About a week after we’d recorded “Streets Of The Night”, Curt and I were asked to write a Graduation song.
“Graduation, comes once in a lifetime
Graduation, the beginning of a lifetime
Now its time to say goodbye to our friends… to our friends…”
Not exactly “Blowing In The Wind” but hey, for a second song, it wasn’t too bad.
I got a job washing dishes at the Midtown Motor Inn.
I bought a new guitar.
A black Aria Pro II with knock off Floyd Rose whammy bar.
One Thursday night, in early February, after an evening of washing dishes, Ed the cook, said to me,
“Hey Plume, you wanna go to the bar and check out the band playing at the Lakelander tonight?”
“Yep. Sure do.”
It was a school night, but I didn’t care, I jumped at the chance.
So, after work, we hopped in Ed’s car and made our way to the Lakelander on the outskirts of town.
We ordered a beer and grabbed a table.
The guys in the band were on stage tuning up.
I wanted that life.
They were a four-piece band.
Two guitars, bass and drums.
After they’d finished tuning up, they wandered over to the bar, grabbed some drinks and then made their way to the stage.
The fog machine was in fine working order, I can assure you.
They opened with “Yankee Rose” by David Lee Roth.
I almost fell out of my chair.
They played lots of songs by Harlequin, Streetheart, April Wine, Max Webster and Kim Mitchell.
“I hope she’ll nod at this drunken bar slob…
Because I’m ready, willing and able…”
After their first set, I went over and talked to the guitar player.
He was sitting at a table drinking a beer and messing around with his guitar.
“Man, I can’t believe you guys opened with Yankee Rose! That was fucking amazing!”
“Hey thanks, man! Do you play guitar?”
“Yeah, man, I sure do, my name’s Mike…”
“Cool man, yeah, I’m Jeff…”
After a minute or two, the rest of the guys in the band came over and said hello.
Byran, Darcy and Mick.
They were all so cool.
About my age.
I couldn’t believe these guys were roaming around the country playing music in bars.
I wanted to do what they were doing more than anything else in the world.
Life on the road would have to wait.
At least until Grad.
We played two or three more shows through the rest of the school year and that was about it.
We’d worked 3 or 4 originals into the “show”.
Sometime in March, I’d sent out my demo tape to a “Big Record Company” in Toronto.
I figured they’d listen to the first 30 seconds of my music and then send their jet to Bonnyville to whisk me away to a recording session in Toronto.
Along with “Streets Of The Night”, I’d recorded, in my opinion, three or four other songs that were destined to be Hits.
At the end of June, my Dad drove out from New Brunswick for my Graduation.
He had a friend who needed a car driven out to Alberta, so my Dad figured he’d kill two birds with one stone.
He rolled into town on Thursday, June 25th, 1987.
That night, he and I went to the pub for a couple pints.
It was the first time we’d ever really talked “man to man”.
He told me that he was going to give me 500 dollars for my “Graduation” gift.
As luck would have it, at Panich Music, sitting there on a guitar stand, was a 1968 Les Paul “Black Beauty”.
The guitar belonged to Lavern’s brother who had recently passed away.
His widow found that the guitar was just too heartbreaking to have around and decided that she needed to get it out of the house.
The asking price?
You guessed it.
500 bucks.
Friday morning, with 25 crisp 20 dollar bills in my pocket, I walked into Panich Music.
Five minutes later, the guitar was mine.
Friday night, I went out with some friends for a couple of Pre-Grad drinks at the Lakelander.
Somehow, by the time I walked out of the club at 2AM, I’d been offered a job bussing tables starting on the following Monday.
I was supposed to drive to New Brunswick with my family for the summer.
But this job offer made me rethink the long drive to the east coast.
I took the job.
Saturday night was my High School Graduation.
Curt and I played our little “Graduation” song along with our hit, “Streets Of The Night”.
I played my new Les Paul.
Sunday morning, my Mom, my Dad and my brother made their dysfunctional way across the country to the east coast for the Summer.
It was the most time my folks had spent together since they’d divorced.
But they got along better as ex’s than they ever did as a couple.
By nine o’clock Sunday morning, my family was rolling east toward the Maritimes.
I stayed behind.
I watched them roll away.
I felt alone.
I liked it.
Sunday night I walked to the Red Rooster and rented the movie “Crossroads”.
It was the first time I’d ever heard of Robert Johnson.
I thought his songs were cool.
I guess.
But that point in my life, I was a Steve Vai guy.
But as the years go by Robert Johnson’s songs mean more and more to me.
They get deeper and heavier with every listen.
Amazing.
I know, I know what you’re thinking.
“Everybody says that Plume, it’s nothing we haven’t heard before. We get it, he was good…”
But it’s true, Robert Johnson’s songs haunt me to this day.
I can picture him in that hotel room in San Antonio recording those songs.
Anyway, where was I…
Oh yeah…
Monday, I started my job at the Lakelander.
It didn’t take me too long to settle into my new life as a busboy.
Let’s just say there wasn’t much of a learning curve.
Thank God.
By Tuesday, I was having the time of my life.
Wednesday, was even better.
Thursday afternoon, I went to the club early to have a burger and watch that weekend’s band load-in and do soundcheck.
Thursday, Friday and Saturday, I’d buss tables, talk to girls and watch the bands.
What’s the catch!?!
My first two weeks out of school were amazing.
Every night, working in the bar till 2AM.
Staff drinks until 4AM.
Make my way home and pass out by 4:30.
Wake up at noon, play some guitar.
Maybe go water skiing on Moose Lake.
Maybe cut some laps.
Rinse and repeat.
Life couldn’t have been better.
At some point during the week, I got a response from that “Big Record Company” in Toronto.
I sat there at the kitchen table for about 3 hours staring at the envelope.
I didn’t want to open it.
I figured that if I didn’t open it, then the answer wasn’t “No”.
I’m like that with lottery tickets too.
If I don’t check the numbers, then I haven’t lost yet…
Anyway, eventually, I caved.
My curiosity was getting the best of me.
So, I opened it.
Apparently, the powers that be from that “Big Record Company” in Toronto didn’t see or hear in my music what I thought was so obvious.
I’ll never forget his name.
Ten years later he came to see my band when we were playing at the Horseshoe in Toronto.
Though he didn’t remember my demo from 1987, he still didn’t see any potential in my music.
All he said to my manager on his way out the door was something to the effect of “Mellencamp ’83. It’s been done and done better.”
I could’ve told him that.
My second week as a working stiff was much like my first week.
Loads of fun.
When Thursday rolled around, I again went in to work early so I could have a burger and watch soundcheck.
(For the record, I still have a fascination with load-ins and soundchecks. I don’t know why, there’s just something about it and I wish I was doing one or the other right now…)
I watched as they loaded all their stuff up on the stage.
Hung the lights.
Stacked the PA.
Ran cables.
Smoked cigarettes.
I made small talk with the guitar player.
“Do you play guitar?”
“Yeah, sure do.”
“How long you been playing?”
“4 or 5 years, something like that…”
(I may have stretched the truth by about 3 years… shhhhhh…)
“What kinda guitar d’ya play?”
“68 Les Paul.”
“No kidding, you know, I’m leaving the band to go back to school, so they’re looking for a new guitar player.”
“No kidding.”
“You should audition. Do you think you’d like an audition?”
“Yeah, sure, Why not? Sounds cool…”
“Let me introduce you to our manager… Maybe he can set something up…”
Five minutes later I was sitting in the restaurant with their manager.
Five minutes after that, it was…
“Ok, so 2 o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’ll see you then. Nice meeting you, sir!”
“Yeah, nice meeting you too, ahhh… What’s yer name again?”
“Mike.”
“Yeah, Mike, nice meeting you too…”
I couldn’t believe it.
I couldn’t believe that I had an audition for a touring Rock and Roll Band.
I went back in the club and watched the band do soundcheck.
I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that maybe, just maybe, I could be doing soundcheck with this band by next week.
It was too much to think about it.
The next day, I got to the club around 1 o’clock.
I poured a cup of coffee (something I’d never done before) and walked around trying to look cool.
Slowly the band all stumbled in from their hotel rooms.
As they were pouring their coffees and lighting up their first smokes of the day, I went to the washroom and thought about throwing up.
I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Don’t fuck it up, Plume…”
I went back into the bar.
I sat at a table and took my Les Paul out of its case.
I nervously played a chord or two.
I laid my guitar on the tabletop and went to set up my amp.
As I walked toward the stage, from behind me I heard a thud.
A thud that was followed by a cracking sound.
I didn’t even turn around.
I knew what it was.
It was my guitar.
Sure enough, there lying on the floor was my ’68 Les Paul with a serious crack in the headstock.
The neck was hanging on for dear life.
It looked like the end of the road for that guitar.
I tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal.
I tried to laugh it off.
Not an easy thing to do.
Brokenhearted, I borrowed the guitar player’s axe.
Stunned, I plugged in and tuned up.
They asked me if I knew how to play, “Talk Dirty To Me”.
“Yeah, sure… ”
“What key, do you play it in…?”
“I play it right here…”
I played a power chord at the third fret on the second string.
I had no idea what chord I was playing.
“So, in C?”
“Yeah…” I said, not sounding at all confident.
They all looked at each other.
They knew instantly, that I was in over my head.
The drummer counted the song in and away we went.
The band at one tempo.
Me at another.
We had the PA cranking full throttle.
All knobs to the right.
It was so loud.
It was so cool.
The pre-audition jitters were long gone.
I felt like Eddie Van Fuckin’ Halen.
After the song, the singer asked me if I’d ever played that song before…
“Yep, I have…”
“Oh, well, okay… Probably just nerves, I guess, huh?”
Then the drummer said, “Hey man, it kinda sounded like you were playing along with us but not playing with us, you know what I mean?”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
But, it was my first lesson in being a musician.
You gotta pay attention to what’s happening on stage otherwise why bother…
Heads up hockey.
Keep your stick on the ice.
They must’ve thought I had incriminating photos of them, because, remarkably, I got the gig.
You couldn’t punch the smile off my face, but I was scared to death at the same time.
I went home for a couple hours before work.
I was bouncing off the walls!
I called my Mom in New Brunswick and told her that I auditioned for a band, got the gig and was hitting the road the next day.
I can’t even imagine what she was thinking.
Then I called my buddy Justin.
He couldn’t believe it either.
I can’t even imagine what he was thinking either.
I made my way back to work at 6PM and went straight to the office to talk to my boss.
I told him that I’d been offered the “Guitar” gig in the band and didn’t think I could turn it down.
In fact, there was no more thought put into it, by this point, I’d already accepted the offer.
“Fuck this! I’m hitting the road, man!!!”
Friday night, after the bar closed, a bunch of friends all came back to my place to listen to some music and have a couple beers.
By 4AM everyone was gone.
Except Justin.
He and I sat up all night listening to music and talking about the road.
I’d been dreaming of going on the road for so long, I couldn’t believe that I was less than 24 hours away from climbing on to a bus and rolling down the road.
“Mike, can you believe that you’re going on the road?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Man, you’re gonna have so much fun, Mike…”
“Yeah man.
We sat there drinking beer until the sun came up.
About 6AM, Justin passed out on the couch.
I finished my beer and went upstairs to get some sleep.
I woke up around noon and Justin was still sound asleep on the couch.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Sleep alright?”
“Yeah, man.”
It was my last day in Bonnyville.
Tomorrow I’d be God knows where.
I had to get some supplies for the road.
Toothpaste, shampoo, etc…
Neither of us had wheels, so we had to walk downtown.
We’d never walked anywhere before.
If we weren’t tooling around in his dad’s old pickup truck, we were hoping curbs and doing wheelies on our BMX bikes.
As we walked along, dozens of people were cutting laps.
People honkin’ their horns or yelling out the window as they went by.
That thread of melancholy crept into my disposition again.
It felt like a chapter in my life was coming to a close.
I hadn’t even lived in Bonnyville for two years yet, but, so much had happened.
I grew up there.
I had to leave to finally know where my home was.
We made small talk as we walked along.
We stopped downtown.
“Well man, I gotta run across the street and get some toothpaste and shampoo and stuff…”
“Cool, yeah, Mike. Well… So yer leaving tonight hey?”
Yeah, man.”
“Man, you’re gonna have so much fun, Mike…”
“Yeah, man.”
“Good luck out there, Mike. Yer gonna have a blast!”
“Yeah, man. Have a great Summer, Justin.”
“I will, I’m looking forward to going down to Waterton. It’ll be nice to get away for a while…”
“Yeah, man, I bet it will be.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Yeah, man. I will.”
We shook hands and said goodbye.
He continued walking eastbound along the Main drag.
I watched him walk away.
When I got home, I emptied out my hockey bag and filled it with clothes.
Twelve hours I threw that hockey bag, along with a broken ’68 Les Paul into the back of an old school bus and once again, left everything I knew behind.
It seemed like I was always doing that.
I was excited, but exhausted.
As the bus rolled along the highway, I drifted off.
I woke up 6 hours later, south of Saskatoon, bound for Fort Qu’ Appelle.
And I never looked back.
That is until I started writing these stories…
Mike Plume
May 28, 2020.
Epilogue 1: On Friday, September 4th, 1987, the band’s manager knocked on my hotel room door and said, “Mikey, let’s go for a walk, we need to talk…”
Epilogue 2: On Monday, September 7th, 1987, I was back in Bonnyville and bussing tables at the Lakelander.