Stories from the Edge of Music #65: A FAN LETTER TO AN ARTIST YOU SHOULD KNOW
Mary Gauthier's Saved by a Song
A SONGWRITER’S CONFESSIONAL
In addition to the publisher’s description of Mary Gauthier’s memoir, quoted above, the blurbs on the sleeve work as they’re meant to do: they should convince you to buy it. There are notes here from Brandi Carlile, Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls, Emmylou Harris and (I’m not kidding) Robert Plant.
In addition to the philosophical and practical guidance for effective songwriting — “edit your work to the bone” is a rule I should follow — there is Mary's back story: born in a New Orleans orphanage, with no knowledge of her birth parents, adopted into a dysfunctional family, an awareness that she was gay before she was a teenager, an unrepentant drug user into her teens and twenties.
Her passion for songwriting began early, but it finally began to blossom when she began — as so many nascent songwriters do — attending open mic sessions.
Today, thanks to determination, a lot of therapy, and the kindness of friends and supporters. Mary’s been sober for decades. She’s created 11 albums, and tours endlessly in North America, the UK and Europe. She’s an in-demand speaker at music industry gatherings, and an inspirational leader, participant and guide at songwriting seminars, many of which — including those for armed forces vets — she has organized herself.
AN OPEN LETTER FROM A FAN
Dear Mary,
Such a deep pleasure to hear you — and hang a little — at the Canmore and Edmonton festivals this summer. Thanks, too, for signing my copy of your book, which I’ve now read twice since I bought it; I think I’m enjoying it even more the second time around.
It’s a brave book. I’m no songwriter, but I love to read stories about people I care about. I was so touched by three stories you told — the first was how Nanci Griffith gifted you her guitar.
I read with empathy how you tackled the fact that for so long you were unable to form stable relationships. (I blew up two marriages and three other significant friendships.) Now, at 91, I am very much on my own, save for my two amazing daughters, who live too far away.
And, to be honest, I wept at the chapter of your triumphant appearance at the Grand Ol’ Opry, with the wounded retired veteran with whom you had written such a moving song.
The people we know, the mentors we share
And, as I read Saved by a Song, I’m stuck by the number of people who have influenced both of us in one way or other.
The fact that I, too, knew Ralph Murphy, hanging with him at so many music industry events for more than 30 years, makes me feel, oddly, closer to you. I sent so many people to him as their introduction to Nashville; I spoke at what turned out to be a final reunion in his southwestern Ontario hometown — he passed away two weeks later.
And John Prine has been a hero since we met shortly after his first record came out in the very early ’70s. Back in those days he was a heavy drinker, but usually Stevie Goodman was with him to help straighten him up. Fifty years later I recall him at the Edmonton festival, apologizing to the audience: “My voice doesn't come out til after dark,” he told us. But the songs did.
As a promoter, I did Toronto dates with Dave Olney and Darden Smith, and back in the day I brought Lucinda Williams to Canada for the first time, on the strength of her first two blues albums on the Smithsonian label. I did meet Nanci Griffith, but never heard her perform, to my deep regret,
So we have those people in common.
And I have your songs — as I write this I’m playing the six albums I have (why did I lend Rifles & Rosary Beads to someone? It never came back.)
I have snapshots of you I can’t forget.
• The time at Edmonton, many years ago, when you said “let’s go for ice cream" and shared the fact that your companion at the time was “not gonna last.”
• The time you came into the old Hugh’s Room in Toronto, saw me sitting at the bar, and then ran back to your car to bring me a white scarf. I sill have it; I still wear it.
• And watching you and Jaimee walking away from a workshop at Edmonton this summer, holding hands and looking so happy.
Your music has touched me since that very first record. How can anyone not admire the way you’ve overcome so much, and the way you’ve dug down in your songs to understand yourself. Most of all, you’ve shared your heart and soul with us, and reflected our own stories and uncertainties.
That, it seems to me, is the task — and the duty — of the songwriter in these difficult times.
With affection, admiration, and great respect,
Your friend,
Richard
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NEXT TIME
Festival fever (Pt. 3) — words and pictures of joyful music festivals in Canmore and Edmonton.
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…and now: behind the damn paywall
• Why Australia is such a fascinating place
• A classic piece of magnificent invective. The subject: America’s Secretary of Health
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