It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve written here, partially because of how busy I’ve been with recording and family, and partially because I’ve been sick, (I’m sure the crazy schedule is partially to blame). I chose the title of this blog in about 2 minutes after discovering my first choice, (Left of the Dial), was taken. Today the title seems prophetic, but that’s not my intention. I’ve also made a few more decisions about what this blog should be. It will now be more specific containing links to referenced places, songs, and people. The links won’t explicitly tell you what they are, but know that I will only link it if I think everyone should see/hear it.
Last night I watched a great documentary about Ron Sexsmith called “Love Shines”, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. As someone who is normally confident and relatively unflappable, I’d had a week where I’d felt completely threadbare. Like every emotion was resting precariously between my first and second layers of skin waiting to pour out from the touch of an uneven fingernail or a mishandled sheet of paper. And that’s how every Ron Sexsmith song feels.
It’s put him in a difficult position. Beloved by musicians, who are often hypersensitive even by artistic standards, famous, respected and broke is a bittersweet place to live, and one that’s all too common in Canada
The timing of this documentary was almost mystically placed in my field of vision, because earlier this week Ron had played the Starlight, easily the best live room in Kitchener-Waterloo, but I wasn’t there. Truth is, between the lessons and recording I’d have had to cancel, and the $25 ticket price, I couldn’t afford it either, but at least I have a washer and dryer.
The fact that he was playing the Starlight and that the tickets were so pricey compared to a typical Starlight show, brought him to the attention of Mark Wanka. And to paraphrase, he asked “What the big deal was?”. He’d heard the name Ron Sexsmith, but was unfamiliar with his music, or stature. As I explained much of what I’ve just written to him, his face revealed both surprise and confusion. I could tell he was having difficulty processing both why he hadn’t heard his music, (he’s a big fan of both Costello and the Beatles), and more importantly, why he was playing the Starlight, which holds about 200 people on the best days.
And of course the answer is that sensitive is hard place to live. Most people avoid it, or are surrounded by things to suppress emotions. Television, computers, smart phones are all designed to give us the illusion of being connected. We can know where people are, and what they had for breakfast within seconds of it happening. But none has the same impact as looking in their eyes, or feeling a hand on your shoulder. We crave the connection of songs like Ron’s, but are uncomfortable with the emotions they stir. The songwriters that remind us of our humanity also remind us of our fragility, which is a hard thing to face.
It’s for these reasons this is my favourite song that I’ve recorded at the studio so far, (a question I was asked earlier this week). And it’s for these reasons, that despite having seen him live and having watched and listened to countless streams of his music, this week I’ll buy my first Ron Sexsmith CD. Hopefully after seeing this documentary, more will do the same, because people should be seeing Ron with a guitar, not fabric softener.
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