the East Village (see Chapter 4 for a fuller discussion of this), and its distance from suburban neighbourhoods from which audience members may be traveling to see shows, the Ironwood does not seem to suffer greatly from a lack of interest or sense of community. Maclntyre believes that despite the constant efforts to revitalize Inglewood, his audience is of the dedicated bent, inclined to regularly attend shows that may be musically interesting to them: "I think we could put it anywhere in the city and the same crowd would be here" (ibid.). Having attended multiple shows there during my

fieldwork trips, I felt much more comfortable in the Ironwood than at the folk clubs. Perhaps it is simply the way it is set up—intimate groups may congregate at tables of two or three, but

often these tables are pulled together in the centre of the room for larger groups. Depending

on the performer, these collectives may join in singing, call out favourite songs, or laugh at

inside jokes told by the performer. Moreover, there is a small dance space directly in front of the low stage, inviting audience participation, and allowing for multiple sources of

295 entertaining viewing for those that remain seated. Despite all good intentions for the club to function as a quiet listening room, it is actually a very loud bar—the louder the band, the louder people talk and laugh throughout sets. There is a constant outflow of people through both the front doors to the street and the back doors to the parking lot to smoke and mingle during set breaks, which increases the possibility of performer-audience interaction, and instigates networking.

I believe that the most heightened sense of community is created for participating musicians rather than audience or staff members. The collaborative nature of the jam sessions undoubtedly encourages participation, not only from the hosting musicians, but from any of those that have stopped by to listen, as noted by Maclntyre: "I think it's a great group of people, they share, they help each other out, they sit in on other people's sessions, it makes for some interesting evenings, especially during our jam sessions. Our Wednesday night jams are probably better after 11:00, when everybody's left; a lot of the musicians come in from their gigs and they have a nice little jam on the stage" (2009).

While the Ironwood still struggles with operational problems and increasing competition from larger, government-supported venues such as the King Eddy's renovated blues bar and the Calgary Folk Festival's new office centre, which will feature a live venue

(Maclntyre 2009; siemieniuk 2008), it has largely recovered from the initial start-up problems faced by Maclntyre. By being open for longer hours, the Ironwood encourages regulars to sit at the bar and watch sports while music is not playing, and these patrons know they can return

frequently, which increases the club's revenue.

I think he's got it going the best now, because he's always open until 2, even if there's nobody there, he's just always there, there's somebody there till 2 and he always opens at 11 even if there's nobody there he does the lunch business and the lunch business is picking up quite a bit and also he's the kind of guy who gets a little bit of the after- 296 work crowd. Like when we had it, we basically only opened at nights. But having that extra stream of income, like the barflies kicking around and all that. (Phillips 2008)

But this is not an entirely positive thing—while it enables the Ironwood to host touring acts and pay a decent fee to musicians, it detracts from the listening experience many club goers are hoping to find, particularly those that may have found the quiet and attentive nature of the folk clubs more conducive to concentrated listening:

People still think they need to have the tv on during the hockey games because they don't want to chase away the regulars. You know, I have a theory that your regulars will kill you sooner or later. Because they won't pay to get in, and they'll take the best seats at the bar, and they'll talk through the show, and they'll watch the hockey game instead of the music and they'll complain about the music. (MacGonigill 2008)

The most difficult task has proven to be the booking of acts on the notoriously vacant nights of

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and Maclntyre has at times been faced with an empty room when acts show up to play. Over time, this has decreased, especially as the Ironwood's reputation grows among the roots music community, and as both local and national acts are precariously balanced: "So many things involved, your price has to be right and your advertising, more than anything else you have to start from day one and build a reputation so that people come even if they don't know who it is because they know it's going to be really good" (MacGonigill 2008).

Money, Money, Money: Lucrative Gigs at Other Venues

Opinions on the venue situation in Calgary have shifted widely over time, and change according to who you talk to. Around 2003-2004, the general consensus was that the club scene was supportive and varied. That is, there were enough bars to play to keep a regular gig

schedule going, and despite their small size, they were frequented by enthusiastic audiences.

The only thing that seemed to be missing was a large-scale bar, one which could hold around

200-250 seats and fill up on any given night, as noted by Dave McCann: 297 It's been sort of a thing where there are gigs to be had here and certainly it's fun playing, nice having a local gig. So as far as the local musicians go and the scene itself, yeah, it's been good... I think Calgary itself lacks a really good medium sized club.. .1 think there's a really good singer-songwriter scene in Calgary... You go to Edmonton, and I think they have a really good band scene there. (GT: Places like the Sidetrack? [a large live venue in Edmonton]) DM: Yeah, that's a great club and they're booking national acts that are coming through and they have that, and they have the Liquid Lounge, the Power Plant [a club on the University of Alberta campus]. The new university theatre they built here [the Rosza Centre on the University of Calgary campus, which largely features chamber and classical music], it's really big, and it's only national acts.. .1 think Calgary really lacks, I think that what it needs is a good medium sized club that can attract music like that. And I think that would be certainly a good thing to do. (2004)

During the late 1990s and early 2000s, clubs such as the Karma Arts Cafe (originally owned by Soren Borch and sold before he opened the Ironwood), Kaos Jazz and Blues Bistro, the

Mecca Cafe, and A Bar Named Sue all featured local roots acts. Since that time, the Mecca

has burned down (in 2002), A Bar Named Sue was forced to give up its lease and re-opened in

Fernie, B.C., Karma was sold to new owners who did not continue featuring live acts, and

Kaos closed as well. The Mecca in particular has retained a revered status in the roots scene, partially because it was the victim of arson, and partially because it was the site of one of the

late Billy Cowsill's final recordings with the Co-Dependents, now released as a two-part live

CD by Neil MacGonigill's Indelible Music label:

This [Co-Dependents live album] was recorded there, same three day period, another [moment] in roots music history. Billy Cowsill played there and it only held fifty people, and it would hold another hundred on the deck, and it was a southern barbeque joint. It burned down, [it was] on the last intersection on the way out of town. And it was a good thing it burned down because the reputation's gotten bigger and this record, has sold 7000 copies and the band just died. So you know, maybe over 200 different people that were there at the live recording and probably 20,000 that say they were there. (MacGonigill 2008)

In place of these old venues, new bars have appeared on the scene, including the

Palomino Smokehouse (2006), the Marquee Room (2006), and Mikey's Juke Joint (2007).

Mikey's seems to be the most open to roots musicians in the city, featuring several regular 298 series of jams hosted by local players, as the Ironwood does. The Marquee Room tends towards more indie rock and pop acts, although roots players get the occasional chance to headline there, and the Palomino, a large roadhouse saloon, mostly features an eclectic mix of punk, pop, rock, and country acts, many of which are touring artists. Most informants noted that the club scene seems to have declined in the last several years, leaving fewer and fewer spaces to play regular gigs: "It's funny, there's less clubs. I think. Well, I don't know. Like there's a new one, Mikey's Juke Joint.. .Ironwood's a good size, but I think we need something slightly bigger. You know. There's not a lot of places that are doing—I mean there's the Ironwood, Mikey's, that are doing seven days a week music and a couple blues places, but that's about it.. .It comes and goes" (Phillips 2008). Evidence of the uncertainty of the bar scene, and how accessible it is to local roots players is apparent in the following contradictory statement made by members of The Fates:

(GT: Are there good live venues in general?) LR: I think it's [Calgary] got less and less. LE: Well, we lost a couple due to making progress possible in Calgary, like the Karma cafe is gone, Kaos cafe is gone, JA: The Ironwood was gone for a little bit LE: The Ironwood was gone, but now it's back and doing really well, it's under new management, so it's doing well. Other little venues are opening, like we were talking about the Marquee Room, and I was saying what's the Marquee Room? And then I saw that somebody else was playing there, and there's another new room called the Palomino that just opened, well a couple years ago, but it's a great little spot. JA: I think there's way more music venues though, in Calgary now, where you can see live music, and original music, than there were 15 years ago. LE: Oh, definitely. Without question. (Lori Reid, Lin Elder, and Jenny Allen 2007)

Others, while acknowledging the difficulty in dealing with club owners and managing politics within the tightly-knit roots industry in Calgary, still believe that there are decent venues in which to play, where owners maintain a sense of integrity and responsibility to the musicians that play their stages. Steve Coffey agreed with this:

There's been times where you get, ahh, this is so much work for so little, I mean sometimes you don't get paid. It's gotten kind of shitty that way. Well, you know, 299 you get bands that are up there that want to do the pizza/beer thing. And that doesn't help any of us, you know... And there's so much ego involved that, even with the club owners, it's ego, man. Oh yeah, club owners are notorious too, there's good ones out there, and then there are the ones that feel that they're in charge of this big machine. 'This is how it's going to be done, we'll decide' and all this kind of stuff. (GT: So things are left up to their tastes?) Exactly. (GT: Or the audience) Yeah, yeah, in many ways.. .I'm not going to name names, but for example, 'do you guys have your own sound system?' 'No, we're kind of hoping that you would.' 'Oh, okay, well do you guys draw a crowd?' Well now, hang on, let's see now. You 're the club owner, you're involved in the music industry, right? Shouldn't you know these things? There we go. (GT: Who is very supportive in terms of clubs? Are there some that are more supportive?) Big time. I'd be happy to name names. I mean one of my favourites is Clint, who ran the Bar Fly and T.A. Verns and now Verns. And eventually he's going to be run out of town because he doesn't play everybody else's stupid games. There's good ones, you know. (Coffey 2007)

The notion of getting paid seems to emerge frequently when discussing venues with musicians. Many are prepared to play for free, or as Coffey suggested, for free drinks and food. Others hope to take a cut from the door, or from that evening's food and bar sales, or perhaps negotiate a flat rate from the venue prior to selling tickets. But there is money to be had in all ventures in Calgary, and local musicians know it:

I got a call about a family party that's in a western community, like a western town hall, a town outside of Calgary. Fifty people, aged teenagers to seniors, who want to dance and a little bit of rock and roll, little bit of country music, probably be a beef roast. So I got that booked, and that gig there is almost going to pay my rent! One gig. (Masters 2007)

Gigs are planned accordingly, knowing that other cities and scenes are less likely to be monetarily advantageous. In many places, such as Toronto, playing a venue simply presents an opportunity for publicity and experience, but has no financial remuneration:

I don't think there are such things as full-time musicians in Toronto.. .and you play for beer, you don't make any money there, they come out here and they're like, you get paid? Like Tim [Leacock] and I went and played Hugh's Room and we laughed. We knew we wouldn't get any money. We were talking to musicians and were like, yeah, we played a club on the weekend [in Calgary], and we each, I came home with $600. And there was three of us. (Hawley 2008)

300 The big money for local acts lies in the Stampede. It does not matter if one ever reaches the

Stampede grounds in July; there are so many events across the city that a local musician, at least one who is willing to play a few covers of classic country songs, can work full-time for the ten days that it runs (Ross pc 2009). A prime example are the ubiquitous Stampede breakfasts, at which employees of banks, stores, offices, and gas stations hand out free pancakes and sausages to crowds of families and those recovering from Stampede parties the night before. Often, these establishments will hire local country acts to play several sets at the scene of the breakfast, usually the parking lot, while other offerings such as face painting and balloon rides occupy other areas of the event.34

Combined with these breakfasts are afternoon barbeque lunches, often hosted as private corporate functions for visiting guests and local employees seeking an afternoon off, for which local acts are also hired to play, although corporate gigs seem to be a fairly consistent source of income throughout the year for Calgarian musicians:

You know...there's tons of corporate gigs. Tons of stuff. (GT: From what? Oil and gas?) All oil and gas, basically, almost all oil and gas. You know, those things are a double-edged sword, you get paid really well but it's either really great or just shitty. But that's, one thing that's been really keeping us alive, yeah it's good. (GT: What sort of events?). A bunch of stuff at Christmas time, a bunch of stuff over Stampede and they're always throwing some kind of soiree, you know, there's always some convention in town, oil gas lawyers, something like that. So we've been doing a lot of that. It's been good. And it's so funny because you think oh, god, we played Bennett Jones, which is a big law firm, it's in the penthouse of Bankers' Hall, they hired us to do, there was some law/bar convention there and that ended up being the coolest little gig because they ended up taking a conference room and literally completely redone it

34 For example, during the seven-year period that I was employed at a local cooperative grocery store, I participated in cooking and serving pancake breakfasts to the store's customers once every Stampede season. Seeking out the best breakfasts can become quite the feat—my family attempted to find good ones every day of the Stampede for a couple of years (and there are many to be found across the city on all ten days). As young teenagers only into the first week of sleeping in over summer holidays, this activity quickly became tiresome, since it not only involved being at the breakfast by 7 am to ensure smaller line-ups and better food, but the general expectation was that as children, we had to look the part, wearing the requisite cowboy hat, plaid shirt, bandana, and jeans in order to attend (although certainly those not dressed in such costuming are not turned away). 301 so it looked like a saloon, and had a little bar there and everything. And we stood at the front and we're thinking, aw, we're just going to be background music and everybody got totally into it, it was a ton of fun. (Phillips 2008)

Artists are clearly exhausted by the frenzy of Stampede activity, as made evident by this series of posts on Facebook by Matt Masters during Stampede 2009:

Matt Burgener i played seven 45 minute sets yesterday, 5 the day before, and have 4 today. 27 total in nine days, haven't drank or smoked in 9 days, finally had a steak yesterday, tonight we're at the Local 510 for the joel plaskett after party. July 6 at 11:00am • Comment • LikeUnlike • Show Feedback (1 l)Hide Feedback (11)

Matt Burgener is beat July 7 at 1:35am • Comment • LikeUnlike • Show Feedback (l)Hide Feedback (1) Allen Baekeland at 1:42am July 7 (Calgarian session guitarist) I hear you, brother.

Matt Burgener is at the ship tonight July 8 at 10:52pm • Comment • LikeUnlike • Show Feedback (l)Hide Feedback (1)

Matt Burgener two shows tonight, come on down. July 10 at 6:40pm • Comment • LikeUnlike

Lisa Attewell I think we might be getting a night out for some Stampede fun...where are you tomorrow (Saturday) night?? July 10 at 7:39pm • Comment • LikeUnlike • Show Feedback (2)Hide Feedback (2) Matt Burgener at 12:34pm July 11 i'm at at the grounds, but i'm playing corporate stuff.

Matt Burgener wow. i think its over, the end is here, and i'm delighted

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Finally, there are the evening bar gigs; often several acts will be featured in a

Stampede hoedown party type of concert, or local bands juggle one or two gigs every night at various bars in town. Even those establishments not normally inclined to feature country music will hire roots acts because the music lends itself to the overall mood of tradition and partying found around the city. Moreover, tourists expect to hear the authentic strains of country songs wherever live music is featured, and will spend money drinking at those places

302 offering the music.35 With all of these playing possibilities combined, the Stampede is a lucrative time for local roots acts: "[Y]ou talk to Tim [Leacock] and Ron Cassett, you know they play during Stampede, some of them make $10-15,000 a week just 'cause they're playing breakfast, lunch" (Hawley 2008). "Yeah, it's pretty good. I mean, Stampede kind of makes our year" (Phillips 2008).

House Concerts: A (New?) Venue

A brief mention of the role house concerts play in the roots scene of Alberta is necessary. While these concerts are often regarded as a "new" venue opportunity for touring musicians, in fact they have been in existence for various genres on the prairies since the

1980s (Michener 1995; Wani 1995). House concerts are essential to touring artists, especially in the prairies, as they provide a chance to make extra income in the long stretches of time and distance encountered between cities. Fans with space in their house invite an artist to sing there for the night; friends are invited and charged a nominal fee and the artist not only gets the door, but can make money from selling CDs to the intimate audience. By doing this frequently, artists can grow their audiences significantly, as they are exposed to friends of the concert hosts who might not normally have a chance to see the artist play. Siemieniuk, who now sits on the board of a house concert circuit designed and run by Winnipeg Folk Festival founder Mitch Podolak, explained how it worked:

It's based out of Winnipeg, Mitch is running it. And what he's done is set up circuits. Two in Alberta right now, two in Manitoba, one in Saskatchewan. He's working on circuits around the country. So as a musician that is either in a niche market or just starting out, he will send you out for two weeks where you play every night at

35 The live country music featured at the actual Stampede Grounds includes the buskers in Rope Square (see Chapter 1 for a photograph of this area), performers at the Country Music Hall of Fame, and headlining acts at the Saddledome arena. Aside from two tents, Nashville North and Window on the West Stage (which is a very recent stage, featuring many more acts than have been seen in the past, and featuring a great number of cowboy- oriented and regional acts), much of the music featured tends to be of a Top 40-pop/rock orientation, such as that on the free Coca-Cola stage. 303 someone's house. You keep all the money, you sell all the CDs... almost everybody buys a CD.. .And there's no expenses at a house concert because people put you up, they feed you and you're gone the next day. So Mitch's point is rather than touring bars, a lot of places don't have music every night so you're sitting around in Thunder Bay on a Tuesday, waiting for your gig on a Thursday or Friday, pissing away any money you're ever going to hope of making. And this is actually quite brilliant.. .And his organization, if you're interested, he sends someone out to your house to make sure you can do it. He tells you, here's the book on how you do it, here's how you get people to come, here's how you do this, and he makes it easy from both ends, and people, all they are asked to do is four concerts a year, which means spring, fall, summer, and he's got two circuits now, but he wants to have like 10 or 12 circuits in each province.. .He's trying to grow this into a Canadian house concert circuit.. .that's a grassroots way of building fans, because if people get 20 or 30 people at a house, if they become your fan, next time you come to a bar... .I'll bring some friends, and all of a sudden you've got your 200 people [laughs]. So this house concert thing is a really really really brilliant idea and I hope Mitch can sustain it. It's a really fascinating grassroots kinda thing. Smart, (siemieniuk 2008)

Summary: Roots Music Venues

I have presented a fairly rosy picture of the available venues for roots musicians in

Calgary. This is largely due to the sense of community that is generated, either for the attending audiences (at the folk clubs); for staff and volunteers that are heavily involved with the venues (at the festival in particular); or for the musicians who feel a connection to, and affinity for, the supportive atmosphere created by sympathetic and enthusiastic owners (at the bars in particular). This is not to say that the live music situation in Calgary is without problems. The frequency with which venues open and shut down, the uncertainty they face in light of changing economic situations for audience members, and the fluctuations in roots music activity caused by musicians moving in and out of the city all make for a relatively unstable live scene. While the Calgary roots scene appears to be at a peak now, given the government's financial support for nonprofit venues like the Calgary Folk Festival, the

Cantos/King Eddy partnership, and the emerging live hall at the CFF's new building site, and given the audience support for all venues enabled by the booming economy in the city, this

304 success can be ephemeral in nature. Financial worries often plague artists and venue owners during times of lower attendance. However, despite these worries that venues may face, there seems to be a tangible sense of community available for those who wish to participate in the live music scene. While that sense of community has been problematized for its exclusivity

(as noted in my discussion of the folk clubs) or for the careful negotiation of politics and relationships that is required (fundamental not only to the bar scene, but to dealing with programmers and artistic directors at all venues), it does seem to guide the decisions made and emotions felt by participants. Moreover, the interpersonal relationships that are developed within these constructed communities enable further webs of music industry activity to flourish, as will be demonstrated by the ensuing discussion of independent roots music labels in Calgary.

Independent Local Labels

I turn now to the stories of two independent record labels in Calgary that were started to foster the growth of local music and provide increased income and opportunity for musicians in the area. Both Saved By Radio Records and Ruby Moon Records started around the same time, in the early 2000s, and not only contributed to the awareness and consumption of local roots music, but connected venues, musicians, and media through their role in the increasing professionalization of the city's music.

Here, I draw on the extensive discussion of the ideological framework, economic elements, and interpersonal relationships that characterize independence from Chapter 2.

Using the notion of independence as attributed to indie labels that operate at various levels, I look at how both Saved By Radio and Ruby Moon view themselves, and how they operate in the complex production, promotion, and distribution networks characteristic of the music industry. Additionally, I am mindful of the ever-changing nature of their existence and operational practices, given the outside factors that may have a bearing on decision-making at the administrative level. That is, the extent to which technology is used by musicians at all levels of independence continually defines and re-defines the role record labels play in promoting and distributing their artists (see Chapter 2 for an extensive discussion of varying uses of technology). Furthermore, external sources of funding such as government grants and the new Rawlco radio recording grants (see Chapter 6) impact the ability to produce records of varying quality and affect the extent to which individual/company financial resources are needed for recording projects. I thus provide a brief overview of the background, history, and ownership of each label, highlighting the relationships label administration maintains with artists and local media.

Saved By Radio Records

Saved By Radio Records was started in November of 2003. Partners Jennifer Abel and

Dawn Loucks had met while both were programmers at CJSW, the University of Calgary's radio station. Loucks had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and had just come out of chemotherapy when she found out Abel had similarly been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's

Lymphoma. The experience of dealing with cancer led the two to be friends, and during the effort to help each other survive several traumatic experiences, they began to discover their common love for music. Both continued to program at CJSW and support local music by attending concerts and making connections with musicians around town. Loucks had been particularly interested in creating a Stompin' Tom Connors tribute CD, and when speaking with a friend (Cam Penner, a local musician), she suggested the idea. He agreed to help her with the disc, provided she could obtain funding. Loucks was able to financially support the

306 project, and BYOP (Bring Your Own Plywood): Calgary Does Connors was released in

November 2003. Through this project, Loucks met several more Calgarian musicians whom

Saved By Radio has worked with since. Their first deal was signed with local roots rock band,

Old Reliable, who had previously released three independent discs and had never succeeded in obtaining a record deal. Since then, the label has signed several acts in the roots category such as cowboy singer Tim Hus, as well as artists who fall under a more general roots-rock category, like The Swiftys, Falconhawk, and Vailhalen (Loucks 2004).

Although not originally from Calgary (Loucks is from Manitoba; Abel from Waterloo and later Fort McMurray in Alberta), both women are dedicated to and supportive of Alberta music. The distinction between Edmonton and Calgary becomes more blurry at Saved By

Radio, in that many of the artists on the roster travel frequently between the two cities for gigs, share backup musicians, and create similar-sounding music. Therefore, Abel and Loucks are interested in signing artists that emerge out of those two centres, or beyond the province, should they find an act of interest to them. Saved By Radio has been mainly confined to

Albertan or Western Canadian acts, and their releases thus far display some eclecticism.

Aside from the two owners, they have another staff member who helps with administrative work, and both Abel and Loucks maintain day jobs on top of their musical endeavours. Abel works as a linguistics teacher at Mount Royal College, does freelance writing, and is employed by the Effective Writing Centre at the University of Calgary, while Loucks works part-time as a computer programmer (Loucks 2004).

The risk involved in starting a record label was something Loucks had never considered before she was diagnosed with cancer:

Having had cancer is a great motivator for throwing aside any cautionary thoughts one might have about living life. Because I definitely thought it would be really cool to be 307 involved in a record label for years, but thinking, well, that's one of the most impractical things I could think of doing. But the cancer, it's a real freer. (Loucks 2004)

Recognizing the lack of opportunity in Calgary for most artists in the roots scene, she was

drawn to the idea of creating an environment that would propel the music forward into national distribution and recognition: "I think it was a real timing thing, there was a lot of very

mature musicians here that have never had the kind of exposure they deserve.. .there's been

nobody, no money, no effort, whatever, so you have these musicians that are amazing, second

to none, but haven't really had any external involvement" (ibid.). With this in mind, Loucks

and Abel have built a substantial roster of artists within the last year in the hopes that they will

garner some attention for a music scene desperately in need of national attention.

Ruby Moon Records

Ruby Moon started quite similarly, and at approximately the same time as Saved By

Radio. While the origins of the company were originally kept from public knowledge, the

owner eventually granted interviews to the press and revealed who he was. Joel Shortt was a

Calgary-based lawyer who put himself through law school by working as a music director at a

radio station. He made several efforts to advance Calgarian music by working on numerous

small projects with various local bands, all in the interest of eventually starting a label. Well

known for his wild lifestyle and enthusiasm for local music, he has since become legendary

among musicians in the city: "[He was a] lawyer, litigator, in a big way, Calgary's biggest

litigator. He had a streak where he won 80 cases in a row. I'm talking about you know, oil

and gas lawsuits. The guy was an animal, he was a huge music fan. He used to play piano

too, big art collector" (Phillips 2008). Shortt approached Tim Williams, a well known local

blues musician, producer, and songwriter, and asked him to produce many of these projects.

308 Eventually, Ruby Moon was born with its first releases being part of the Wee Hours series, a scheduled four-album per year series that showcased local musicians in live performance.

Williams was brought in to produce the Wee Hours discs and consequently became integrated into the company, serving a production, marketing, and A&R (artist and repertoire) function.

Ruby Moon's only other employee was Shannon Anderson, who was in charge of publicity, distribution, and media coverage (Williams 2004).

Aside from the studio albums from signed acts across Western Canada, particularly

Calgary, there was the Wee Hours arm of the company, as well as the Harvest Moon arm, which was to be a series of reissues and compilations of out of print works; all of these releases were firmly entrenched in what the staff called roots, which for Ruby Moon included blues, country, folk, jazz, and world music. Ruby Moon's first two releases were Wee Hours records, one from local jazz and blues musician Bill Dowey, and one from Tom Phillips. Ruby

Moon was, like Saved By Radio, interested in compilation CDs, and also put together a Hank

Williams tribute album called Sorrow Bound (by the band of the same name) that was released in February 2006. Such compilation albums not only reveal common influences between musicians, but they serve to be beneficial to the local music scene, since they feature multiple musicians while simultaneously avoiding the cost of putting out multiple releases.

Unfortunately for the label, soon after its promising beginnings, it quickly vanished.

Joel Shortt suffered a heart attack during the mixing of the Sorrow Bound project. Ever the vivid storyteller, Tom Phillips told me what he heard of the label's demise during an interview:

So we made a record with him, with Ruby Moon... And then Joel dropped dead while mixing that Hank Williams one, one New Year's Day, Tim Williams was there. Tim Williams and the engineer, they were in the studio and Joel was down there. He was a bit of an animal, he just did everything, he drank heavy, smoked a lot, worked like a 309 dog, worked 'till 4:00 in the morning, didn't phase him, and then go out for a couple drinks. But as they're mixing this thing and he said, 'I'm not feeling very well, I think I'm going to go home, can we do this tomorrow,' it was 2:00 in the morning, they said sure, so he left the studio, was walking up the stairs because the studio was in the basement, and Tim and the engineer heard this thump! And they go up to see what happened, he was stone cold dead, like the second he hit the ground, a massive heart attack. Isn't that crazy? So that was the end of Ruby Moon Records (2008).

I asked Phillips if he there had been a will or a plan for the label should something happen to

Shortt and he replied:

I don't think he was thinking that way, I mean it was just getting started, he made some money off that, it was pretty cool because nobody makes money off that.. .that Hank Williams thing did pretty well.. .He was such a high profile lawyer, he'd go to a courtroom and people would just shake. 'Cause he was our lawyer for when the Ironwood stuff, and it was almost devastating to watch. I mean our case was completely right and it was so obvious it was, but he left nothing to chance. Nothing. Like the judge knew we won before we even got in the courtroom because he'd sent the briefs and all that stuff, the other lawyers sent a two-page brief, he sent like 370 pages of documented, you know what I mean, he was just totally like that. But he did some good stuff for roots music in Calgary too. It's neat to have entrepreneurs like that around. (Phillips 2008)

The Sorrow Bound project has since risen to a similar level as the Mecca Cafe recordings of the Co-Dependents, given that it was Ruby Moon's last release, and given that Billy Cowsill

(a member of the band) also died in 2006, three weeks before the recording was released.

Stories that take on mythic status such as Ruby Moon's, similarly decorated with venerable characters, contribute in no small way to the cultural capital gathered by

independent labels and their founders. The limited attention Calgary music receives from mainstream media has fostered a sense of pride in being self-sufficient and underground among musicians in the city. Thus, entrepreneurs who are willing to bet their individual capital on selling the music to the public are revered in the community: "[Tjhose kind of guys

are like gold in a town like this, 'cause if you're going to own a music club [or label], you

gotta really wanna do it. It's gotta be love. It can't be just, 'I wanna make some money off

310 music.' It just can't. It would probably survive and do fine, but you're probably not going to make a lot of money" (ibid.).

Constraints of Independence

The most fundamental question that may arise in the case of indie record labels in the contemporary industry climate is what level of activity constitutes independence? What does acting as an alternative to the majors mean? Howard Becker (1976) categorizes artists as one of three types: the integrated professional, the maverick, and the nai've artist. In between the maverick and nai've category sits the "marginal" artist, the type who is willing to experiment and create original works without straying too far outside the boundaries of the established practices within the canon. And while the integrated professional remains tightly bound within the canon, adhering to the customary conventions of the field and reproducing works that have a guaranteed audience, the maverick moves beyond to violate expectations, shift stylistic norms, and create audience upheaval. However, because the maverick often acquires his or her skills in a canonical environment, their work will frequently preserve some elements of the previous tradition. Although some of the maverick's works will eventually gain acceptance within the canon, initially their innovation and novelty will present difficulties in reception. Finally, the naive artist is one who resides on the outskirts of the art world, unable to communicate with the mainstream, since he or she has not received any kind of formal training or vocabulary in the domain. As a result, the nai've artist is often shunned from more commercial ventures and remains underground, rarely able to make a substantial income from his or her works. However, it is possible for the nai've artist's works to be integrated into the mainstream, particularly if other artists begin to adopt their ideas and a trend begins to form.

At this point, the nai've artist's work crosses the line between avant-garde and mainstream,

311 which brings about another set of issues and practices related to its production and consumption (Becker 1976).

Similarly, indie record label owners may be perceived as all three social types, although they more often than not slide into the maverick or naive category, depending on the type of music they release and their approach to it. Both the maverick and nai've approaches possess a set of problems that may interfere with the company's success. A maverick may be more likely to model the company after the majors, adopting the business practices and marketing schemes because they have only been exposed to this way of operating in the past.

This is the case with Wax Trax Records, as Lee notes: "When Wax Trax's belief system came to interact with the institutions operating as part of the dominant ideology of our culture, the company's employees lacked the necessary means to critique or resist the seemingly implicit

'logic' of the market" (Lee 1995:25). Similarly, a nai've label owner might produce music that is so far removed from the conventions of radio programming or concert possibilities, or might fail to utilize the standard avenues for selling records as an ideological rejection of the industry operations, that he or she may alienate potential distributors, retailers, and concert promoters (not to mention a potential audience) in the process.

What this leads to is a realization that for an independent label to survive, customary procedures must be implemented, procedures which frequently mirror those of the majors.

Lee notes that the reality of the relationship between majors and indies is that it is shifting and dynamic; as indies attain success with their chosen genre or artists, majors look to incorporate these upcoming trends, whereas indies generally tend to use the majors' well-established methods for marketing and selling records (ibid., 22). This was evidenced in my interaction with Saved By Radio when I was programming a roots music radio show on CHRY in

312 Toronto: I regularly received detailed press kits along with new CDs, touting the artists as new, innovative, and beyond restrictive generic categories; I was contacted by their publicity staff to conduct interviews and promote albums on my radio program; and they eagerly anticipated playlists and charts that tracked the albums' success.

Lee's discussion of two opposing views on capitalism, based on the work of Jameson,

Lyotard, and Greenblatt, supports the notion that an independent label cannot ever be fully divorced from its capitalist context. In quoting Jameson, one view of capitalism poses it as an alienating ideological structure, one that "generates artificial divisions between politics, economics, and aesthetics—hence pitting the 'romantic' view of artistry versus a 'logical' view of capitalism," while Lyotard's argument implies that capitalism obliterates any alternative viewpoints to it because it acts as a totalizing force that subsumes the above divisions as well as any alternative discourses (Lee 1995:22-23). The ensuing effect of this dominant discourse is a "flattening" of meaning, so that the differentiation between artistic, business, and personal objectives becomes integrated within the context of a record label

(ibid.). Greenblatt's synopsis of two opposing forces supports Lee:

Capitalism has produced a powerful and effective oscillation between the establishment of distinct discursive domains and the collapse of those domains into one another. It is this restless oscillation rather than the securing of a particular fixed position that constitutes the distinct power of capitalism. (Greenblatt 1990:153)

Thus, Lee is able to explain Wax Trax's eventual takeover by a major label as both a collapse

into the totalizing force of capitalism as well as an ideological struggle for its staff. This necessary shift in ideology may be problematic for the label, but is recognized as progress as well, which facilitates an acceptance of the fact that indies are often modeled after majors

(ibid., 24-25). It may seem fairly obvious that this is the case—although ideally indies begin

with a notion of promoting their favourite music to a wider audience, what does that 313 promotion require? Inevitably, it requires the selling of records, which places independents right at the heart of a capitalist framework.

Beyond acknowledging their position in the capitalist system, independent labels must strike a balance between their ideological concerns and the practicalities involved in surviving the business. Gray suggests this was how Theresa Records achieved a substantial level of success—by publicly declaring their love for the music and desire to share it with an audience, but simultaneously always recognizing the need for commercial success to sustain the company (Gray 1988:122). Loucks of Saved By Radio seemed to have a slightly different approach:

We're going to try [to get] the label [Universal] to take certain acts from our label on, sign them directly. They'll get a Universal deal, we'll stay on as, I call it cheerleader. We're not really managers, not strictly a label, we just do whatever we can do to connect bands, or to help them along the road they need to go. And that involves all kinds of stuff, it's not a very well-defined role. We're going to stay involved with these artists whether they're signed to another label or not. (Loucks 2004)

For Loucks, what matters more than commercial success is artist support. This is a typical stance early on in independent companies, although indies rarely hope that their artists will leave the label in search of better record deals. Loucks' stance places her in a position where

Saved By Radio is more of a hobby than a full-time business. Instead, she provides financial aid while simultaneously acting as a manager, booking agent, and general facilitator for the bands she has signed. SBR is currently, and perhaps may always be, in a place where financial gain takes a backseat to artistic integrity and personal relationships. Loucks notes:

One of the things I realized is that.. .the emphasis we place on connections, connecting with people, whether it's booking agents or all the things you need to do to get music available to people is not necessarily a skill that musicians possess. I recognize the value of this external energy that we bring to the table, especially the fact that we're not musicians is very important, because we're not trying to work our records too.. .Whether you call it a label, or whatever it is, you need some kind of involvement from an external team to coordinate all these things, (ibid.) 314 Whether or not Saved By Radio will survive based on Loucks' and Abel's philosophy is something that only time will determine:

I realized I'm very fascinated by this process of possibility..I love music, and literally for us, we were saved by radio.. .And I love the possibility of what could happen with these bands. I guess a goal of ours would be to see all of our bands make a comfortable living being full-time musicians, and on a totally unrelated topic, I want to get a healthcare plan.. .Because a lot of musicians.. .have kids and mortgages and they're trying to have a decent life but still be musicians. That's part of something that is really important for us. (Loucks 2004)

For Loucks, what matters is the personal connection they have with their artists, and what can come out of connections made throughout the industry. Saved By Radio's philosophy echoes one that is likely adopted by most independent labels started by music aficionados who still hold full-time jobs and outside interests. Provided the financial backing is present, these labels can afford to take risks for a short period of time, after which future decisions may be more carefully made depending on the sales of early releases. And while Loucks' approach may sound somewhat perilous, given both Alberta's and roots music's minor roles in the

Canadian music industry, often what influences a label's willingness to take risks in the hope of achieving success is their sense of a particular scene's or artist's viability:

My willingness to spend money in areas where others are not has everything to do with cancer. Indie music in Canada is not something you're going to be bound to get a return on, if ever, within a short period of time. But maybe because we're willing to go out on a limb, I still believe in my gut, as every entrepreneur needs to, that somebody is going to catch on. We're going to end up making money [laughs]. It's just a matter of trying to do the best job we can. (ibid.)

Similarly, Ruby Moon's approach was to find the best artists possible and foster their talent, without constant worry as to how the albums will sell, at least at the moment. Again, their belief was that the music scene in Calgary has been ignored for too long, both within the

315 larger scope of the Canadian music industry, and within the alt-country and roots scene as well. Tim Williams noted:

I live and breathe the alternative folk and roots music business in Canada, it's what I do from when I get up to the time I go to bed at night, whether as a player or a writer or booking myself doing my business in folk clubs and festivals, that kind of thing. So I've run into all kinds of people, I get to hear just about everybody at some point. And word of mouth is very handy for that, people bring acts to your attention. (Williams 2004)

One difference between the two was that Ruby Moon did not obtain any funding from the granting agencies of the Canadian music industry, whereas Saved By Radio makes use of grant possibilities through FACTOR, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Rawlco radio grants. This financial independence was clearly an indication of the level of commitment Shortt had to Western Canadian roots music.

Ruby Moon and Saved By Radio both therefore function as a combination of the

"mixed" and "ideological" labels defined in Gray's discussion of Theresa Records, as mentioned in Chapter 2. Because of its well-determined staff roles (which create certain marketing practices such as planned-out CD release events) and slightly more business-like

arrangements, Ruby Moon was more mixed than ideological, whereas the close friendship between Loucks and Abel, as well as their personal relationships with their artists and the

existence of a Saved By Radio bandhouse for groups recording and playing in the city make

SBR more ideological. It is a mistake to say either label is purely one or the other, since their

financial independence enables them to both be classified as ideological labels with a strong

allegiance to local roots music, based in their sense of a community-oriented music scene.

Conclusion

The roots music industry in Calgary continues to be shaped by changes in technology,

shifts in available economic capital, and the movement of musicians and entrepreneurs 316 supporting them in and around the city. It has been rather difficult to identify a definitive set of practices that define the local industry because every time I returned for a fieldwork trip,

something had changed in the venue and label landscape. One gap that appears here, and is well documented by musicians in the city, is the dearth of administrative support for independent music. Managers are few and far between, with those that are in the city either reluctant to take on the work (as is Neil MacGonigill) or bound by other obligations (such as

Josh Marantz, who recently moved to Manitoba). As a result, musicians are forced to take on the business side of music more frequently than they would like, as noted in the variety of jobs they undertake themselves in Chapter 2.

Cohen notes, in reference to her participants' experiences of playing gigs, that:

Ideally, the balance...was such that the aesthetic/artistic factors transcended the social relationships so that the non-rational, emotional, symbolic aspects of the gig predominated, overshadowing its more rational, pragmatic aspects. In such a situation band members and their audiences would undergo a process of transformation to reach a state of enjoyment and euphoria and a sense of harmony, unity, and identity, an experience which would overcome any existing tensions, problems, or conflicts. (Cohen 1991:101)

The continual effort to construct a community of musicians and audience members at any

given gig can be motivated by any number of factors including politics, sponsorship

guidelines, and audience taste. As a result any sense of community gained by participants

may seem fleeting or superficial, whereas in other situations that sense of community could

also grow and develop over long periods of time. While the gig, as Cohen notes, should

function to narrow the divide between performer and audience because all participants are

somehow creating the performance, in fact communitas often cannot be achieved because pre-

existing hierarchies of taste, industry position, and privilege invade and impose structure on

the event.

317 In Calgary, the area where these distinctions may be overridden is in the explicit programming or signing of Albertan or Calgarian content. A community of belonging can be created through the unequivocal fostering of local artists by not only providing a space for

Calgarian-specific expression, but by exposing local audiences to such artists. As a city that escapes the radar of the mainstream, any opportunity provided by these venues and labels for local musicians is vital to the scene's growth. What is troubling is those institutions that are reliant on government and corporate sponsorship seem to be reluctant to program local artists, preferring the "world stage" status that would be accorded by bringing in national and international acts. Furthermore, the impetus to use government monies to support artists from abroad implies a problematic favouring of that which is not Albertan, as seen earlier in the use of pictures of England to promote living in the province. Thus, the Calgary Folk Festival in particular, but also the Cantos Foundation (King Eddy blues bar), and the folk clubs, in using provincial and municipal funding, actually detract from the local scene while at the same time exposing Calgarians to music that they might otherwise not see. More profit-driven ventures such as the Ironwood and other local bars and Saved By Radio Records actually support local content more frequently, not only creating a locally derived soundscape, but promulgating the consumption of local music as well.

All of this outside programming reflects the Calgarian impulse to display its wealth in conspicuous ways, consuming artistic products that are synonymous with sophistication and cosmopolitanism, while simultaneously relegating its western-associated past to appropriate moments and spaces. However, the independent roots bands of the city are forced to invoke their "indieness" in yet another way, by fighting against such an impulse and venturing on an entrepreneurial quest to encourage the consumption of local music. Thus, like Cohen's bands

318 in Liverpool, Calgarian roots artists struggle against the "historical, socio-economic reality" of

Calgary life, but are also "able to transcend it and in turn influence it, thereby incorporating both continuity and change" (Cohen 1991:102). Chapter 6 will look more closely at how communities are constructed by local radio stations in their promotion and support of local roots musicians.

319 Chapter 6: "Pennies a Play"? Calgary Roots Music on the Radio

Bon Jovi and Sheryl Crow. Keith Urban and Shania Twain. Jack Johnson and Daughtry. Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen. That's who Calgary woke up to this morning when they tuned into 97.7 Calgary FM, a brand-new radio station from Rawlco Radio that claims to have no mandate except to play the music Calgarians want to hear. "So often music is pigeonholed into genres, by record companies, because it's easier to market, and by radio stations, because it's easier to formatize. But people don't do that, they have a wide variety of tastes," says Doug Pringle, director of programming at Rawlco. "As we started talking to Calgarians, it became apparent that a huge number of them were into guitar-based music that was driven by melody, and by lyrics. What we did is we looked at all sorts of music that qualified, across genres, music that you can find all over the radio dial in Calgary. But there's no one station that brings them all together because of their narrow formats. We just said, if that's what Calgary likes, then that's what we're going to play. This is the sound of Calgary's iPod. What also became apparent in our research is people love superstars, and they love the best songs by those superstars," says Pringle. "It seems obvious. So that will be our focus." (Lewis 2008)

The above opening section of a Calgary Herald article celebrating the launch of 91.1

FM on March 6, 2008, appears to draw parallels between the artists listed and the descriptor

"guitar-based, melody- and lyric-driven music," and between genre diversity and the

Calgarian listening audience. It also uses the notion of superstardom to transcend the pigeonholing tendencies of record labels and commercial radio stations. While this sort of discourse might be expected of most emerging commercial stations attempting to attract a new audience, it actually contravenes the mandate more clearly set out in 97.7's Promise of

Performance in its CRTC license application of 2007. Moreover, not all of the station's practices sit so clearly within a commercial radio framework (despite its commercial station status) and serve to create tension in the independent music scene of Calgary (which goes largely unnoticed by the general listening public).

Meanwhile, a competing provincial community station, CKUA, was faced with losing its listening audience and station identity as a supporter of local culture with the impending

320 success of 97.7 FM. Although 97.7 branded itself as a station that predominantly features pop

and rock programming, as suggested by the Herald's article, 97.7 actually is licensed as a

specialty station, a label that emerges primarily from its programming of local country and roots content in off-hours. CKUA's identity had already been challenged by the presence of

University of Calgary campus radio, CJSW, and its sister station in Edmonton, CJSR. What is more important than competition for listeners, however, is the fact that all of these stations are

able to succeed in the province, and that all of these stations provide an outlet for roots and

country artists in Calgary. The unique radio situation in Alberta is unparalleled elsewhere in

Canada and may be a fundamental reason why the independent music scenes of the province

are able to thrive despite the lack of mainstream media attention from the rest of the country.

This chapter will investigate the radio landscape of Alberta, and Calgary in particular,

as it directly influences the ways in which musicians produce and market their music and the

ways in which audiences receive that music. Initiatives developed by the above mentioned

stations both assist in growing the independent music scene, but also potentially foster

competition and hierarchical structures. These initiatives may also uncomfortably merge the

marginal and the mainstream for participating artists. The tensions between community and

commercial radio, between artists at the most independent level and those caught up in more

defined industry structures, are illuminated by the interactions among stations, audiences, and

musicians. Furthermore, the emerging problems posed by reconfigured notions of community,

the listening audience, and the geographical span of broadcasting have been exacerbated by

the online streaming of all of these stations over the internet. What was once a regionally

restricted area of music production and airplay has been upended by reconceptualized, or

imagined, communities produced by online broadcast. I will investigate this larger issue

321 within a framework of recent theory developed to address radio, and will contextualize my discussion of each station within that work. A brief history of the province-wide community station, CKUA, the commercial station 97.7 FM, and the campus station CJSW will set up a further investigation into their programming practices, issues of representation, their commitment to and investment in local culture, and the initiatives they have developed to support Calgarian music.

Radio and Theories of Community

Community radio stations, whether informed by the needs of special-interest groups, small localities, or university campuses, have long possessed an ideological quest that greatly distinguishes them from both public and commercial radio.36 While such an ideology is often altruistic and optimistic in nature, it is often a barrier to station survival. In the hopes of supporting, representing, and voicing the concerns of marginalized people and places, community radio must fight not only for funding, but for listeners who are more often than not drawn towards the pre-packaged format of commercial stations. Despite this struggle, community stations continue to operate, targeting small communities open to alternative media. In Canada, the ownership situation for commercial radio has recently changed, allowing companies to own two AM and two FM stations in large markets (such as urban centres). These rules have no doubt affected smaller community stations, in that they threaten to both steal away portions of a listening audience and match the more specialized programming that is characteristic of community broadcasters (CRTC: Public Notice CRTC

1995-60). For example, 97.7 functions as a profit-driven commercial station, while at the

36 Portions of this chapter are published in Post-Colonial Distances: The Study of Popular Music in Canada and Australia, ed. Beverley Diamond, Denis Crowdy, and Daniel Downes (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008), p. 131-44.

322 same time broadcasting a significant amount of local, grassroots content. Conversely, community stations such as CKUA operate as nonprofit organizations and focus primarily on similar programming content. The assumption made by programmers and station owners for both stations is that too much emphasis on local and non-mainstream content will reduce a station's attractiveness to potential advertisers and revenue, as will be seen below in a more detailed examination of their programming schedules.

Academic work on the subject of community radio in particular has grown in the last

15-20 years, although most scholars still recognize a significant gap in the efforts to move towards a usable and consistent theory of broadcasting as it applies to radio and the aural landscape (Lewis and Booth 1990). Despite efforts in that direction, Peter Lewis has noted that radio lacks status in policy-making arenas and communications theories, where a critically reflective and analytic language for radio is still absent (Lewis 2000:161). He suggests that perhaps it is the result of the recent favouring of visual and print culture, which privileges a

'reading' of the text (ibid., 163), that leaves aural culture, fraught with issues of developing discourse for intangible experiences, to struggle for academic recognition and rigour. Lewis suggests that it is quite strange that radio listening, "this habit, and the intimate things it does for us as friend, trusted informant and soundtrack for living, are almost literally unmentionable in public" (ibid., 161). Lewis, in particular, has been instrumental in investigating issues central to community radio, and others (Barlow 1988; Fairchild 1998; Hochheimer 1993) have developed this further, discussing various case studies and broadcast policies around the world.

William Barlow notes that the most salient characteristics of community radio stations are their "non-commercial status as broadcast outlets, their avowed policy of local community

323 involvement in their programming, and the democratic organization of their institutional procedures and practices" (Barlow 1988:81). Lewis documents the first instance of a community station in 1949 in Berkeley, California, when the preferred term was listener- supported radio. The term community came to be used for stations that sprung up in the 1960s and 1970s that were "autonomous, non-profit in goal, listener-supported and controlled, and deliberately offering a content alternative...while adopting a management structure and broadcasting style that challenged the traditions of professional broadcasting" (Lewis

1984:137-38). Community radio stations are distinguished from their public and commercial counterparts in a number of ways, not the least of which is the blatant rejection of both models by community stations (ibid., 140). While public radio aims to educate and serve a large population, and generally does so with considerable financial support, and commercial radio looks to serve a target audience defined by interested advertisers and the generic categories offered by major record labels, both neglect to pursue the interests of minority groups, alternative artists, and small communities defined by their locality. The failure of commercial and public radio to acknowledge diversity is where community broadcasters step in, offering a unique collection of music, community events, commentary, and alternative news sources, perhaps a result of overlooked groups taking media into their own hands.

Unfortunately, particularly even more so now with the encroachment of digital media,

"the community" is a problematic term both for identity construction and for broadcasting audiences. Frequently defined by the place in which they are situated, community participants can also be determined by commonalities in age, education level, ethnic background, gender, and special interests. Peter Lewis suggests that the use of the term was quickly adopted by commercial broadcasters because it signified nostalgic and respectable connotations, giving the listener a feeling of belonging (as the term "nation" does on a larger scale), and assumed an equation between community and its geographical area of transmission. Thus, a

"community" commercial station could serve to hide the irresponsible practices of a removed

centre of power (ibid., 139-40).

Lewis suggests that community has a different meaning for alternative broadcasters:

'Community' signals its origins in a particular moment of history, the mid-1960s in the industrialized West, at a confident stage of capitalism when the state could afford to tolerate and contain decentralized initiatives. The prefix [community] asserts an emphasis on the rights, and in many cases the priorities of local systems, populations and groupings over against the larger units of nation, region, or transnational corporation. But 'community' also signals legitimacy, (ibid., 140)

Peter Lewis and Jerry Booth trace the notion of community back through British radio, noting that original conceptions of community were not necessarily wedded to locality, but were

founded on a "nearly universal longing for the supposed certainties of the past" (Lewis and

Booth 1990:90-93). Geography entered the picture through this ideal, which imagined a common group engaged in a particular industry, and as Lewis and Booth note, continued after the Second World War when mixed groups of people collided in new urban situations. Mutual help and a sense of belonging fostered an ideal of community, and locality was inevitably

attached as a byproduct. The authors also note, however, that while radio exploited the

community-as-locality concept, shifts have taken place since the 1960s, when stations began

to orient themselves toward specific age groups instead (ibid.).

Today, even more clearly defined demographic categories are evident, as most stations

identify themselves by era (1960s, 70s, and 80s), by genre (alternative rock; soft adult

contemporary), and by easily identifiable station names, DJ personalities, overall soundscape,

and visual icons. And yet, commercial stations that attempt to do just this are often criticized

for sounding only marginally different from competing stations, and tend to cycle through 325 limited playlists of recent releases and past hits. To circumvent this criticism and reinvent

such demographic categories, stations are now using colloquial terms, phrases, and trends seen

in popular culture. Evidence of this is seen in the notion of "Calgary's ipod" for 97.7 and their

emphasis on "diverse listening practices" in its audience. Thus, a station such as 97.7 utilizes this hip identifier of diverse listening practices and reconfigures it into a demographic

category that subsumes age, race, or gender. This acts as an appealing hook to potential

audiences, thereby creating new ideas of a community of listeners.

The uniting ability of radio has long been the source of its power. The transcendence

of geographical boundaries has led to a reconfiguration of what community means: populations dispersed over vast spaces are able to connect via invisible airwaves. For Martin

Spinelli, this connection is not only reminiscent of radio rhetoric, but the discourse

surrounding the emergence of the internet as well. Spinelli suggests that early radio theorists

gained a renewed interest in the meaning of community, defining it in terms of interest rather than proximity. He says that "radio can collapse a regional sensibility, displace independence

and individuality, unify the national community and make possible a general standardization"

(Spinelli 2000:270-71). He problematizes the notion of a radio or internet community,

claiming it is artificial, not only because it is not realized in a physical sense, but because "the promise of connection is more important than what is being connected to" (ibid., 275).

However, just because a community is readymade and available for anyone to access does not mean it is artificial—this in fact counters the foundation of community radio and the

experience of the listeners. Jo Tacchi suggests that "the study of radio promotes, among other things, an understanding of the importance of the different senses in articulating private

identities and notions of sociality" (Tacchi 2000:291), that is, the private self collides with the

326 social self within the safe space of radio. Visualizing oneself as part of a community

suspended over the airwaves brings back the romanticized notion of community mentioned

earlier—it allows the listener to be connected to a safe and secure place where the articulation

of identity is possible, and the chances of finding like-minded people are many. Radio's readymade form allows for the audience to join without having to work for acceptance.

The main drawback of community radio stations is that they are frequently limited by

geographical lines. Because they are unable to broadcast beyond a given range depending on their wattage, the listening community is in some way defined by its geographical boundaries.

The presence of radio stations on the internet is obviously already altering this factor, particularly if internet access becomes more widely available to more of the population and

the results of this are particularly evident in the example of CKUA. And while geography

may not be the first and foremost characteristic of a station's identity, a sense of the physical

space around the listeners and programmers contributes in no small way to the production and

reception of a station's shows, thus for Albertan stations creating an imagined idea of what it

is like to "be there."

CKUA

This is particularly the case with CKUA Radio in Alberta, where the parameters of the

station's programming are governed by Albertan-specific characteristics. CKUA began

broadcasting on November 21, 1927; the station was originally a project of the University of

Alberta, and aired educational programs aimed at the surrounding area of Edmonton and

outlying rural regions. With very few other stations to choose from, listeners appreciated the

mix of radio dramas, educational programming that focused on agriculture, literature, and

politics, foreign-language programs for new immigrants, and classical music. One of the most

327 valued aspects of CKUA was its initial refusal to broadcast any music classified as "popular."

To ease its financial troubles, the station applied to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation

(then the regulatory agency as well as a competing station) for a commercial license several times; it was never granted because the station was educational and affiliated with the

University. On June 15, 1944, the University sold the station to the provincial government for one dollar even though its equipment, studio, and transmitter were valued at over $26,000 at the time.37 CKUA remained in the hands of the Alberta government for the next fifty years, yet the University retained the license, which, among numerous other reasons, prevented the station from successfully applying for a commercial license.

Throughout the next fifty years, CKUA maintained its eclectic and educational identity by continuing to offer informative programs aimed mainly at its rural audience alongside innovative music programming. Despite that, there were severe reactions to change: the attempt to include "light" classical music at certain times of the day was met with outraged letters, and surprisingly, the station stopped airing country music in what was known to the rest of Canada as the land of cowboys, even though it had been present on the schedule since

CKUA's early days. During the late 1950s and early 1960s, when efforts were made to overhaul CKUA's programming and direct it towards marginal and "intellectual" genres, country music was explicitly banned, even though it had been a regular feature in shows such as "Saddle Serenade," hosted by popular stage performer Robert Goulet. Country music programming did not return until 2000, when host Alison Brock's Wide Cut Country show started. These types of responses suggest that CKUA and its audience preserved a somewhat elitist attitude toward music programming, and that the educational nature of the station

37 Information in this section is largely derived from Marylu Walters, CKUA: Radio Worth Fighting For (Edmonton: University of Alberta Press, 2002). 328 appealed to most listeners. This began to change in the 1960s with the emergence of the folk revival, and the subsequent changes to the popular music landscape. More roots-based programming such as blues and acoustic folk was incorporated into the schedule (although

still no country music), and this was further expanded over the next forty years to include various types of international musics, jazz, and pop.

CKUA appeared to be thriving in the Albertan community. Throughout 1977 to 1983, the station expanded the broadcast range to include the full province, installing transmitters throughout far-flung rural areas. David Ward, afternoon host and CKUA employee since

1982, commented on those years:

I worked in the record library for a long time and would do fill-in work. Back then the station was completely government funded, we were, did all kinds of things there's no way we could do now, we.. .played modem classical music in the afternoons, we used to run question period from the legislature when it was in session, and we used to air educational broadcasts for kids in classrooms in the morning, it was quite a different station. (Ward 2008)

In 1992, when the entrance of Ralph Klein as provincial premier signaled the beginning of massive privatization and deficit slashing, CKUA found itself on shaky ground. Indeed, in

1994, the government announced it would sell the station, citing it as an unnecessary expense.

A charitable foundation was created to own the station, which purchased it from the

government for ten dollars, and government funding was to be phased out over the next three years. To make matters worse, the newly elected Chair of the Board, Gail Hinchliffe,

appointed as CEO and station manager, quickly ran the station into near bankruptcy partly due

to the fact that much of the remaining government support was for her own salary. On March

20, 1997, the station went off the air due to financial difficulties and internal strife. It stayed

off for over a month, while intensive work from the staff to restart the station began. The

station went back on the air on April 25, after many staff were let go or had agreed to work for 329 free, and over a million dollars had been raised in listener support. Additionally, the station had managed to gain a commercial license in 1995, allowing 504 minutes of ad time per week

(which only adds up to three minutes per hour), and had opened a studio in Calgary in order to garner local sponsorship from the headquarters of large corporations stationed in the city for certain programs. This revenue, combined with listener pledges, is projected to keep the station properly funded in the near future. Ward commented on this as well:

And then early in the '90s, we were close to being on the frontline of the Alberta government's removing themselves from anything like this, they were reducing their budget and getting out of anything they didn't feel the government should be involved in. So the station was, there was some plan concocted, the station was given some money, and we were set off on our own and we lasted a couple years and then we went down, there was a bit of corruption, questionable practices at the organizational level. Anyway, we were off the air for five weeks in '97 and our listener base basically helped bring us back and we had a million dollar campaign and we've been doing this ever since, about 60-70% of our budget comes from our listeners every year. (2008)

Music: Programming CKUA

In terms of music programming, recent changes have seen CKUA branch into a format that appears rather seamless and integrated. The generic focus centres on classical, folk, jazz, roots, pop, and international music. While this is a seemingly diverse grouping of genres,

CKUA maintains an "easy-listening" overall sound—pieces of music that are not overly jarring or esoteric are placed alongside warm and smooth programmer voices. Lewis addresses the professional voice of public and commercial radio, noting that such a smooth delivery can belie insincerity, impartiality, or an attempt to speak for the listener even when no such role is desired. The voice he alludes to requires a double deceit—one where the host is required to enact professional detachment and two where the audience surrenders any momentary mistrust of the broadcast to the host's "reliable" judgement (Lewis 1984:144).

330 Certainly, while CKUA hosts have individual and likeable personalities, their on-air delivery replicates much of what Lewis reveals as common to commercial broadcasting.

Alison Brock is the host and programmer for CKUA's current country music show,

Wide Cut Country. She has been with the station since 2000, and her professional background includes working in commercial radio, record label marketing and promotion, and independent artist management. She notes that the diverse population of Alberta contributes to the sounds currently heard on the station: "I think the scene is very healthy, but I don't think it's just limited to roots music...I think that all genres are represented, especially in world music.

Now granted.. .it's still on the fringe level, but it's there, and there's some amount of activity going on" (Brock 2005). Brock also notes that it is not only the professional sound of the station that draws listeners in, but the availability of numerous musics: "It's a combination of the breadth of musical genres and the level of professionalism. This is not campus radio; this is not university radio. The people on the air are professionals. So you get the best of both worlds" (ibid.). This goes against Lewis's discussion, in which he notes a conscious effort on the part of community stations to avoid the professional, carefully modulated voice characteristic of commercial stations (Lewis 1984:143).

The cultured and intellectual approach to programming and simultaneous degradation of "mindless" commercial programming is evident in the station's print advertisements (here, taken from Alberta Views, a left-leaning political and cultural magazine) (see Figure 44).

331 Figure 44: CKUA Advertisement

But this approach can still be viewed as elitist, verging on the schooled and insider identity adopted by the indie scene, which privileges well-established icons of good taste rather than branching into that which is unfamiliar, "simple," or too popular:

We're very lucky to have CKUA because they play all of this music.. .many places don't have that. So if we didn't have it, we would be dead. And there's lots of things about CKUA that I don't like. Because they don't play enough to really make a difference. They're preaching to the converted. They need to be a little more formatted, and they need to tap into something. They don't need to tap into everything, but they do need to take a Karla Anderson record and play it 200 times throughout the course of a year. That's still twice every three days. Or, maybe they can play it four times a day for two weeks or two months or whatever the case may be.. .don't play Johnny Cash. Everybody knows who Johnny Cash is, so don't play Johnny Cash...play something that's relevant to this scene, that's gonna benefit somebody. Use something to benefit people that are spending money and making records and out there busting their ass trying to make a go of it, don't be afraid to play 332 them a little bit. And don't be afraid to play.. .the Norah Jones record, it sold 20 million copies, don't think you're selling out by playing a Norah Jones track, which they do on CKUA, they wouldn't play Norah Jones if they had a gun to their head because they think well, she's a star. But the reason she's a star is because people love the music. (MacGonigill 2008)

Brock's country program would not have been well received in the past, given a number of factors including the station's educational identity, its roots as a campus station, and its continuing programming of classical, jazz, and more eclectic programming that is meant to exclude more "unrefined" genres. Ward said that the country programming happened almost by accident during the period where listener sponsorship was actively and frequently pursued by the station:

Our programming, for a variety of reasons, had to become much clearly more responsive to our audience, so.. .1 can't remember the year but we had these semi- annual fund-raising campaigns, in the spring and the fall, for awhile one of the things we were doing in sort of off-hours, say early evening, middle evening, we were encouraged to come up with program ideas and almost sort of pitch them during these fundraisers, so I put together a country show because we had no country music on the station. And it was always felt the accepted wisdom was, that of course for years, like classic public radio, we did play jazz and classical music for the most part with some blues and a little bit of reggae, but country music was just seen to be this area that our audience wasn't going to take. But we'd run the experiment, so I produced a two-hour program where I phoned out and had people, musicians and people who were in the industry, basically in a very succinct fashion, tell us why CKUA should have a country music show. And they suggested a piece of music and we'd go to the phones, and anyway, we raised a whole bunch of money. And then management, about 6-8 months later said yeah, I think we should move ahead with this. (GT: And that's when Alison's program started?) DW: Yes and then there was the search for the host and we ended up with such great good fortune in getting Alison. So we put her on a good time of day and we also put a bluegrass show on at the same time which I hosted, and then, yeah, it sort of broke through this perceived barrier that, and.. .1 remember.. .we would get some calls, what are you doing playing country music, this isn't CKUA. But clearly the success of the, especially the Saturday morning show, and we did very well when we moved the bluegrass to Sunday morning as well. So like I said, we got a little more in touch with our audience base, as we had to. We were responsible to them in a very direct fashion. ..And roots music is easy to program. Jazz music, you always run the risk, not everyone likes jazz, so as soon as you play it, you're running, some people are less comfortable. But roots music, blues music, folk, country, blue—when you start getting into bluegrass, that starts to take it out to the edge a bit. But it's easily

333 digestible. And then with the growth of the folk festival, over the last ten years, there's been a lot of expansion in the number of presenters in the province. (Ward 2008)

This position concurs with Hochheimer's advice in constructing and organizing democratic radio: "the management of the station must constantly assess for whom the station is functioning" (Hochheimer 1993:475) and a large part of that community in Alberta is likely going to want to hear country music. But it is a question of "who serves whom? Is the function of the station to serve its constituent community segments? Or do the communities act as resources for the station to present to society as a whole (ibid.)?" And thus programming decisions are constantly in flux and renegotiated as the population of the province rapidly shifts. Brock also commented on her beginnings as a country host at CKUA:

But in the meantime, I started working on this show. I probably had it in development for about two years. And then I phoned, on a cold call, phoned CKUA. And I left a message with the music director at the time, David Ward, and Ken Regan, the general manager. And I just said, 'this is who I am, I know this is very strange, a cold call, but this is what I have and this is what I would like to do.' Well, unbeknownst to me at the very same time that was happening, they were talking to Peter North, who is the director, about doing a roots show, and what they wanted was they wanted a male and female to co-host between Calgary and Edmonton, which would up their presence in Calgary. And Peter said, "Ah, I've got your gal, Alison Brock," literally on the same day that I left those messages. It was bizarre. (GT: Show is the first appearance of country in fifty years?) AB: I think it is, you know. In fact, I don't think they had a country show, ever. And they were quite nervous about it. In fact, what's great about CKUA is they don't hide anything. So if you get a positive email back, you see it. If you get a negative, you see it. And initially, I think there was one fax that I saw from people that had moved up north, and CKUA was going to be their way to stay connected to culture and arts and they were [looks shocked] 'totally disgusted, this isn't art.'.. .And what's interesting to me, is.. .for the first three years number one comment I got was, 'Never thought I liked country music.' And the reason that people say that is their only exposure has been commercial country. (Brock 2005) As of June 2005, eclectic programming took up the majority of the program schedule, and this includes international music, pop, jazz, blues, and roots. While eclectic programming took up 63.4 percent of the grid, classical music was the next highest genre, governing 10.9 percent of CKUA's shows. Pop as a show category on its own occupied 7.4 percent, as did

334 roots, and jazz received 5.1 percent of programming (see Table 5). A review of the program schedule in 2009 reveals that not much has changed, aside from ascribing some of the eclectic programming to more genre-specific shows. Here, eclectic programming is at 53.6 percent, talk and news shows have moved up to occupy 10 percent, and classical, roots, and pop/rock are nearly equal at 9.8, 9.5, and 9.2 percent respectively. Jazz programming has increased marginally, to 6.25 percent, and the specialty shows remain about the same (see Table 5). The programming generally differs from the more innovative approach that may have been heard in the 1960s or 1970s, reflecting a professionalized approach to programming that does not change greatly in tone throughout the day. Such an approach may appear to be a concerted effort to deflect "channel surfing," and interest listeners who may have originally intended to tune in only for their favourite types of music. Unfortunately, this may have a negative impact on the endeavours to create a listening community—is CKUA signifying the diversity of the province, or is it attempting to homogenize the listening audience like many of their commercial counterparts?

Table 5: Programming percentages (2005/2009)

2005 2009 Genre Hrs/week % Genre Hrs/week % Eclectic 107 63.4 Eclectic 90 53.6 Classical 18 10.9 Talk/News 18 10.7 Roots* 13 7.5 Classical 16.5 9.8 Pop 13 7.4 Roots* 16 9.5 Jazz 8 5 Pop/Rock 15.5 9.2 Talk/News 6 3.7 Jazz 10.5 6.3 Specialty 3 1.7 Live/Specialty 1.5 0.9 Total 168 100 Total 168 100 *Roots includes country, blues, bluegrass, folk, and one world program

In the classical, jazz, pop, and international programming, subgenres tend to be grouped within many shows under a broader framework, whereas this does not happen as frequently in the roots music shows, where shows tend to be separated by subgenre. That is, blues is kept separate from country, which is separated from bluegrass, etc. While all of these genres (and others) mix within the eclectic programming, they tend to be distinguished in a much clearer way than the pop, jazz, or classical shows. To the average listener, it seems as though a key component of CKUA's mandate is to showcase and support local artist efforts, not only by playing Alberta musicians, but by sponsoring concerts, festivals, and songwriting competitions as well. While there is no specific mandate to play Alberta content, it is largely understood across station programmers that their priority is to represent local artists. Both

Ward and Brock concur:

To be honest, I'm an elder of the tribe, I'm on five days a week, 15 hours a week, I'm not really, I'm not clear on any mandate. The station mandate is probably pretty watered down, you know, we exist to sort of foster and promote and, but it's not clear enough where I can use that as a mechanism by which to sort of work my program. So I think, there's this sort of unspoken understanding about what we do. I've never seen it, it's not been clear enough in writing, it's probably somewhere on the website, but it's not something we're reminded of or, new announcers are indoctrinated with (GT: changes from program to program too?). That's what I mean, it's not so specific as to be useful as a tool for me to guide me say, with my programming. (Ward 2008)

GT: Do they have a mandate to represent a certain amount, broadcast a certain amount of Albertan content? AB: They probably do, but nobody ever thinks about it. It's just what gets done. I've never been told to play, of course radio has CanCon [Canadian Content Regulations],38 I've never been told to play CanCon, but I regularly come out at about 55%, which is more than any commercial station. AND we're not ghettoizing it (from 11-midnight)39 [laughs], (Brock 2005)

Shows like Brock's and Tom Coxworth's Folk Routes seem to demonstrate an undying commitment to local music production. An example of this can be found in Brock's programming for Wide Cut Country from 2005, where anywhere from five to fifty-five

38 CanCon refers to the Canadian Radio-Television and Telecommunications Commission Act which states that a minimum of 35 percent of selections played on most shows in commercial or community radio must be considered Canadian Content. 39 Ghettoizing suggests here that most CanCon selections would be played during late night and early morning hours, when listenership is low. 336 percent of artists played are Albertan.40 Brock's playlists throughout April, May, and June

2005 demonstrate the (whether conscious or unconscious) concerted effort to highly represent

Alberta artists (see Table 6).

Table 6 (Alberta Content on Wide Cut Country, 2005) Alberta Content Week % 1 4.8 2 7.7 3 11.5 4 15.4 5 53.8

Local artists believe that their music could not succeed at the same level without the support they receive from the station, and they are nearly unanimous on this opinion. CKUA seems to be of particular interest to local roots musicians and other individuals involved with the roots scene, likely because it features programs dedicated to specific genres, creating numerous opportunities for airplay. Shows such as Fire on the Mountain or Wide Cut Country foster a notion of Albertan musical identity not only because they will broadcast artists familiar to the audience (or who are often playing in the province), but because these artists articulate what it means to be Albertan through references to places, sensibilities, and events in the province. Artists such as Dave McCann and Corb Lund find a welcoming audience that accepts their politically charged country songs that simultaneously evoke a Western Canadian sensibility. Perhaps even for artists like lan Tyson, whose work focuses on the hardships and lifestyles of a modern Canadian cowboy, CKUA audiences appreciate the subject matter and reaffirmation of their regional identity found in his songs.

40 Brock's Albertan content generally sits at fifteen to twenty percent; exceptions to this are exclusively Alberta- themed shows, such as the program during the Alberta Scene Centennial Festival in Ottawa in May 2005 (week 5 on Table 4). 337 Brock notes that her show (and the station overall) has become a forum for local artists to broadcast their material:

You talk to the artists, and the only place they get played is CKUA. You speak to other artists, who aren't from Alberta or even this country, and they're amazed at CKUA and they rave about it.. .For some artists, CKUA is the only station that they can get played on. And that's not just in the country and roots thing, that's all genres, for independent artists, it's a tough, tough go. And CKUA is an oasis out there, (ibid.)

For Brock, the listeners' connection with the roots music community is evidenced by their activity in the local market, whether it be through the purchase of recordings or attendance at gigs:

When Tom Phillips came out with a new record and I played it, it sold. Megatunes [a local independent record store] was selling copies. The Co-Dependents have sold thousands of copies of their latest record. Not even just Canadian or Albertan, but there's a whole huge list of artists that actually sell records. And you want to know if you are affecting people, they're shelling out money. Then you've struck a nerve, and until then, what you do doesn't mean anything.. .1 play for everybody else because I want to share what has blown me away, (ibid.)

McCann notes, "You go to Toronto, and they have university radio, but they don't have

CKUA. It's a big part [of the scene] out here in Alberta and it certainly makes it easier for you to sell CDs. So that's one huge advantage to living in Alberta. Without CKUA, no one

would hear about this stuff. It's too hard to market [this kind of music]" (McCann 2004). Tim

Williams agrees: "radio definitely comes into play in terms of the support that independent

music receives from CKUA. I think [they are the] reason why there's quite a large number of

players who can actually tour, at least province-wide, and have an audience. It's largely to do

with CKUA" (Williams 2004).

Most local artists are well aware of the limitations of commercial radio, making CKUA

a favoured choice for submission, interviews, and potential live broadcast, although this may

change somewhat with the presence of Rawlco's 97.7 FM. As Lori Reid of the Fates suggests:

338 If we didn't have CKUA promoting us, I think it's been very very helpful for us to gain exposure, because in the Alberta audience, and the Alberta audience is so wide, especially with the way things are economically now in Alberta, we've got people from all over the country coming to Alberta and then they're back and forth, coming and going, and so I think because we have music on a local radio station, an Alberta radio station, it's very respected for the variety, that our music has an opportunity to get heard by a lot more people. Commercial radio is completely a different story as far as Alberta goes.. .The commercial radio stations in Alberta basically want to see the rest of Canada play us before they will. But, which could be the hometown curse, but I don't know what it is, but we're also an independent act, so that might have something to do with it as well. (Lori Reid of The Fates 2007)

97.7 FM

Faced with substantial competition from similar stations in the area, 97.7 secured their

CRTC license by both promising to play "alternative" (that is, local roots and country) music and pledging $1.4 million in local recording grants for independent artists over seven years

(which works out to $10,000 per artist; 20 artists per year). The recordings that are funded are not owned by the station, and it is believed by the receiving artists that they could receive airplay on 97.7, although they often do not. In this section, I question how Calgarian artists reconcile their indie identity with mainstream radio funding and promotion. How does this identity shift with corporate sponsorship? What does this mean for the perception and consumption of marginal music scenes in general? How does this station compare to CKUA and CJS W in its programming, audience demographics, and representation of local culture?

These questions will contextualize my discussion of Rawlco's presence in Calgary and the artists' reaction to the station and will aid in addressing the larger questions of what commercial radio's influence over and role in indie music means for the contemporary scene.

Commercial Radio in Calgary

A brief review of radio in Calgary reveals that it is dominated by a substantial number of commercial stations, relative to its population. In a city of just over one million, there are

339 17 commercial music stations, some of which incorporate talk and specialty programming (see

Table 6), compared to Toronto, which has 23 commercial stations for a city of 5.3 million

(Lewis 2007). The limited and often similar musical offerings of these stations do not match their names, which instead reflect the enduring stereotypes of western identity or oil-driven wealth that Calgary clings to, such as Fuel 90.3, Energy 101.5, or The Range 106.1. Most

stations feature a mix of top 40, alternative rock, and classic rock with varying labels such as

"modern rock" and "adult contemporary." Stations such as Vibe, which specialized in an urban/hip hop format during its initial broadcast period, have been criticized for quickly

switching to a top 40 or more homogenized format that differs only slightly from their counterparts. Of note is the recent increase in country stations in the city; the Classic Country

AM 1060 channel switched to a country format in 2005 (Dulmage 2009), and Sun Country, broadcasting from High River, only began in 2007 (Broadcasting Decision CRTC 2006-330), thus making Country 105 the reigning country broadcaster for most of Calgary's recent radio history. Country 105 plays a standard mix of the current mainstream pop-influenced country,

neglecting long-standing "traditional" country acts such as Johnny Cash, Hank Williams,

Patsy Cline, and Merle Haggard.

Rawlco Radio History

Owned by brothers Gordon and Doug Rawlinson, Rawlco Comunications' station

ownership has oscillated through its history. The broadcaster has owned stations in Toronto,

Ottawa, Saskatchewan, Manitoba, and Alberta, and has, in the past been dogged by its

inability to meet license requirements in Toronto, first because it did not begin operations

during the time limit set out by the license conditions, nor did it adhere to its Promise of

Performance, and incorporated other, more popular genres in its daily programming.

340 Eventually, the stations were sold, in Ottawa to CHUM, and in Calgary and Toronto to Rogers after CRTC regulations eased, allowing single owners to increase their holdings in large markets (Canadian Press 1999). Rawlco cited the risk of owning only one station in a large market such as Toronto as the reason for selling to Rogers, but the station's rapidly slipping ratings were also part of the problem; in fact the pop, country, and rock mix that defined the

Toronto CISS station (and also characterizes 97.7 FM in Calgary) proved to be unappealing to the Toronto audience (Goddard 1998). Moreover, this programming schedule was in breach of Rawlco's original promised format of a country only station when the original CRTC license was granted in 1990. Now, this is not entirely problematic, as CRTC regulations regarding Promise of Performance were amended to allow stations flexibility in moving from one format to another without notice in 1995 (CRTC: Public Notice CRTC 1995-60). The problem for Rawlco was the uproar over their extension of the twelve-month time period granted to get the station running in 1990 (Quill 1992). Given that Gordon Rawlinson had promised $1 million in funding towards developing Canadian country talent per year, it was estimated that country artists had already suffered a loss of at least $800,000 due to the station's delay (ibid.).

After selling off its eastern radio stations, Rawlco reappeared with a seemingly new identity on the prairies, starting a jazz-driven station in Edmonton, multiple rock, country, and contemporary hit stations in Saskatchewan, and the pop, rock, country, and roots-focused 97.7

FM in Calgary. Rawlco attained its Calgary license by claiming it was a "Specialty" station, which, according to CRTC categorization, falls under Group III and basically includes any non-mainstream or any non-pop/rock/country music which makes up the majority of a program schedule. Group I includes pop, rock, and dance, and Group II includes country; for both groups 70% of the music broadcast must fall under those genres and stations are allowed to move freely between the two groups, according to the 1995 CRTC decision, which also acknowledged the increasing popularity of country music. However, since 97.7 is considered part of Group III, it is only bound to play less than 70% of subcategories 21 (pop, rock, and dance) and 22 (country and country-oriented) (CRTC: Public Notice CRTC 1995-60).

Music: Programming 97.7

97.7's programming day, in the primetime hours of 5:30 am to 7 pm on weekdays and until 6 pm on weekends, consists primarily of subcategories 21 and 22, featuring a mix of mainstream artists in the pop/rock/mainstream country genres. This programming tends towards the homogenized sound of proven hits that often characterizes mainstream radio, despite the so-called "innovative" mix of pop, rock, and country. But despite the predictable nature of the playlist, 97.7's conception of itself as "Calgary's ipod" reflects an effort to

change earlier formats, described by Grenier as "American-inspired" (Grenier 1990). The unquestioned adoption of American radio formats in the 1950s by Canadian commercial broadcasters ultimately ended up going against the desire for musical diversity that the CRTC hoped format regulations would foster. Especially problematic in this straightforward

adoption was the fact that stations regarded audiences as:

Groups of consumers but also as distinct social communities, demographical or geographical units—which were somehow considered as coherent and equivalent groupings. Indeed, the underlying assumption of format radio is that complex social communities can be divided according to their respective musical tastes...and that this homology somehow pre-exists radio programming, which simply responds to given consumer demands, (ibid.)

97.7's "specialty" programming, which they categorize as subcategory 33, folk music,

thus falls to the night time show (after 8:00 pm) and consists mostly of non-mainstream

country music, which includes some local acts (Newson 2008). The relegation of local 342 content to later hours coincides with Lewis's discussion of why community radio rejects the entrenched model of commercial programming: "the overriding concern is to maximize audiences in order to reward shareholders and a consequent relegation to off-peak times or total neglect of important 'minority' interests" (Lewis 1984:140). This evening show is actually hosted by Wide Cut Country host Alison Brock, while she continues to be employed by CKUA as well. CKUA was one of the few groups to oppose Rawlco's CRTC license application, stating that:

CKUA oppose[s] the application on the grounds that Rawlco's proposed folk and acoustic music format, the artists and musical selections that would be played by the station, as well as the presentation style of the programming, would compete with programming offered by CKUA. CKUA further submitted that its ability to compete with commercial radio stations was hampered because of the not-for-profit nature of its operations, the lack of government funding available, and the current limitations on the amount of advertising it is permitted to broadcast, (CRTC: Broadcasting Decision CRTC 2006-322) to which Rawlco did not respond. However, station manager and program director Kent

Newson defended the station's seemingly loose definition of "folk," saying:

And so that's kind of our philosophy, is, blowing up the genres and just mixing it all in where it makes sense. Obviously we're not gonna play some opera, we're not gonna play jazz but we certainly think you can mix pop, rock, and country and reach a large chunk of people and folk music is a large part of that I mean, when I say country, a lot of that is folk. And the definition of folk is created, I mean, the CRTC, and you can read verbatim, we'll talk about traditional folk music being pre-1957, mountain music, bluegrass stems from that, contemporary folk music is music that borrows style and instrumentation and made it more modern and so if you take a look at what's been winning and what's been nominated for the best country and folk albums for the Grammys, you're getting all kinds of stuff. You're getting Steve Earle's The Revolution Starts Now, which is a rock effort. And you're getting.. .Mark Knopfler, and you're getting Bruce Springsteen.. .So the line gets fuzzy, right? So it can be something that's kind of on the twangy side or it can be something by Jack Johnson, that just sounds cool. So, that's why our format tends to work really well with the folk side of things. Because folk takes many shapes and colours too, right? Put all of this together on one radio station and you hear the mix, the lines really start to get blurry and you start forgetting what's country, what's pop, what's rock, you know? And what's folk music? Some of it sounds very pop. Jeremy Fisher, I don't know if you know him, and he's won some folk awards and been nominated for folk awards and 343 you listen to him and you go, his last album, it sounds really pop. Sounds a lot like Paul Simon and then you go, oh wait a minute, Paul Simon, Simon and Garfunkel, they were a folk duo, so you know, it's all perception.. .1 was talking to the band Elliott Brood a couple weeks ago and I listened to their music and I think it's really good and in parts very aggressive, there's one song in particular where they have a banjo mixed in with guitars and I said to them, so do you guys consider yourselves a folk band? And they said, absolutely. So, okay, that's good enough for me. If you think you're folk. (Newson 2008)

In her discussion of transformat music, those songs that are deemed acceptable for

playlists on a wide variety of stations, Line Grenier problematizes the assumptions that could be made about three types of songs: cross-format songs, songs that achieve top 40 status on

multiple genre charts, or songs that fit into a proven mainstream Canadian chart "hit" for

stations looking to meet CanCon requirements. Instead, she suggests songs that are played on multiple stations are virtually irrelevant, since it is the broadcast soundscape surrounding the

song that counts, and more readily marks the station's format as different from another. "It

'never stops mixing what it borrows in order to produce itself.' By means of programming practices.. .radio broadcasting keeps on transforming 'an external product into a radio product

that meets its needs'" (Grenier, quoting Honnian and Moadel, 231). In that case, 97.7's

soundscape varies quite significantly from that of CKUA. The presence of more commercials

alone differentiates the two, and the use of rapid-fire delivery by the DJs, the consistent patter

of traffic reports, jingles, listener call-ins, and sound effects differs greatly from the quieter

environment of CKUA. CKUA is marked by muted programmer voices, extended discussions

on the music played and local events, and, in the advertisements offered, a regularly featured

emcee who does the voice-overs for upcoming broadcasts, concerts, and regional businesses.

Thus, the same song may find its way onto both CKUA and 97.7 playlists, but this matters

little in the "broader musical form" (ibid., 230) of the station's flow. Grenier suggests that

songs are just a small part of a station's sound: "rather than being its raw materials, radio 344 musics are the results of broadcasting... furthermore, their characteristics are not those of the isolated songs or records but those of the programming flow in which they are embedded"

(ibid., 231).

I asked Newson what their target demographic is, and what sorts of responses they were getting from listeners, and he responded:

What we're targeting is about 25-54 and a little bit more female than male but it's a little bit early to say where we're going to add up.. .So far, listeners are pretty enthusiastic and saying they like the mix. In the daytime we mix pop, rock, and country, and intersperse folk and then there's the more roots-based shows.. .a lot of the feedback we're getting is from both sides, people that like us in the day are turning on to the eclectic mix in the evening, people that are primarily attracted to the eclectic mix are kind of surprised that they like the more mainstream mix in the daytime. So there seems to be some crossover between the two, but you know, certainly, the type of people that are into what we're doing at night are.. .a little bit more music savvy, a little bit more interested in exploring vs. your average daytime radio listener, commercial radio listener. More kind of a comfort zone, background mentality. (Newson 2008)

Rawlco seems committed to improving any past damages to its reputation by committing to a number of talent development initiatives. While this is always a condition of radio licenses, generally stations are expected to contribute to established Canadian talent agencies such as

FACTOR and MusicAction rather than donate locally. In fact, the Canadian Independent

Record Production Association (CIRPA) argued against Rawlco's commitment to development at the regional level, suggesting that Canadian Talent Development (CTD) contributions could be better used by these long-running institutions (CRTC: Broadcasting

Decision CRTC 2006-322). Rawlco instead has begun several programs that focus on local acts:

-$200,000 to support Project 10K20, a program which provides $10,000 each to 20 local artists to record a CD -$48,000 to support "Showtime," a series of concerts (enacted as a sort of "Battle of the Bands"; that takes place at the Ironwood Stage and Grill) -$50,000 for 'Live at Five,' an initiative under which artists would be featured in on-air performances -$50,000 to support the Calgary Folk Festival (they are now the official radio sponsor) -$60,000 to support a CTD coordinator (CRTC: Broadcasting Decision CRTC 2006- 322)

Perhaps part of the reasoning for this is that it only works out to a total of $408,000 per year, which is less than previous commitments of $1 million. This may also be in line with the fact that Canadian Content Development requirements were adjusted to match a station's

individual revenue rather than the size of its market in 2006 (CRTC December 2006).

However, Rawlco has committed to seven years of 10K20 funding, and funded 20 projects

even before they began broadcasting (Newson 2008).

10K20: Merging the Marginal and Mainstream

I was not allowed to have access to the station's full list of performers who have

received 10K20 grants, but I have spoken with many artists who divulged to me on their own

that they received them that allowed me to ascertain the recipients' level of independence and

the commonalities in their musical styles. Most fall within the folk, roots, and country genres,

including Amos Garrett (formerly of Ian Tyson's Great Speckled Bird), Tom Phillips, The

Fates, and Jane Hawley, among other country-rock and acoustic acts. One stipulation of the

grant is that artists must be independent; they may have a distribution deal with a label or

distributor, but must not have a record contract with a large label (some have contracts with

local independent labels) (Newson 2009). The money may be used in a number of ways, as

executive producer for the program Neil MacGonigill notes:

I've brought this up to them and said that I thought it would be better if we gave 10 artists $20,000 rather than 20 artists $10,000, but they said that you know, they don't want to necessarily fund everybody's record, but they want to kickstart everybody's record. So they want you to have some initiative, if you can make a record for $10,000, cool. If you can raise another $10,000 and make a record for $20,000 that's cool too. If you make a record for $2500 and go to Baja with $7500, that's cool too. Whatever it takes. And all of the above have happened. Some people have made their records dirt cheap, good records. Some people spend way more money and made 346 poorer records. Some people came in right on the nose, right on budget and made decent records with it. But my job as executive producer is I distribute the money to them when they get accepted. I don't have any input into who gets chosen because that way I can work with them on the back end if I choose to without being accused of double-dipping. But what I do do when, if you got one of these grants, the first thing they would do is they would send me a cheque for $ 1000 made out in your name and you and I would meet and I would tell you that I was, if it was me making this record, this is what I would do. And what I've learned is that most of them aren't interested in input because they already have an idea of what they want to do, and then consequently, I think only a handful have been as efficient as they should have been. Some have gotten in trouble by thinking too big and some are self-indulgent and some are very very good. (MacGonigill 2008)

Artists have approximately 12 months (although deadlines appear to be flexible) to complete the project at which point they are free to do with it what they like. Some artists have taken longer to complete their projects; some cannot raise enough funds to master the end recording, or need more funds for studio musicians and time. MacGonigill is supportive of the effect it has had on the scene:

But it beats the hell out of a battle of the bands, where one band gets a grant or something and everybody else goes home a loser. This way, they spread the money out and the money trickles through the scene. You give the money to Jane Hawley and she in turn gives some to Dave Alcock at Sundae Sound and Tim Williams gets a producer fee and Tim Leacock and the players getting paid for playing. So that money trickles through the scene. To date I think, we're into 40-some, so that's $400,000 that have directly gone into the music scene in the last 18 months. Pretty incredible, (ibid.)

Some artists have received airplay during Brock's night programming, although she is known to play the same artists frequently on CKUA as well. However most artists are not aware of frequent airplay, nor do they necessarily care:

It's been great for recording, I think, in Calgary, just the whole infrastructure, though the radio station is something I'm not into, it's like, I can't really listen to it. I tried to, but I just can't. I don't know what it is. ..And they don't even guarantee they'll play it. And they don't really play a lot of the kind of music that people are making the records off their money for. I mean, I've heard myself on there a few times. (Phillips 2008)

What is surprising, however, is the suspension of suspicion on the part of listeners who may be aware of 97.7 FM's mandate or commitments to local culture, when local artists are 347 not heard during primetime hours. How can 97.7 FM justify this? While there are seemingly no rules governing when certain genres (i.e., folk or specialty) need to be played, one would hope that Calgarians make their way into daytime programming more often, given the promises put forth in the station's license application. Lewis comments on similar instances in

London:

The programming of the commercial stations falls short of the promises that won them the franchises...the financial backing for commercial radio, often multinational in origin, works together with the profit motive, against the development of diversity in programmes or the reflection of specialist or minority interests. (Lewis 1984:146, emphasis original)

Perhaps not surprisingly, there seems to be little cognitive dissonance for the receiving artists: the Calgary scene has been neglected by the national industry and media to the point where artists have decided to comfortably embrace their independent and underground status:

You know what, I think in this day and age, there's no point being on a label. I couldn't see what the point would be, because if you can do it all yourself and you get all the money yourself, labels, well, I don't know a lot of guys that have been on labels. But the guys that I do know, almost to a person, everybody that I know that has been on a major label, it's just been devastating for them. (Phillips 2008)

It's, we're very hardcore independent. So I don't go after much funding.. .No. I have no interest. I could[n't] care less. Don't even want to talk to them...yeah, I don't want anybody to tell me what I need to be doing. I'll do whatever I want to do, so. And that's that... I'll be dead one day and it won't really matter, will it? So, it's not like the label's going to help me then.. .And again, it doesn't have anything to do with creativity anyway. That's the way I see it...But you don't have to take it to the extreme and it doesn't have to be the masses. (Coffey 2007)

Thus, any party who is willing to invest in their musical endeavours is welcomed with open arms—who would say no to a substantial recording grant when one has had to invest their own savings into similar ventures in the past? The receiving artists who have told me about their grants feel as though they have benefitted greatly and, despite any lack of airplay subsequent

348 to the recording, feel as though the station's endeavours make a generally positive addition to the scene:

LE: So we got included in that, that's how we're funding our next record. And then they guarantee they'll play our stuff, and they are in the commercial sector radio. JA: Yeah, they are commercial radio. LE: Yeah, so that's a good thing. LR: Well, it was part of their licensing agreement, so yeah, I'm imagining the CRTC, before allowing that many licenses, they wanted to make sure that community content was covered and not just content, but production for those artists. Which they also, Rawlco is also doing that in Saskatchewan. (Lin Elder; Jenny Allen; Lori Reid of The Fates 2007)

So we got one of those grants and then Dwight [Thompson] (Phillips' guitar player) and I just built our own studio... And so that's where we recorded that (Downtown Cowboy [2008]) and that's where we recorded Spanish Fly too. So it's kinda cool for us, we don't have to pay anymore for a recording. And the thing is, you know, that grant was just straight out, here you go, here's $10,000, no strings attached. (GT: They don't care what you do, how fast you put it out?) Well, they want you to have it out within a year. But you know, that's not so bad... And then they also, once a month, have a concert, with two bands and you do a set and you get $2000. So we did that too. And then also, they do this thing called Live at Five, I guess, once a month or something, and so they pay you $500 to go into their studio and play three songs and do a little interview. So...I've got like $13,000 off those guys, so it's really good. (Phillips 2008)

Even David Ward agrees, even though the station threatened to provide competition for

CKUA:

They are doing good work, as part of their condition to get the license, they are making recordings every year. They have a sister station in Edmonton, the same company, and they have, they started more as a jazz focus, but that's a bit of a stretch too, but same thing, they're pumping money into the local scene. I don't have a sense yet though, certainly the individual musicians are grateful to get $ 10,000 and make a record with no strings attached. But the station, because.. .the station isn't run by music lovers, isn't programmed by music lovers, and isn't hosted by music lovers, so it's a different vibe, I mean it's nice to get some airplay. It's certainly good that they're here. In the course of the five or six or seven years that this promise is being made, they're going to document, they'll be close to 150 records made because they were here, so it will document the culture. It's a good thing that they're here, but I don't think they're having the impact that they might have or that we are having. When I tune in, I hear people, except for Alison [Brock] in the evening, especially the station in Calgary, during the daytime, there's no sense of any difference, there's no sense that they're a folk station or anything. It's after 8:00 when Alison shows up that the playlist gets more interesting. (GT: Are they ghettoizing local content?). But that's, I've had discussions about this with Alison, and of course, I'm not working commercial radio, 349 she has, so she really understands how that business works, and that's all she says is that this is the way that game is played. She says, really, in that game, these guys are doing good work. Because they are playing some local people, even if it is after 8:00 or on the weekends, it is still, they're getting some exposure, and they're having records made, so (GT: can't complain). DW: No, they're making a contribution to the scene. They're a welcome addition. (Ward 2008)

However, even though there is an application process for the grant, favouritism, personal taste, or bad personal relationships among those who possess the power to give grants may affect who is on the receiving end. Because the roots music community in Calgary is so close-knit, the program could potentially engender competition and ill feeling among musicians that may not have existed at such a level before it began. When I returned to the city to conduct more interviews in 2008,1 heard complaints from musicians who had not received financial assistance that particular artists in the city were being favoured by granting bodies, 97.7 FM in particular.

Moreover, what does this corporate invasion into an independent scene mean for its participants and audiences? Would this assistance exist if not for the enforced legislation of the CRTC? And how will the programs affect the growth and success of the Calgary roots scene in the future? It is possible that, despite the promise of "free money" with no ownership of the final recorded product, a corporation such as Rawlco is actually preserving the corporate squash of underground musics: by refusing to play these artists in primetime hours and by shirking responsibility for the distribution, marketing, and selling of the records, it has no actual responsibility to these artists aside from a small monetary gift. Perhaps this is not problematic despite the fact that 97.7 calls itself an independent record label because it funds local recording projects. It uses more of an arts council model, where grants are awarded on merit, but the ensuing promotion, selling, and distribution falls to the artist themselves.

Rawlco has been touted as a broadcaster with some integrity, and one with an obvious interest 350 in local culture and the prairies in particular, given the Rawlinson family's background in

Saskatchewan. Furthermore, Newson seemed particularly eager to discuss the project with me, but was even more enthusiastic about what he had discovered of the Calgary scene, and compared it to Ottawa's scene, where he had spent a good part of his career in radio:

Calgary, I think it's got a very healthy music scene. Not just in the roots side of things, but in the rock side as well. Yeah, and I think there's more venues here... People go to shows, people get a bit more excited about shows.. .And then on the country and roots side of things, even more of those shows do better here.. .1 think people are a little bit more into going out and having fun in this city. It's an active city... And even if you aren't into country music or roots music, you're at least more open to it out here than anywhere else in the country, if not North America, although I think the biggest eye- opener for me is just the impact Stampede has on this city. Thinking about it, because it's not just the rodeo, it's not just the midway, it's this personality stamp that happens for that 10-day period and there's nothing else I can think of in North America like that. In Ottawa, you have Canada Day, but that's one day, what do you have in Toronto that's similar. In North America, the only thing that I think would come close is Mardi Gras.. .But Stampede is ten days and it really does take over the city. Not everybody dresses up like cowboys, but everybody uses it as a reason to chill, relax, party, and slack off at work. And be more open to country music and roots music and so you know, country and roots music is embedded more in the city than anywhere else. (Newson 2008)

Wendy Fonarow's analysis of the careful construction of indie identity in British bands reveals common characteristics across genres, but also shows the fragility of these constructions, given the shifting operations of the music industry. She characterizes independence as a collection of practices found in dress, musical style, production techniques, music education, and class identification. As an industry identifier, indie means the rejection of corporate and commercial operations, a distrust of centralized authority, and an embracing of self-reliance, freedom from control, dependence, and interference (Fonarow 2006:28; 51).

Paramount to the practice of independence is the notion that music is delivered to the public with reduced or limited mediation, that is, independent labels allow artistic control and engage in limited intervention (ibid., 52). Independent artists rebel "against the mainstream and its

351 morally bankrupt value system," (ibid., 65) and for them the "mainstream evokes all that is enormous, distant, and unspecialized," (ibid., 63) seen exactly in the daytime musical offerings of 97.7 FM.

But such distinctions are complicated by, for example, the fact that major record labels frequently buy up independents in an effort to exploit the potential of underground genres and independent labels and artists sign to distribution deals with major labels, thus blurring the lines between explicit marginal and mainstream practices. Moreover, indie artists often find unexpected success on mainstream radio, which can push their releases onto national charts and into higher sales brackets (ibid., 36-37). Reconciling these moments of crossover with one's independent identity is in reality rarely a problem, given an artist's initial proclivity towards selling records and reaching an audience. In the case of 97.7 FM, grant recipients are forced into reconciliation, since the grants require the artists to simultaneously embrace and eschew their indie identity—if they were not indie, they would not receive a grant, yet the act of accepting it allows a temporary entrance into the mainstream simply because they could be played on a mainstream commercial station. This is not to say that the act of donating a recording grant to local musicians has made 97.7 some kind of mainstream record label because the station's daytime programming tends towards a Top 40 format. Musicians nevertheless view the grant as an opportunity to gain exposure to a wider listening audience in

Calgary, since their record may be played on-air. As such, the recording grants present a complex situation similar to the corporate gigs available during Stampede: musicians must negotiate between varying levels of independence in the presence of corporate support, which is tenuous but highly advantageous in the indie industry's climate of uncertainty. Ward suggested that Calgarian artists, despite their apparent acceptance and enjoyment of indie

352 status, may actually use it as a defence mechanism, knowing they face limited opportunities to break into the mainstream: "We haven't exported anybody. No one has sort of hit the home run from here, so I guess almost by necessity.. .we're not into the major labels, well, they're not coming to knock on your door yet anyway.. .1 think there are threads of [being defensive] in a statement like that" (Ward 2008). But some artists simply believe that commercial radio is an arena that is off-limits to them:

And the commercial radio, like Country 105, forget it. I could never get played on there but my music is not mainstream, not at all. I have no idea what my music is, I don't know what my style is at all.. .1 don't know what to call them, the alternative radio, the roots alternative radio stations are very supportive. (GT: Ever tried 105, or other stations? How difficult?) Yeah. I played fiddle with a group that played Top 40 country. And Phoenix, who's the DJ at Country 105, was the emcee.. .And he and I would talk and I gave him a CD and stuff like that.. .About me coming in and doing an interview and stuff. But I gave him CDs to kind of see you know, but nothing ever materialized with that. I've dropped stuff off, like years ago, when I first did my first CD, I dropped stuff off at radio stations, but they said, oh, it comes out of Toronto.. .they're all syndicated kind.. .No, I don't think I've ever been played on commercial radio at all. I don't have anything that could be played on commercial radio. (Hawley 2008)

Neil MacGonigill sums up these tensions nicely in a comment on Rawlco's approach, role, and reception in the city:

Rawlco, for all the good things they're doing, that they claim, really, it's a soccer mom station in the daytime they play Bon Jovi and Carrie Underwood and you know, the first song they played was the Bon Jovi/Jennifer Nettles song because it's country and it's rock! So, you know, but they are a good radio organization. They know what works. So, in the evenings, from 7 until midnight, Alison's doing it, they tell her what to play and stuff, well, in my perfect world what they play at night would have been what they played in the daytime and then at night they could really get outside and play some great stuff. Because I think, in a city like this, there's a lot of people that would [find that] interesting. But people have it on in their office. (MacGonigill 2008)

Campus Radio: CJSW

The primary differences between the above stations and CJSW are not only in their

relationship to the community, but in their general operations. CJSW, as a student- and

353 volunteer-driven station, with only four full-time paid staff (Atkinson 2007), opens itself to a more democratic, and thus possibly more complex, process. Hochheimer's discussion of community radio organizations recognizes that a station's structure and the needs of the community it is reaching determine how roles, dispersal of authority, and equality will be negotiated. He notes eight particular areas of differentiation between bureaucratic radio broadcasters and community stations: authority, rules, social control, social relations, recruitment and advancement, incentive structure, social stratification, and differentiation. In differentiation, labour divisions are divided in a variety of ways, depending on the available resources for staff and the need for volunteers. But most importantly for CJSW is the way in which it deals with incentive structure. Hochheimer notes that "the work is often a labour of

love and low salaries.. .control over their work is another reason why people are attracted to

such stations. They can produce the programmes they think the community wants and needs to hear. They can explore music, information, styles, discussions available nowhere else"

(Hochheimer 1993:480). Here, CJSW offers an environment where programmers have

complete control over their playlists, provided they adhere to general broadcast rules and

regulations, and the station operates on a large pool of volunteer programming and help,

differentiating it from the more professional, and larger, environments of CKUA and 97.7 FM.

CJSW is a typical campus radio station. Operating out of the University of Calgary's

MacEwan Hall since 1975, first as a closed circuit AM station, then as a fully operating FM

campus station by 1985 (Dulmage 2005). It broadcasts to towns just outside the city limits

such as Okotoks and Airdrie at 4000 watts, but is also available for streaming online (Atkinson

2007). Its primary programming focuses on independent artists in a variety of genres,

although the trend towards featuring indie rock, dance, and pop genres on campus stations is

354 heard here as well. Myke Atkinson, the station's music director, commented on what the general "sound" of the station is, revealing the common campus radio ideology of promoting what does not receive mainstream attention:

When most CDs come in, I'm kind of the one making the decision of whether or not it fits within the 'sound' of CJSW. And that sound is very broad, right, whether it's the reggae show or the folk show.. .people say you're a college station, you're not a commercial station and therefore you play everything. And I don't think that's necessarily true. There's definitely a sound that we propagate and that our fans want to hear. (GT: Can you define what that is?) MA: I can't really. It can't sound too slick, so there's that side of the scale, where it can't be too polished, we're not looking for that major label sound. It's basically the sound of the independent label. That's kind of who we're going after. And the independent artist who's trying to make music, or who makes music that would fit within that thing.. .And then there's also the stuff that's just really terrible music, it's just really poorly played..And so we get some of those that don't fit within our sound, (ibid.)

An analysis of the weekly broadcast schedule reveals that the categories of music played by the station are rather vague. Shows are branded as jazz, mixed block, specialty, news/spoken word, or multicultural (CJSW website 2009), but the variety allowed within those categories is vast, which is one notable difference between CJSW and its counterparts discussed above. That is, rather than regulate the daily schedule with regularly occurring shows as the other stations do, CJSW offers more air time to more employees, and thus creates a more democratic structure for its volunteers, which is only governed by a general schedule for certain kinds of shows or genres. As a result, more diverse programs are heard, which is also typical of campus broadcasters in general. Atkinson told me how the program schedule is divided:

We have mixed block programming which means that in the morning from 6-9 every morning, you'll hear a jazz show. And so that means that, there might be different styles of jazz, Mondays are fairly traditional, Tuesdays are a bit more experimental, they'll go into different realms with the jazz, they might go into electronicky jazz on Wednesdays or whatever, bounce back and forth, but it's always jazz in that regard. And then from 9-11, we have a lot of folk programming, more traditional world music stuff goes in a lot of those slots. And then from 11-12 it's a lot of spoken word 355 programming. And then the afternoons are fairly rock focused, from noon until about 6.. .When 1 say rock focused, they're mixed block shows is what they're called. And so it's pretty broad.. .Some of them are going to be more specific, based on the tastes of the DJ, but that's when you're going to be hearing rock. And then the evenings are kind of laid out more like the specific night of the week, like you'll have hip hop night, the dance night, etc. We try and pair shows together that will have good flow, like we'll have a folk show go into a blues show that goes into a maybe lighter rock show into the heavy rock show, so it kind of has that flow.. .But the programming does pretty much cover all styles of music, (ibid.)

CJSW views itself as a progressive station, with a clearer mandate to represent those who may not receive airtime on commercial stations, or even CKUA. Among those receiving attention are local artists, and to this end, CJSW has been particularly beneficial to the independent music scenes in Calgary: "the whole campus radio scene is huge as far as connection. Anybody who's involved with any arts organization in Calgary somehow has a connection with CJSW" (Loucks 2004).

At the station we have pretty strong pushes for the local scene. Every mixed block show has to play at least one local artist every hour. Any local disc that comes into the station goes onto the playlist. I don't judge any local CD, they're all available to DJs, and the DJs make the decisions as to whether or not they will fit within their show. The DJs kind of review. (GT: So then there is some filtering going on regardless of where they're from?) MA: But when it comes to the local, no. Everything comes on, but then it's the DJs who end up doing the filtering. And that's.. .to develop it too. You can be an artist at the beginning of what you're doing, you haven't quite figured it out yet, but as things come along, you develop your sound and things really click. And so in that way we really want to support the local scene and push it, but the filtering will come for sure at the end when the DJ decides whether or not to play any particular track. I'll make it available, but it's up to them to decide to play it. (Atkinson 2007)

While the roots programming may receive less representation than rock or jazz, it still has a potential venue thanks to the morning programming, mixed block shows, and the station's commitment to sponsoring all local music festivals (ibid.). Moreover, the mandate of helping local and marginalized content is apparent in the promotion of local venues, concerts, and events by the DJs on individual shows, and in the advertising time that is taken up by local businesses and demographically marginalized groups. The advertising situation for CJSW has 356 recently changed, giving it even less time than CKUA possesses. However, this is not a significant worry for CJSW. It is one of the most successful campus stations in Canada thanks to its annual fundraising drives that reach upward of $200,000, and the annual levies it receives from the student body (ibid.). Atkinson commented on the station's policy regarding advertising:

Well, the advertising doesn't really do much at all. We run maybe one advertisement every hour to two hours. They actually just changed that last year. We used to be able to run up to four advertisements per hour as a campus station. You're zoned as a campus station, you can have four minute-long ads per hour. And they just removed that (GT: The CRTC?) MA: The CRTC did that, which is an interesting move on their part. Hasn't changed anything, how we do it. And because we don't have to rely on the advertising, the advertising becomes more of a public service. You're going to hear ads for metal shows on the metal show. You know, such-and-such band is coming to town, their music in the background and paid for by House of Blues, or whoever is promoting the show. But they're really tied into the music that's being played, so you're not going to hear an ad for Coca-Cola on the radio on the mixed block show, you're going to hear the folk fest ad or whatever is coming up. I think in that way, the ads are never seen as a negative thing, either by programmers or the community because they're really tied to what's going on. And really, if that ad wasn't being run, the DJ might talk about it anyway, or probably does even anyways. I think that the advertising doesn't really do much. They're pretty nominal rates. We have show sponsorships and that sort of stuff too, so certain venues will sponsor a show that ties into their kind of music and they think people might come in. We have a pretty strict advertising policy in terms of what we allow and don't allow. We're trying to support multicultural, of course no racism, no sexism, that kind of stuff. We're trying to promote the local scene, so it's basically like-minded businesses and like-minded organizations that work with us, and that's kind of a back and forth thing and that helps us tie in more with the community and less to our revenues, (ibid.)

Several artists had comments on their experiences with CJSW, although these were far lower in quantity compared to the reactions to CKUA, simply because of the greater variety of programming on CJSW and the greater availability of roots-specific programming on CKUA:

"CJSW do[es] a wonderful programming over a huge array of musical styles and they're very much on the side of local musicians and I think that one helps create the other" (Williams

2004). "Specifically what I'm doing is Alberta culture... CJSW, those guys, they all wanted

357 to have me on for interviews and that type of thing, so it's really good in that way" (Hus

2004). Mark Hamilton of Woodpigeon, a local folk-pop collective of eight members, met his bandmates through the station, which demonstrates the possibilities that a volunteer-run organization enables: "We pretty much all met through CJSW.. .everybody volunteered there, and then everyone had some sort of connection to the station even if we didn't know each other individually" (Hamilton 2008).

Of particular note are the personal relationships that extend beyond a professional environment at the station. As noted in Chapter 5, Dawn Loucks and Jennifer Abel met over their common cancer experience, and were able to develop a friendship and record label based not only on that initial link, but their CJSW experience, common love of independent music and desire to promote local artists. They even called the label Saved By Radio, based on the

opportunities and healing power that the station afforded them.

How we started was both Jen Abel, who's my partner and I are cancer survivors. And we met at campus radio at CJSW. I had been out of chemo about a year, and she had just been diagnosed. And I had Hodgkin's and she had been diagnosed with non- Hodgkin's. And we didn't know each other at all [laughs].. .And it was actually the program director at CJSW who's a friend said, 'You should talk to Jen, you should meet this girl because I think they just, she's just found out she has cancer.' So literally, I ran into the booth, she was doing a show fill, and I ran in, it was just like "Oh.. .this is gonna be horrible." And she must have wondered, who is this crazy woman. But the net result was I said you have to give me your phone number, you have to come and hang out at my house, you have to come meet my family and get to know my kids because I was pregnant with my second baby when I was diagnosed. It was just crazy! Anyway, we became friends that way. She went through chemo, and we both loved music, and.. .then we just became really good friends, and I guess part of it was that we were both going through a very traumatic time and we could totally connect over that and understood each other. (Loucks 2004)

Conclusion: Calgarian Radio Online (Expanding the Community)

But who listens to radio anymore anyway. Seriously. Really. Unless you're in your car. And people listen to the traffic report in their car. (MacGonigill 2008)

358 CKUA became the first radio station in Canada to broadcast online in 1996. Suddenly,

Alberta culture became available for consumption beyond the borders of its broadcast range.

They currently receive 85,000 visitors to the site per month, with hits coming from across

Europe (Belgium and France) and Asia (Singapore and Hong Kong), among other places

(Thomas 2004). CJSW and 97.7 FM, like most radio stations now, also broadcast on the internet. Their presence online throws a new twist into the meaning of community. While a listening community has the potential to unite audiences through the airwaves on traditional radio, a more globally oriented community can be formed from its presence on the internet.

How would this new community be defined? Internet radio is an inherently complex concept, since there are multiple ways in which it can be realized. These stations are not like stations such as Launch or Pandora, where users can set up a personal net radio station that offers music designed to meet individuals' particular tastes. While Tacchi acknowledges that this is a community in the sense that users see themselves as part of a group of people who share similar tastes in music, the "packaged" aspect of the audience makes it a highly commercial sense of community. In contrast, other radio stations online, particularly those that are not sponsored by an actual station, but produced as individual programs and podcasts, offer broadcasts by local industry figures or experts on certain genres, and these are often based on decidedly specific genres or local scenes (Tacchi 2000:294). The Calgary stations are reluctant to change anything regarding their programming practices for online broadcast, especially CJSW, since it goes against the feedback they get from listeners, and the general beliefs the station holds about their audience, based on such feedback. This aligns with

Grenier's notion that a station is less about individual song choices and more about the overall soundscape and aural information that is available to listeners. Atkinson from CJSW agrees:

359 It's an interesting thing, whereas all these stations are saying the future is now, get on board, CITR [a campus station in Vancouver], it's a brilliant thing, but they've got podcasting of all of their shows, they've got one week's worth of all their shows, so if you miss your show, you can go back and listen to it, which is a really cool thing about the programming there. But then that's almost put them so crazy into the idea that everyone's online and no one listens to the radio anymore and I think at CJSW we have this mentality that people tune into CJSW because they want to hear good music, it's not because they want to tune into the reggae show necessarily or the blues show or whatever, there will be those people, but for the most part people are tuning just because they want to hear what's going on, listen to some good music of all different styles and so we're very focused on the now, what's going on, how can we best serve the people that are tuning into the station and meet their needs at the same time we're meeting the needs of our DJs. (Atkinson 2007)

For these stations, the internet acts as merely another radio set, since the broadcast available online differs in no way from what would be heard in Alberta. While it provides an exact locale within the globally oriented space of the internet, it does not offer a new or unique way for listeners to interact with the programs presented on-air, aside from the opportunity to provide feedback via email to the station and various programmers. In fact, as mentioned earlier, rhetoric on radio and the internet often takes on the same tone. Spinelli notes that radio was projected to be a revolutionary technology because it would be available to everyone, and thus democratize media, much like the Utopian visions the internet's emergence promised. He says, "The possibilities of radio are, then, virtual possibilities: they take place not in a material space, not in the space of a physical being in the physical world, but in the

surrogate world provided by the emergent medium" (Spinelli 2000:269). The absence of a concrete physical place in which such possibilities can occur means that much of the community interaction in online radio happens within the imagination of the listener, as noted

earlier with terrestrial radio. This is evident in Brock's comment that many of her listeners have emailed her from around the world, shocked to discover that they in fact enjoy listening

to country music after discovering her show. This suggests that radio is a safe space where

360 alternative musical identities can be tested, without jeopardizing a more public identity. In addition, this response implies that the availability of alternative musics on alternative media can reshape individual and collective identities by providing opportunities and possibilities that did not exist previously.

Tacchi notes that, like radio airspace, "there is no such place as 'cyberspace' but that it is precisely through the locally contextualized consumption and production of the internet that locally specific meanings are generated and understood...[like radio] it is different in different places, among different communities of listeners, at different times" (Tacchi 2000:293). Thus,

CKUA, 97.7 FM, and CJSW, and consequently Calgarian identity, take on a multiplicity of new meanings when consumed in various social contexts. This could be said of the stations' operations within municipal or provincial borders, let alone their presence online.

What is not taken into account is Tacchi's idea that the internet provides two-way cross-fertilization (ibid., 296). A terrestrial station can broadcast global sounds to local listeners through its use of global sounds available online (or offline), but the station also becomes net radio when it broadcasts local sounds to a global audience. Similarly, these stations work to produce a dual community. The first is a local community, defined mostly by its geographical proximity, but also by notions of what it means to be Calgarian. This community connects through its geographical placement, and its identification with the sounds that materialize from the stations, provided in no small part by local artists. The second community is the global one, determined by its shared interest in the music rather than its geographical location. This is a potentially risk-free community, a space where identities of various kinds that could also be hidden from public display can be articulated and connected through the common link of music. The global community for these radio stations in Calgary,

361 however, is receiving a different notion of what it means to be part of the city, since the listening contexts vary widely from what might be available to local listeners. In this way, a romantic or nostalgic idea of what the local community is can develop.

Furthermore, both communities are artificial in a sense, because the stations' mediation and homogenization process has smoothed over the complex and multifaceted identities that are present in Alberta's diverse population. This is seen in the indie-identified "diversity" of

CJSW, the smooth transitions between pieces and programmers on CKUA, and the ghettoization of local musicians on 97.7 FM. Referring to MacGonigill's quote above, does this matter anymore? Are communities still being constructed through radio listening? Does the individual listener feel a sense of connection to others who may be participating, whether on air or online? Certainly, to the artists discussed here, these questions are of little relevance.

The radio stations are merely viewed as one of many ways to reach an audience, and any support, no matter how miniscule, is meaningful. Therefore, whether within the context of the smaller environment of CJSW, the roots-friendly educational CKUA, or the multi-station- owning Rawlco corporation, radio support in some form or another is part of a roots musician's daily experience in Calgary. Reconciling their independent status with a brief brush with centralized broadcasting and the music industry (as in the example of 97.7 FM) is thus part of a musician's existence in the city, and speaks to the complex musical identity of

Calgary—one that is localized, ignored, isolated, and quashed by centres of power, but is also regionally supported, stubbornly independent, survivalist, and self-reliant.

362 Conclusion

When I returned to Calgary for fieldwork trips in winter 2008 and summer 2009,1 felt a distinct change materializing in the roots music scene. From my perspective as a fan and a researcher, I felt as though I was increasingly distanced from the activities of the scene, not simply because of my residence in Toronto, but because of the rate at which things were changing. New artists were constantly emerging, venues were rapidly opening up and shutting down (or ownership was shifting), artists were moving away from the city, and the sense of community that had defined the scene for so long seemed to be disappearing as Calgary grew.

At first, I assumed this was because I maintained a nostalgic view of what the roots music scene had been like when I was frequently attending concerts during my undergraduate years in the late 1990s. I grew to realize that in fact, Calgary's swift economic and demographic makeover was changing the scope of its arts production in general, and much of this change has directly influenced the practices of roots musicians.

This study is therefore a glimpse of a brief moment in time when independent musical activity governed how roots music was produced for and consumed by a local (urban), regional (western Canadian), national, and international audience. My research has led me to discover that the community of roots music-making in Calgary is principally defined and held together by roots artists' independent relationships to the music industry. This means that there is a certain flexibility in how "roots" is conceived and realized as a genre, allowing for multiple manifestations of stylistic variety and performance practices. The one area where independence is musically exhibited is in vocal performance practice. Roots artists in Calgary draw on similar influences, using intertextual references to create an accessible vocal persona, and vocal performance is the one area where stylistic commonalities connect Calgarian

363 singers. In this conclusion, I will review the objectives and findings of this study. I will then turn to some of the principal conclusions I have reached, highlighting how the years of activity that I have researched impact what I see to be the new direction of roots music in Calgary.

Finally, I will discuss how this study can lead to future research, particularly on roots music across Canada, drawing on the disciplines that have directed my analysis.

Overview of Study

In chapter one, I examined how both Alberta's and Calgary's economic, social, and political histories influenced the development of roots and country music. These factors have not only affected how music is composed and performed, but they have impacted the creation of an environment that is receptive to country music in particular. The development of a massive and relatively successful ranching industry in the late 1800s coincided with a surge in popularity of the cowboy and his associated cultural products. The dime novel, travelling

Wild West shows, cowboy songs and poetry, and western dress were especially relevant to building American culture in the early 1900s, and reinforced American beliefs about its national identity. The values of individualism, strength, courage, and tradition were embodied in the figure of the cowboy, and this figure was directly connected to the spread of cattle ranching in particular across the United States and northward to Canada. Meanwhile, many of

Alberta's new inhabitants were Americans who were migrating to the prairies so they could take advantage of the rich resources and seemingly unlimited expanse of land. This influx of

American settlers contributed in no small way to Alberta's emerging identity, as did the ranching boom of the early twentieth-century and the first Stampede, occurring in 1912.

Since that time, agriculture and oil production have taken over as Alberta's primary industries, yet nostalgia for the days of ranching dominates notions of the west and Alberta's cultural development. This is especially true of Calgary, which continues to run the

Stampede, an enormously successful tourist attraction. Calgary also benefits from the continued presence and production of country music, which can be heard year-round at clubs, outdoor events, and corporate gatherings. This western identity is troublesome, however, because it does not always resonate with recent immigrants from eastern Canada and around the world, and because it is often derided by institutions seeking a reformed image for

Calgary. As a result, often the celebration of a western identity is relegated to specific times of year (especially the Stampede), tourist areas, and explicitly western-themed venues.

Nevertheless, country music has played a significant role in musical activity in

Calgary. It was heard frequently at schoolhouse dances and on radio shows in the early part of the twentieth century; it influenced the folksong collecting of researchers such as Edith

Fowke; it was adopted by rock bands playing shows around the city in the 1970s; and it continues to be a part of contemporary roots music in the city. Those roots artists who are not so inclined to play country music will adopt elements of it in order to secure gigs during the

Stampede, which have proven to be incredibly lucrative, while others incorporate country music into their recordings and daily shows.

Chapter two looked at how Calgarian artists practice independence within the music industry. While cycles of competition between independent and major record labels have characterized the history of recorded popular music, particularly for niche or new emerging genres (i.e., the hillbilly market in the 1920s or punk in the 1970s) recently the advantages afforded by technology and the subsequent decentralization of the music industry has increased a sense of independence for artists without record contracts. This new sense is particularly meaningful for roots artists in Calgary, as it is a city which typically passes under

365 the radar of the music industry in Canada. As a result, Calgarian roots artists have adopted many of the roles usually held by managers and staff at record labels. From recording in their own home studios, designing CD inserts, to promoting records, securing gigs, and booking tours, artists now feel as though they are benefiting from the control they possess over their careers.

More importantly, the Do-It-Yourself (DIY) approach that has characterized the indie industry has been transformed into a set of values and expectations for indie artists, as outlined by Wendy Fonarow. Fonarow (2006) argues that the characteristics of stripped-down studio production, affability onstage, casual costuming, and highly personal lyrical themes have coalesced into a common indie aesthetic. As a result, indie genres and artists purposely (and stubbornly) maintain their independence, even in the face of major-label interest, simply because to "sell out" would negate the very identity they have created for themselves and their music. Not only do roots artists in Calgary agree with such values, revealing what has been termed a stubborn Calgarian sense of pride and independence (see i.e., Seiler 2008 183; 193), they may simply have no choice but to embrace that identity given the lack of interest from the music industry.

Chapter three examined how the characteristics of the indie artist influenced music composition, performance, and production. In particular, I looked at how the notion of authenticity that frequently dominates certain forms of country music, and the veneration of an accessible, "natural" performer in indie music impacted alt-country performance in Calgary.

More specifically, the vocal performance practice of several songs was analyzed in detail in an effort to argue that the intersections of melody, articulatory noises, and lyrics were central to discovering meaning in alt-country. I connected this analysis to other genres of roots music,

366 and more broadly to theories of intertextuality, arguing that contemporary roots and alt- country music is a continual re-working of past genres, performance practices, and compositional techniques. Barthes's concept of the "grain of the voice" (1977) anchored this discussion, providing a foundation for examining the embodied nature of vocal performance and the connections between language, breath, melody, and meaning. In addition, Fox's

(2004) analysis of how structures of emotion and communication dictate meaning in country music performance in Texas provided further support for my analysis.

In chapter four, I discussed the significant role that notions of landscape play in the composition, reception, and presentation of roots music in Calgary. I focused principally on gentrification efforts in the city, pointing to the sense of nostalgia that guides such initiatives, and connecting them to the ways in which roots music is received by audiences in the city. In this chapter, I argued that Calgarians (particularly native Calgarians, or those who have resided in the city for a substantial period of time) construct their surrounding landscapes in ways very similar to diasporic populations, imagining what the city once was, or could be, rather than what it is at the present moment. These constructions, while influenced by nostalgia, are reinforced by institutional bodies such as the East Village Partnership or the

Cantos Foundation, which is building a national music centre in the gentrified East Village, and is thus containing "traditional" forms of music within nostalgic sites.

I also suggested that the physical surroundings of Calgary and its immediate outlying regions directly impacted music composition. This is evident not only in the lyrical themes of roots artists in the city, but in their instrumental arrangements and production techniques. The

suggestion of a sense of expanse was often made explicitly clear by these artists (Dave

McCann, Steve Coffey, and Scott MacLeod in particular), either in lyrical content or recording

367 techniques, but in a way that allowed listeners to map their own experiences of both place and a sense of space onto the music.

Chapter five examined the structure of the roots music industry in Calgary, focusing primarily on roots music venues and record labels. By examining the programming practices, representation of local content, and sense of community generated at performances, I found that substantially different ideologies and expectations governed each type of venue. The

Calgary Folk Festival, a large-scale event that draws tens of thousands to its site every year, tended towards a broader representation of artists from around the world, which inevitably altered its definition of folk music. The Calgary Folk Club and Nickelodeon Music Club were simultaneously engaged in bringing in prominent touring acts and promoting local artists, and maintained high expectations of local performers as a result. The Ironwood Stage and Grill, which started with the aim of showcasing local talent, has remained true to its intent, but has also grown to become a leading venue in the roots music world. The sense of community that developed at each venue depended on a variety of factors—ticket prices, accessibility for the audience, and the timing and promotion of shows. The folk clubs in particular have developed unique communities made up almost entirely of subscription holders, thus creating a somewhat insulated world of concert-goers and performers.

The two predominant roots music record labels in Calgary, Saved By Radio and Ruby

Moon, have helped to promote the development and stability of the scene. Although Ruby

Moon is now defunct, both labels were run by entrepreneurs intent on keeping local artists working in the city. The operational challenges faced by both labels made evident the continual struggle that independent artists also go through. Nevertheless, the owners' sense of

368 self-reliance and survival against a disinterested industry further highlighted the impact of

indie ideologies and Calgary's urban identity on the roots scene in the city.

Finally, chapter six examined the roots music radio situation in Calgary. I was particularly interested in how radio in the city has been designed to support and promote local

musicians, and yet how difficult it was for artists to obtain regular airplay. The example of

97.7 FM, a commercial station that operates as a "folk/specialty" station under CRTC

guidelines, was especially intriguing. Its $10K 20 program, a recording grants initiative

designed to support local roots musicians, guarantees that twenty grants will be distributed

each year for seven years, yet receiving artists have felt a cognitive dissonance between

getting the grants and not being played on-air. While province-wide and roots music-driven

community station CKUA was initially concerned about the potential competition from 97.7

FM, many have found that the stations are compatible, and 97.7's grants are a welcome influx

of funds for the scene. I investigated the programming practices of three stations, 97.7 FM,

CKUA, and University of Calgary campus station CJSW, in an effort to glean their connection

to and support of the local roots scene. Each station provides a certain type of community for

listeners, which is augmented by the relatively new potential of online broadcasting.

Principal Conclusions Reached

As I neared the end of my fieldwork, the depth of the connection between Calgary's

identity as a city and the activities of local roots musicians became increasingly obvious, yet

more complex. My position as an insider, growing up in the city and attending roots music

shows regularly, and as an outsider, conducting the majority of this research from Toronto, has

led me to view the roots music scene from different perspectives over time. The position

Calgary occupies as a city in Canada is a complicated one—its vast wealth during recessionary

369 times for other cities, its predominantly conservative politics, and its associations with western culture often contribute to a negative view of the city by those in central and Eastern Canada

(seen, for example, in the fight for oil royalties between Ottawa and Calgary in the 1970s). At the same time, Calgary strives to overturn those perceptions, presenting itself as a friendly, easygoing, downhome town at times; as a sophisticated metropolis which houses many of the country's corporate headquarters at others; as a gateway to some of the country's most spectacular landscapes at still others. It is a city that has seen unprecedented growth throughout the 1990s and 2000s, and while its infrastructure struggles to house and provide services for recent newcomers, its self-perception is rapidly changing to accommodate the accompanying diversity.

All of these factors have undoubtedly contributed in no small way to how musicians make a living in the city. My central argument is that the roots music scene of Calgary is principally defined by the independent practices of its participants more so than any particular sound or style. As such, musicians have adopted some of the qualities so frequently ascribed to Calgarians in general; a stubborn, survivalist mindset has determined the self-reliance described by many of my informants. This independence has crossed over to influence musical choices: artists record, design, release, promote, and sell their own albums, generally without the assistance of a record label; musicians also use compositional techniques, performance practices, and production styles that are viewed as accessible to many listeners and stem from a long line of established genres. Independence is a valued trait among the roots music community; those who are seen as working hard on their music are admired and venerated. Musicians often collaborate and share equipment and fellow band members in an effort to help one another. In roots music radio and venues, independence is also highly

370 valued. Programmers, managers, bookers, and staff strive to provide unique programming, support local artists, and succeed on their own in a notoriously difficult business. As a result, the roots music scene of Calgary, while not without its competitive aspects, has become a cohesive community since the mid-1990s, with many participants helping to build a scene that

is self-supportive.

My central thesis that independence guides the practices and formation of Calgary's roots music community is augmented by my discussion of vocal performance practice. In

developing a new model for analyzing vocal performance, I have explicitly connected alt-

country and roots music's unique web of intertextual influences to notions of independence in

Calgarian roots music. That is, while independence may be the governing force in the roots

community's conception and formation and stylistic commonalities are secondary to that, one

area in which Calgarian artists are similar is vocal performance. Calgarian artists retain their

sense of independence by consciously maintaining a distinct vocal sound that is generally not

found in their mainstream counterparts. Calgarian roots musicians thus enact independence in

a variety of ways which are reliant on the aesthetics of independent music, Calgary's urban

identity, and the position of both roots genres and Calgary within a national music industry.

As negative as it may sound, however, I believe that this era in Calgary's roots scene is

coming to an end. I mentioned in the opening statements of this conclusion that I felt a

palpable difference in my last visits to the city. The effects of a rapidly diversifying

population have been seen across all sectors of the arts and media, precipitating a shift in

programming practices, sources of funding, and audience expectations. What was once

conceived of as an organic, grassroots community of musicians (by its own participants) is

371 shifting to become controlled by institutions with a stake in the development of the roots scene. This is happening for a number of reasons:

1) Many musicians are moving away from the city. Steve Coffey moved to Vulcan,

Alberta in 2007, citing the need for more space for his children and a quieter atmosphere as two of the primary reasons. Jenny Allen lives in Toronto, partly because her partner lives there, although she appears to secure regular gigs at the wide variety of venues there, playing as much or more than she does in Alberta. Others, such as Dave McCann, who moved to

Lethbridge, Alberta in 2008 and John Wort Hannam, who lives in High River, not only appreciate the surroundings of smaller centres, but may also be driven away by Calgary's extremely high housing prices. Neil MacGonigill concurs: "[I]f ever people were gonna leave

Calgary, now's probably the time that they would do it. I think it was a cooler place to live before. Right now, I don't think it's a very cool place to live really. There's getting to be such a disparity between the haves and the have-nots, and the musicians are the have-nots.

Hard to live, you know" (MacGonigill 2008).

2) Venues in Calgary seem to be on tenuous ground. As noted in Chapter five, I returned many times to find yet another one closed down, some before I even got the chance to visit them. Rent prices are high, audiences are notoriously difficult to attract (particularly for the downtown locations), and competition is substantial. The only way for venue owners to deal with competition from fellow venues is to establish solid, mutually beneficial relationships with competitors, as Pat Maclntyre of the Ironwood has done with folk clubs and other live music pubs.

3) The stylistic leanings of both musicians and interested audiences are shifting. This was particularly noticeable when I returned to the Calgary Folk Festival in 2008. I received a

372 research pass that year, and was thus able to make a concerted effort to seek out all Calgarian artists playing at the festival. Although I talked to most of them, I found that they defined themselves as considerably different from other roots artists in the city, calling themselves folk-pop (Consonant C), folk-rock (Woodpigeon), or some variant of other forms of pop.

Furthermore, these artists were substantially younger than the majority of roots artists in

Calgary. Most of my informants in the roots scene were in their 40s and 50s, with a handful in their mid- to late-30s, and the generation of emerging local musicians are in their 20s. While clearly this is to be expected in any music scene, what it means for the roots community of

Calgary is that the younger generation carries a different set of expectations, influences, and thus practices from their older counterparts. Many of these younger musicians referred to their bands as "collectives," drawing on the popularity of large, rotating-member bands such as Broken Social Scene in Toronto. Their self-conceptualization was therefore markedly different from solo artists who headlined bands such as Steve Coffey and Tom Phillips, as they distributed administrative activities equally among members, shared songwriting and production credits, and envisioned themselves as an entire package consisting of record label, recording studio, songwriters, and performing act. In contrast, the solo artists that made up the bulk of my informants saw themselves first and foremost as songwriters and performers, who often had to reluctantly adopt the other administrative and technological roles. Consequently, values of independence have migrated to influence this new generation of musicians, who appear to have wholeheartedly adopted and accepted their multi-faceted roles. This difference in self-organization may be a contributing factor to the changing scene.

4) Most importantly, the roots music scene in Calgary has not gone entirely unnoticed by influential institutions, and is now being regarded as a capital opportunity. This is seen

373 most obviously in the shifting role of both the Calgary Folk Festival and the Cantos

Foundation. While both operate as nonprofit organizations, they are financially benefitting from the roots music scene's growth over the last ten years. This means, however, that programming practices and sponsorship targets are going to change. At the 2009 festival, the

CFF was presented with nearly $300,000 in an elaborate ceremony on the opening night from the federal government. Hearing conversations about the ceremony while I was clearing dishes from that evening's corporate dinner in the Green Room, I learned that the Festival was now very concerned with their programming. An award of that size requires regular reviews from the granting body, and staff at the Festival seemed to think they had to diversify their offerings considerably, moving away from local acts and towards a variety of music brought in from all over the world. The efforts to raise money for the Festival's new performance hall in Inglewood (on a street behind the Ironwood) were also clearly displayed on a large installation during the corporate dinner. Stating that the hall would link the constituents of the diverse community of Inglewood and present the strength of western Canadian culture through workshops, masterclasses, and concerts, the display was also designed to attract donations towards the $5 million project. As a result, the programming of such a venue will have to field the requests and expectations of donors, which could shift the emphasis toward favoured performers, genres, or touring acts.

The Cantos Foundation will have a similar effect, as the museum displays, recording studio projects, and programming of its live venue will have to meet the expectations of its sponsors and the audiences drawn to such a centre. The aims of the Cantos Foundation seem to be removed from those actually working in the roots music scene in Calgary. Rarely could

I find an artist who was interested in or aware of Cantos's projects; likewise, Cantos did not

374 frequently promote artists who participated in my research, and tended toward featuring more jazz- and classically-oriented music events. I suspect that in the long run, both the venues at

Cantos and the Calgary Folk Festival will significantly impact attendance at smaller venues like the Ironwood or Mikey's Juke Joint. The presence of federal and provincial funding to keep these larger venues going for the nonprofit organizations will also threaten the survival of profit-oriented ventures like pubs and bars.

How then, do these factors impact the notion of independence for local musicians?

While these initiatives will take some time to gain footing and establish an audience, I think over time that the roots artists who participated here will be affected in one of two ways. They will either be afforded more opportunities to participate in the shows and projects of the two organizations, or they will be pushed to the fringes of the scene, faced with more limited possibilities for live performance. It is possible that with the ability to bring in more nationally and internationally renowned acts, both Cantos and the CFF will effectively drown out local music-making. Conversely, if the ideologies of the younger generation of performers hold strong, the DIY approach that has characterized the Calgary roots music community will continue to be meaningful for its participants. Meanwhile, the effects of the close-knit community of roots musicians may spread into outlying regions as these musicians move to new areas and establish new connections there.

Summary and Directions for Future Research

Sara Cohen notes, "[Ejthnography.. .is not the practice of reflecting, representing, or revealing culture, but of translating and writing it" (Cohen 1993:133). By documenting my

experience of roots music in Calgary in combination with those who practice it in their daily

lives, I have attempted to present a multi-voiced account of a particular time and place.

375 Nevertheless, my own "translation" here has illuminated a peculiar emic-etic position that is the result of my immersion in, and subsequent distance from, the roots scene of Calgary. This

is a common and confusing perspective for those engaged in fieldwork at home or in familiar

sites, and the results of it become apparent in the written product. Cohen advocates for the

extension of a multi-voiced approach (ibid.), which she actualized by writing a post-script of

her informants' responses to their representation in her ethnographic work. I, too, may find, upon giving this work to my participants, that my analyses betray my outsider status and do

not always resonate with those engaged in the scene regularly.

The use of ethnography in popular music studies is rapidly growing into a

subdiscipline of its own, and complements the rich body of industrial, sociological, and textual

analysis on popular music. I have attempted to connect my own fieldwork and the

interpretation of it to larger issues of identity construction, musical activity, regionalism, and

musical analysis. However, this ethnography has been conducted and written in the vein of

exemplary models such as Cohen (1991), Shank (1994), and Fox (2004), all of which focus on

small-scale music-making in particular locales. Clearly, as Cohen argues, this engenders a

tendency towards typicality—the idea that what applies to one small part can be applied to the

whole (1993:125). Perhaps a new direction for popular music ethnography would incorporate

these case studies into a model for investigating trends and developments across cities,

regions, genres, and common musical practices.

Moreover, this ethnography has touched upon a number of neglected issues and social

groups in popular music studies. Cohen refers to Middleton's (1990) discussion of the

discipline, noting that at the time of her writing, it privileged youth, professional performers

and stars, and fast-changing commodities and trends as its subjects, neglecting local, amateur

376 music-making, older audiences, and continuing traditions. This dissertation documents some of those neglected groups and themes, in particular small-scale professional musicians, older performers and audiences, and the maintenance of folk and country music traditions. My project contributes to understanding a broader range of artists, activities, genres, and audiences within the field of popular music. Future research should build on the concerted study of neglected groups presented here. While ethnographic study "at home" has increased substantially in recent years, my research in Calgary should propel such research further, as it privileges that which has previously been regarded as familiar and "unexotic."

Finally, by focusing on vocal performance practice in contemporary alt-country and roots music, I have connected previously disparate areas of discussion in popular music studies, namely performance analysis, musical analysis, and ethnography. Locating the production of identity, the connection to the past, and the enactment of independence in the uniquely identifiable vocal performance of Canadian alt-country suggests that this type of musical analysis can reveal much about audience/performer relationships, musical meaning,

and the surroundings in which performances are conducted and consumed. Future research

can adopt the connections between such popular music studies topics, investigating how

identity construction is structured by performance practice and composition in a variety of

settings.

A friend told me she thought of Calgary as a "gold rush town," that is, people went to

the city to make fast money, did nothing but work, and left as soon as they could. This is particularly true of Calgary as of late; as housing prices rise, vacancies quickly vanish, and

high-paying work continues to be available, the city's population shifts rapidly and forcefully.

This has meant that sustaining a viable arts scene in the city is often difficult: people leave too

377 quickly to fully engage with it, or as mentioned above, performers are forced out by unaffordable standards of living and few attractive reasons to stay. At the same time, a western culture—informed emphasis on self-reliance and survival has also kept musicians in the city, working hard to produce and promote independent music. This exploration of a brief, but rich period of independent roots music activity in Calgary has illuminated many issues common to regionalized music-making in Western Canada and connected Calgarians' complex identities, musical performance, and the creation of a community so meaningful to all engaged in the scene.

378 Appendix A: General Population Statistics for Calgary

Source: Statistics Canada Census Results, 20 0641

Total Population 1,079,310

Immigrant 252,770 Non-immigrant 805,534 Aboriginal 26,575

Pop. living in a different province one year ago 30,060

Pop. living in a different country one year ago 16,400

Total Visible Minority Pop. 237,895 Chinese 66,375 South Asian 57,700 Black 21,060 Filipino 25,565 Latin American 13,410 South East Asian 15,755 Arab 11,660 West Asian 6,010 Korean 6,835 Japanese 4,675 NIE (Not included) 1,980 Multiple visible minority 6,860

Not a visible minority 832,405

Major Occupations (top four plus arts and culture) Sales and Service 147,810 Business/Administration/Finance 132,355 Trades and Transport 95,370 Sciences 72,905 Arts, Culture, Recreation, Sport 19,150

41 http://wwwl2.statcan.ca/census-recensement/2006/dp-pd/prof/92- 591 /details/page.cfm?Lang=E&Geo 1 =CM A&Code 1=825 &Geo2=PR&Code2=48&Data=Count&SearchText= Calgary&SearchTvpe=Begins&SearchPR=Q 1 &B 1 =All&Custom= 379 Bibliography

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398 Discography

The Co-Dependents. 2001. Live at the Mecca Cafe. Indelible Music NIRC 0009.

Coffey, Steve and the Lokels. 2007. Same Boy. Spirit River Distribution. SCOF20998.

. 2002. East of East Coulee. Spirit River Distribution. SCOF20651.

Cowsill, Billy. 2004. Live From the Crystal Ballroom. Indelible Music NIRC 0007.

Demeanor, Kris. 2006. The Guilt and the Shame: Tales of the Canadian West. Independent WA40435.

The Fates. 2006. Slam. Independent TFCD02.

Hawley, Jane. 2006. Ordinary Dream. Shut-Up & Sing Music.

Hus, Tim. 2004. Alberta Crude. Saved By Radio Records SBR0003.

MacLeod, Scott. 2005. Scott MacLeod. Independent JSM001.

Masters, Matt. 2005. Centennial Swell. Dollartone Records DT0016.

McCann, Dave and the Ten-Toed Frogs. 2007. Shoot the Horse. Old Man River Folk Music MCC21403.

. 2000. Woodland Tea. Old Man River Folk Music MCC23667.

Phillips, Tom and the Men of Constant Sorrow. 2007. Downtown Cowboy. Tunzen Music TZN 002.

. 2004. King of the Broken Heart: Live at the Ironwood Stage and GrilL Ruby Moon Records RMWL6001_CD.

Sorrow Bound. 2006. Hank Williams Re-Examined. Ruby Moon Records RMWL 6006 CD.

Various. 2006. Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings SFW CD 40538.

Vitalis, Chantal. 2002. Today's Special. Ethel Records CV2002001.

Widow Maker. 2007. The Awful Truth. Sadiebird Records 3.

Williams, Tim. 2007. Songster, Musicianer, Music Physicianer. Independent CAYUSETW007.

399 Wort Hannam, John. 2007. Two Bit Suit. Black Hen Music BHM-CD-957.

Song Titles used in Chapter Titles

Chapter 1: "You Better Like the Rodeo," from "Alberta Song," on King of the Broken Heart by Tom Phillips (2004).

Chapter 2: "Only You and You Alone," from Live From the Crystal Ballroom by Billy Cowsill (2004).

Chapter 3: "Curse of Hank," from Alberta Crude by Tim Hus (2004).

Chapter 4: "Land of the In Between," from Same Boy by Steve Coffey (2007).

Chapter 5: "Trick of the Trade," from Ordinary Dream by Jane Hawley (2006).

Chapter 6: "Pennies a Play," from Downtown Cowboy by Tom Phillips (2007).

400 Interviews

Alcock, Dave. July 29, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Anonymous 1. October 14, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Toronto, Ontario.

Anonymous 2. 2003-2007. Personal communication. Toronto, Ontario.

Atkinson, Myke. July 16, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Bell, Vic. August 8, 2008. Interview by author, E-mail communication. Toronto, Ontario.

Brock, Alison. July 2005. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Casey, Suze. July 25, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Coffey, Steve. January 1, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

. April 21, 2004. Interview by author, E-mail communication. Toronto, Ontario.

. July 18, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

. March 27, 2008. Interview by author, E-mail communication. Toronto, Ontario.

Consonant C. July 27, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Coxworth, Tom. July 18, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Cuddy, Jim. November 22, 2002. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Edmonton, Alberta.

Dekker, Tony. July 26, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Demeanor, Kris. July 16, 2006. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Hamilton, Mark. July 26, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Hawley, Jane. June 12, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Hus, Tim. May 8, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Keogh, Jerry. July 2008. Personal communication. Calgary, Alberta. 401 Keelaghan, Sharon. July 2009. Personal communication. Toronto, Ontario.

Loucks, Dawn. November 26, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Toronto, Ontario.

MacLeod, Scott. July, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

MacGonigill, Neil. July 13, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Maclntyre, Pat. June 29, 2009. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Toronto, Ontario.

Masters, Matt. July 27, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

McCann, Dave. June 6, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

McCann, Dave. January 1, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Newson, Kent. July 23, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

. May 2009. Personal Communication, Calgary, Alberta; Toronto, Ontario.

Quinlan, Neville. December 2006. Interview by author, E-mail communication. Toronto, Ontario.

Phillips, Tom. April 13, 2002. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

. November 15, 2002. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Edmonton, Alberta.

. April 21, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Toronto, Ontario.

. July 29, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Rockergirl Camp Staff. July 20, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Ross, Gordon. 2003-2009. Personal communication, Toronto, Ontario.

Sasso, Mark. December 2006. Interview by author, E-mail communication. Toronto, Ontario. siemieniuk, les. June 10, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Strong, Aimee. June-July 2009. Personal Communication, Toronto, Ontario.

402 The Fates: Lori Reid, Lin Elder, Jenny Allen. July 10, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Toronto, Ontario.

Ward, David. August 15, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Widow Maker. July 26, 2008. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Williams, Tim. December 10, 2004. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

Wort Hannam, John. July 27, 2007. Interview by author, Digital Recording. Calgary, Alberta.

403 CD and DVD Track Listing

CD

1. Tom Phillips: Blue Yodel No. 1 2. Tim Hus: Hotel and Saloon 3. Matt Masters: Centennial Swell 4. Jane Hawley: Trick of the Trade 5. Steve Coffey: Stanley's Hope 6. Dave McCann: Grain Car 7. Dave McCann: Grain Car (Live Version) 8. Scott MacLeod: Broken Heart 9. The Co-Dependents: Return to Sender 10. The Co-Dependents: Only the Lonely 11. The Co-Dependents: Walk Right Back 12. Sorrow Bound: Your Cheatin' Heart 13. Tim Williams: Shake'em On Down 14. The Fates: Farmer 15. John Wort Hannam: Two Bit Suit 16. Kris Demeanor: Speed It Up 17. Chantal Vitalis: Is My Coming Round a Problem 18. Widow Maker: Water's Rising 19. Steve Coffey: Valley of Wildflower 20. Dave McCann: Pocket of Love 21. Scott MacLeod: This Old Farmhouse 22. Steve Coffey: Lydia's Land

DVD

1. Tom Phillips: Cars and Women 2. Tom Phillips: Like a Rodeo 3. Tim Hus: Longest Stretch of Road 4. Tim Hus: Audience shot 5. Steve Coffey: Stanley's Hope 6. Dave McCann: Cocaine Blues

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