I’ve done the Via Rail Onboard Entertainment program a few times now. The idea of it appealed to me immediately. ‘Train Songs’ is a musical genre unto its own, a potent image, both train and tracks, it evokes as metaphor love and loss, departure and homecoming, war and peace, slavery and freedom, and even life and death. As a songwriter from the same semantic field, getting to exercise that role within this long running tradition, on an actual train is almost akin to a mystical experience: Time and space collapse, despite the very linear direction of the great chain of cars. The outside world gets lost and found, contracts and expands in the timelessness that train songs possess. If I insist, and I do, that life as a troubadour is like a tight and useful symbol for life at large, to be a troubadour singing on a train is even more so! Everything that happens on board is about human connection.
Some of the crew know me already, and come running to hug me with a heart-warming “Yay, Little Birdie’s back!!!” – one of the best feelings for a travelin’ troubadour! In a recent voyage, one crew member sat down to join in listening with the group I was performing for and when I started in on my original train song, a song I had written after a few of these voyages, she exclaimed, “Oh, that’s my favourite track from your album!” She knew it because Via keeps an album to play on the train as part of their larger music library, and I love that they do that. They seem to really respect the hardships that being a permanent traveler entail, and do what they can to support. But when the crew goes as far as to gives you hugs (and sometimes extra chocolates, though I’m sworn to secrecy there)… let’s just say my confidence these days regarding this trip is fairly high. I know it works, because I love it. I’m the right personality for it. I’m good with a wide range of people. I have to be, afterall, I tour solo, internationally. I’ve developed a keen sense of others and a thick skin that usually serve me well. By several accounts, I’ve become an increasingly engaging performer, by dint of experience, adding storytelling and audience interaction in equal parts to the singing. I don’t mean to brag, it’s just that I was not good at those things before, and the development is personally and professionally satisfying, and the train journeys have been a significant part of that process.
But my first time on this gig was pretty different. I should start with the fact that I had been touring solely by Greyhound bus up until then, so when, upon boarding, the crew showed me to my cabin and I shut the door behind me, I started to laugh gleefully to myself. I couldn’t believe the luxury! A bed I could stretch out on instead of the cramped bus seat they seem to purposefully put jagged, stabbing hard plastic parts all around so that, God forbid, you should be able to get comfortable! And now in the train cabin a mirror.. a sink… a toilet (!!!) , complimentary soap and lotion, and a window that, once the train started rolling, revealed a magnificent landscape rolling by. When does one get to lie in bed and see a country go by like an old movie? And three meals a day thrown in? Who eats three meals a day?? I couldn’t sleep a wink that first night.
I suspected I could do the work well, because I had already been touring and had worked with several different audience demographics. I also knew that my repertoire of songs was, for the most part, good for young and old. But my first set was more nerve wracking than standing before an audience of hundreds. There were eight or so people, sitting in the park car, (where they also sell alcohol). It was mostly older ladies, reading, knitting and enthusiastically chatting. There had been no announcement to say I would be playing. (There usually is... that was the onlyh time there wasn't). These passengers had already seen me at breakfast, but they didn’t know I was the performer. I don’t think they even knew that there was supposed to be music. And so, at the specified time, decided upon by the service manager, I had to go get my guitar and begin my performance, only it felt like I was interrupting people’s conversation, and I didn’t know how to start, only that I had to, and that it would be inevitably awkward… like a “sorry to bother you. But I’m supposed to play you some songs now..” Nobody reacted with any particular joy at the prospect. They politely accepted.
Mostly, they just looked at me while I sang, nodding their heads. I struggled to stay upright as the train jostled me and my guitar from side to side. I stretched to project my voice above and through the sounds of bumps on the tracks and the hum of the power of it. I don’t recall any beaming smiles or gasps of delight at my songs. But there were two women with whom I’d conversed earlier, and one of them was an artist who had mentioned, by sheer magic or coincidence, that she had done a collage on the theme of the Sacrifice of Isaac. I don’t remember how it came up, but I have a song on the same theme, and so I knew I could do that one, and I’d have at least that point of connection. The two women both loved the song. Another person told me I had a good voice. And it ended as casually as it had started, as the first call for lunch was announced.
In the second set, with some of the previous audience members and some new ones, I played a Leonard Cohen song, (whose work I deeply admire, but who also ‘fits the bill’ for the gig, as you’re supposed to play some songs by Canadians, Canadiana, as the train is called the Canadian. When I finished it, a woman who had been glaring at me with a bleak face, said, “Great, now we’re all sad,” and it did not come across humorously. I thought I really failed. I carried on. I sang a Buffy St. Marie song, “Universal Soldier,” and when I introduced it as one of my favourite protest songs, there were murmurs and mentions of other protest songs. So when that song was done, I joked that we could do an entire set just of anti-war songs at the next set. They seemed to like the idea but I wasn’t sure if we were being serious.
Mostly, they just looked at me while I sang, nodding their heads. I struggled to stay upright as the train jostled me and my guitar from side to side. I stretched to project my voice above and through the sounds of bumps on the tracks and the hum of the power of it. I don’t recall any beaming smiles or gasps of delight at my songs. But there were two women with whom I’d conversed earlier, and one of them was an artist who had mentioned, by sheer magic or coincidence, that she had done a collage on the theme of the Sacrifice of Isaac. I don’t remember how it came up, but I have a song on the same theme, and so I knew I could do that one, and I’d have at least that point of connection. The two women both loved the song. Another person told me I had a good voice. And it ended as casually as it had started, as the first call for lunch was announced.
In the second set, with some of the previous audience members and some new ones, I played a Leonard Cohen song, (whose work I deeply admire, but who also ‘fits the bill’ for the gig, as you’re supposed to play some songs by Canadians, Canadiana, as the train is called the Canadian. When I finished it, a woman who had been glaring at me with a bleak face, said, “Great, now we’re all sad,” and it did not come across humorously. I thought I really failed. I carried on. I sang a Buffy St. Marie song, “Universal Soldier,” and when I introduced it as one of my favourite protest songs, there were murmurs and mentions of other protest songs. So when that song was done, I joked that we could do an entire set just of anti-war songs at the next set. They seemed to like the idea but I wasn’t sure if we were being serious.
The next day, barely out of Ontario, we congregated again, and the same glaring lady asked me as I passed by the narrow passage with my guitar, when the protest song set would be. I guess we were being serious. The ladies in attendance agreed, and we went through the ones we could think of. “Where Have All the Flowers Gone,” and “One Tin Soldiers,” were particularly memorable. Everyone sang along and there was a phenomenal energy on that train car. It was then the amazement of it sank in: I could be spontaneous, which I prefer, because everything depended on the individuals that made up the small audiences and this was more of a communal workshop than a show.
The next day that same lady and I were heading to the park car. Single file is the only way to move up and down a train, and when we reached the entrance she turned around, put her hand on my arm and said, “You know you’re really making this train ride very special and enjoyable for everyone.” I was shocked, as I thought she wasn’t having a good time, so the comment stirred me. Not only was it an ego boost, it made me reflect on the notion that it is dangerous to assume someone’s thoughts based on their face expressions, and most certainly, one should not assume that it has all that much to do with them! When we spoke again on the final day we found out we had a lot in common!
On another journey, one of the scheduled afternoon sets had only four people in attendance: an old woman in a blue sweater who was very endearing, and a father with his three-year-old daughter and an infant, a few months old in his arms. I wish I could have video recorded his amazing fathering. Being of a visible minority, the universal sweetness of his interactions with his kids was something I thought worth sharing with emphasis. The three-year-old warranting most of my performance attention, I asked her which songs she knew: ABCD, twinkle twinkle, and a few others with identical melody. We did them all, all of us singing except for the adorable infant who was softening into a sleepy state in her dad’s arms. The old lady and I tried thinking of more children’s songs, and the dad suggested Old MacDonald, which we all enthusiastically jumped into immediately. And then the old lady suggested, “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.” I barely remembered it. But as we started it off, it all came back, and the little girl who had never heard it before, mimicked all the animated actions we were doing – this brief moment a beautiful sharing of community.
The next day that same lady and I were heading to the park car. Single file is the only way to move up and down a train, and when we reached the entrance she turned around, put her hand on my arm and said, “You know you’re really making this train ride very special and enjoyable for everyone.” I was shocked, as I thought she wasn’t having a good time, so the comment stirred me. Not only was it an ego boost, it made me reflect on the notion that it is dangerous to assume someone’s thoughts based on their face expressions, and most certainly, one should not assume that it has all that much to do with them! When we spoke again on the final day we found out we had a lot in common!
On another journey, one of the scheduled afternoon sets had only four people in attendance: an old woman in a blue sweater who was very endearing, and a father with his three-year-old daughter and an infant, a few months old in his arms. I wish I could have video recorded his amazing fathering. Being of a visible minority, the universal sweetness of his interactions with his kids was something I thought worth sharing with emphasis. The three-year-old warranting most of my performance attention, I asked her which songs she knew: ABCD, twinkle twinkle, and a few others with identical melody. We did them all, all of us singing except for the adorable infant who was softening into a sleepy state in her dad’s arms. The old lady and I tried thinking of more children’s songs, and the dad suggested Old MacDonald, which we all enthusiastically jumped into immediately. And then the old lady suggested, “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly.” I barely remembered it. But as we started it off, it all came back, and the little girl who had never heard it before, mimicked all the animated actions we were doing – this brief moment a beautiful sharing of community.
The following day, there was a lady from India who had attended a multi-disciplinary seminar on consciousness. I wish I could have been there! She got on in Jasper, where I did my obligatory station performance as everyone boarded. She was already smiling and swaying to the music then, her entire face lit up. When she saw me, about an hour later, heading to my next set in the activity car, she stopped me excitedly to ask where the music would be. “I’ll be there, wait for me!” she brightly announced.
At that particular set there were about ten folks, some who had already heard me the day before, including the old lady in the blue sweater, (who after each set she'd attended, came to shake my hand with a slipped 10$ bill in there... grandmother style!) The lady from India arrived and sat the closest to me, and even though she had never heard my songs before, she was audibly singing along, and well! She was following the melodies and trying to catch on to the lyrics. Then someone requested “Blowing in the Wind”. This I will never forget. She looked up to see us all agreeing that this was a powerful protest song, and she tilted her head to listen. I had never ever sung the song in the presence of someone who wasn’t familiar with it, except for the students of an English class I once taught. I’ve known the song since I was at least seven years old and the impact of the lyrics filled me with passionate despair over human injustice for many years of emotional struggle with the reality of war, but it is one of those songs that is so familiar you wouldn’t normally perform it. Yet someone requested it, and so I did, and this incredible lady from India made such incredible gasping sounds at the end of each phrase, taking in the sharp and heavy meaning of each line, that all of us noticed the full weight of the meaning as if for the first time. We were all teary eyed by the power of a song on a train. The old lady then requested that we repeat "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly." There were no children present, but the adults all sang along, and it was the lady from India that got totally into the animated gestures that go with each verse!)
I have several more stories like these. I have been touched by several important human moments on these musical train rides of mine. One man bought an album to give to his daughter who was heading to fight in Afghanistan a week later. One man approached me to thank me for singing a particular Joni Mitchell tune. He told me they sang it at his wife’s funeral and it was nice to hear it again. One woman was traveling for the funeral of her father, to return again in the next season for the birth of a nephew. There is something incredibly poignant in all of these interactions. The movement, distance, and landscape elevate every moment into a potent metaphor of the greater life that’s out there, the stories teaming everywhere, in every prairie, mountain town, or city.
At that particular set there were about ten folks, some who had already heard me the day before, including the old lady in the blue sweater, (who after each set she'd attended, came to shake my hand with a slipped 10$ bill in there... grandmother style!) The lady from India arrived and sat the closest to me, and even though she had never heard my songs before, she was audibly singing along, and well! She was following the melodies and trying to catch on to the lyrics. Then someone requested “Blowing in the Wind”. This I will never forget. She looked up to see us all agreeing that this was a powerful protest song, and she tilted her head to listen. I had never ever sung the song in the presence of someone who wasn’t familiar with it, except for the students of an English class I once taught. I’ve known the song since I was at least seven years old and the impact of the lyrics filled me with passionate despair over human injustice for many years of emotional struggle with the reality of war, but it is one of those songs that is so familiar you wouldn’t normally perform it. Yet someone requested it, and so I did, and this incredible lady from India made such incredible gasping sounds at the end of each phrase, taking in the sharp and heavy meaning of each line, that all of us noticed the full weight of the meaning as if for the first time. We were all teary eyed by the power of a song on a train. The old lady then requested that we repeat "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly." There were no children present, but the adults all sang along, and it was the lady from India that got totally into the animated gestures that go with each verse!)
I have several more stories like these. I have been touched by several important human moments on these musical train rides of mine. One man bought an album to give to his daughter who was heading to fight in Afghanistan a week later. One man approached me to thank me for singing a particular Joni Mitchell tune. He told me they sang it at his wife’s funeral and it was nice to hear it again. One woman was traveling for the funeral of her father, to return again in the next season for the birth of a nephew. There is something incredibly poignant in all of these interactions. The movement, distance, and landscape elevate every moment into a potent metaphor of the greater life that’s out there, the stories teaming everywhere, in every prairie, mountain town, or city.
So blow your whistle, sweet train, take me further down the track. I can’t wait to find out who I’ll meet this time, and what stories will be shared.
Stay tuned.. I’ll keep you posted!
Stay tuned.. I’ll keep you posted!
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