#26 Stories from the Edge of Music: Stompin’ Tom — more tales about a Canadian icon. Pt 2

There’s never been an artist quite like Tom Connors. A decade after his death, his songs are still being sung, and the stories never end.

THE PRIDE OF ONTARIO’S NORTHLAND EARNS A NATIONAL AUDIENCE

Parked outside the Horseshoe Tavern on Toronto’s once-trendy Queen Street West was Stompin’ Tom Connors’ huge boat of a second-hand car, with a bright red trailer hitched to the back. The trailer, emblazoned with musical notes, bore the legend: “Stompin’ Tom Connors, Pride of Ontario’s Northland.”

It’s 1968 and Tom’s career was about to take off in a way that surprised the entire Canadian music industry — and, indeed, the man himself.

In a few years, with the help of a short, puffy Ukrainian called Jury Krytiuk and an experienced music publisher, Mark Altman, he formed his own record company, Boot Records. Certainly none of the major labels at the time were even slightly interested in signing him. (Boot later released dozens of albums by other artists, including the debut recording of Rita MacNeil, singing a collection of a cappella feminist anthems. The label also introduced classical guitarist Liona Boyd to a national audience.)

At the time — and, in fact, throughout his career — Tom’s music was completely out of touch with what was being played on radio. Old-school country music, especially in major cities, had long been out of favour, and commercial radio was certainly not inclined to play songs about towns in northern Ontario (“Sudbury Saturday Night”) or truck drivers “tearin’ the tar off the 401” as they delivered Prince Edward Island potatoes to Toronto.

His records were cheaply produced — cutting half a dozen songs in a single recording session was not out of the question for him — and he once recorded a four-volume boxed set of cover tunes, 40 songs in all, in three days.

Given the lack of production values, Tom’s songs stuck out like a chainsaw on the manicured lawn that was commercial radio at the time, and country stations saw him as a hayseed novelty act. It didn’t help that Tom was a keen proponent of the 1971 legislation that compelled radio stations to play a specific amount of music by Canadian artists, something the broadcast industry strenuously opposed.

Tom with his wife, Lena, and Jury Krytiuk, head of Boot Records

However, even without radio play, word was getting out. As the country went through another period of optimistic nationalism, his homespun populist songs found a foothold. He won Juno Awards, national press coverage, and even academic pieces in literary magazines. There are probably a couple of dozen PhD theses written about his songs.

Tom’s live show, by the time I presented him at Massey Hall in February 1972, was straight-up. He sang all his “hits,” pounded his plywood stompin’ board with his left foot, and played songs that resonated with everyone in the sold-out house.

“TTC Skedaddler,” “Sudbury Saturday Night,” “Bud the Spud,” “Big Joe Mufferaw” all tumbled out, with light-hearted introductions and a perfectly ordinary three-piece band, which he called, at the time, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Afterwards, he sat on the edge of the stage and signed autographs until the last fan had left; it took almost as long as the show itself.

Facts and logic rarely changed Tom’s opinions

Toward the end of his life, he toured far less frequently. His shows were perfunctory — with his band testing his audiences’ patience by playing Stompin’ Tom songs for almost 30 minutes before the star came onstage.

He would then sing eight or nine songs before declaring intermission, and after the break, his band came back, once again playing more of the headliner’s songs. Tom would finally return to close the show.

No autographs; he and the band left quickly and headed back to their lodgings, usually a motel on the outskirts of town, and preferably one with a croquet set on the front lawn.

And then, with whoever’s turn it was, he’d head back to his room, and snap the cap off yet another Moosehead.

Tom Connors was, truth be told, a cantankerous, cranky man who, his mind made up, could never be convinced to the contrary by logic or facts.

But his stubbornness was, in its way, his hallmark. When he felt Juno Awards were being given to artists who had left Canada — Joni Mitchell and Neil Young included — he called them “border jumpers” and sent his own Juno Awards back.

When he was asked to meet the Queen at Rideau Hall in Ottawa, he agreed, but not if he would have to take off his black cowboy hat. Buckingham Palace conceded on the grounds that his hat could be considered a religious headdress.

For the most part, he was a lazy songwriter; his songs came to him both frequently and fast, and he rarely rewrote or laboured over a lyric. His rhymes were often bordering on doggerel — both simple and corny, his songs told their tales effectively enough. And his audience understood them and loved them without reservation.

His very career seemed, in some way, tied to the geography of a different Canada — one with miles between grain elevators, green foothills with mountains in the distance, small towns nestled by lakes, the red dust of Prince Edward Island, the gritty villages of rural Quebec and the deprived, desperate communities of the far north.

And it’s an odd footnote that the only other countries that have produced populist balladeers like Tom Connors are equally large, and contain huge heartlands. Australia had Slim Dusty, who made a hundred albums and will always be remembered for the song “A Pub With No Beer.”

And our neighbours in the United States gave us Leadbelly, the released convict who wrote “Goodnight Irene,” and Woody Guthrie, who was no star in his day but who wrote “This Land Is Your Land” and hundreds of other songs.

Stompin’ Tom is in good company, wherever he is. Which one of his peers is drinking beer with him late into the night is unknown.

STOMPIN’ TOM: YOU HAD TO BE THERE — STORY #1

SOCAN gave a special award to Tom at an upscale event in the Sheraton Centre in 1989. Sitting at an adjacent table, I introduced him to my then-assistant, Brenda Biseau. “So, where are you from?” he asked her.

“My family’s from Miscou Island,” she said, naming a tiny community in New Brunswick. “I’ve been there,” he said. “Who’d you know there?” She named an uncle. “Ah, Gary,” Tom responded. “I knew him. He taught me my first three chords on the guitar.

“Two of ’em were wrong!”

Later, on to his sixth bottle of beer, and between frequent trips out of the room for a smoke, he accepted his award, presented by Gordon Lightfoot. He spoke about singing songs for men and women in small communities, ordinary working folk, and “bums on the street like I used to be.”

“Pretty good,” I muttered to Brenda. “Especially since his asking price for a show these days is $40,000.”

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STOMPIN’ TOM: YOU HAD TO BE THERE — STORY #2

Thirty-five years after his first appearance at the Horseshoe, Tom was invited back to the club. Jim Cuddy and Greg Keelor, the frontmen of Blue Rodeo, one of the most successful Canadian roots/rock bands, used to organize an annual event at the club, with the “free list” suspended and every penny taken at the door donated to charity.

It would be nice, they reasoned, to ask Tom to be their special guest. After some diligent work to discover his whereabouts (Tom was notoriously reclusive in his later years), they reached Tom Connors Jr., who agreed to take the proposal to his father.

After a day or two he got back — his dad would be there, but he would need to be able to smoke.

A quick query to the Horseshoe’s owners got a qualified OK. Smoking in licensed premises was against the law, and the club could be fined. But the risk of being discovered was minimal; there had been no previous charges, and the fine was only $300. “To heck with it,” they said, “it'll be worth it; who cares?”

Tom’s son was told it would be fine if his dad wanted to smoke onstage.

“No, you don’t understand,” was the response. “Tom wants everyone to be able to smoke, just like the good old days. And he’d like a proclamation from the Mayor to give everyone in the club permission to smoke if they want to.

“Oh, and the Blue Rodeo boys need to learn 40 Stompin’ Tom songs, so’s my dad can choose three or four to play on the night.”

Needless to say, Tom’s return to the Horseshoe didn’t happen.

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QUOTE OF THE WEEK

“If you don’t think that your country should come before yourself, you can better serve your country by livin’ somewhere else.” — Stompin’ Tom Connors.

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Duncan Fremlin’s  bluegrass-influenced band, Whiskey Jack, offers a musical tribute to Stompin’ Tom. Fremlin’s on the right.

FINALLY, SOME VIDEO LINKS FOR YOUR WEEKEND

Whiskey Jack’s Duncan Fremlin

leads cheerful bluegrass band that is the ultimate tribute to Stompin’ Tom — and he also has a Substack. Check out

Stories Not Fit For The Stage

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It’s the ultimate guide to Tom’s early years, especially when he includes the reminiscences of Gate Lepine, the Timmins bartender who “discovered” Tom.

Here’s Whiskey Jack with a lesser-known Stompin’ Tom song.

Stompin’ Tom’s biggest hit is still played in hockey arenas all over North America. Here, he’s singing it on Conan O’Brien’s late-night TV show.

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Richard Flohil would be really grateful if you could consider supporting his writing, and these stories. If you can, please think about taking out a PAID subscription. At $6 a month (less than the price of two Starbucks coffees) you sometimes get bonus material and access to ALL the previous Stories from the Edge of Music. This note is gentle and polite, and will be seen, Flohil hopes, as typically “Canadian.”

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Next week, some tall tales — and some explanations — about musicians’ contract demands… and, heaven help us all, more Stompin’ Tom stories.