Great Music of the Sixties

Those of us who are old enough to remember the sixties can all think fondly of the music scene from those days. I hear lots of people talk about the "magic" of the era, and how they miss the creativity that was so prominent in the music of the day. They also lament the corporatization of the music scene since then. Enough pundits have written about the changing state of music but I'm not going to yap about that.

While I am old enough to remember the sixties, I would be stretching it a bit to say I was a participant in any way. I was on the sidelines, looking in, while others took part in the revolution that was unfolding. My brother Mikhail Stephanovich might be able to make more of a claim, but even he was a little young at the end of the sixties.

Some of the heaviest live music that I ever heard during the sixties was actually performed in my parent's kitchen at their hugely successful and usually raucous St. Patrick's Day parties. Mr. Bignall, and Mr. Hornby used to come over with their accordion and fiddle respectively, and would give a lesson in how to play anything they set their minds to. My brothers and I would be sent upstairs once the party got into full swing. Despite the less than subtle hint that sleeping would be in our best interest, we huddled around the hole in the second floor that used to accommodate a stove pipe and listened. The stovepipe hole was conveniently located above the kitchen, where all Canadian parties are centered. Living rooms don't really get lived in. It's a terrible misnomer. Kitchens are where it's at.

Mr. Bignall was a usually cantankerous old fellow who lived next door to us, and to avoid any acrimony, my dad would invite him to the party. It wasn't a bad thing that he was also an amazing musician who literally had hundreds of tunes under his fingers. Mr. Bignall would take up his perch in the kitchen, ostensibly within reach of the fridge, if my memory serves, and let fly with his squeezebox. Mr. Hornby would be right at his side keeping pace on his fiddle. What a glorious racket they made. To my young ears, it sounded like Zeus throwing lightning bolts from atop Mount Olympus.

What I remember most about the famous, and now defunct St. Paddy's soirees is that these two men could play almost anything requested of them. As my parents and their friends got into the sauce, they would request one tune after another, and it was a rare thing for the two musicians to say they didn't know it. They would usually dive in and do their best to accommodate the revellers with some rendition of the tune. To my young mind, Mr. Bignall and Mr. Hornby were geniuses, and nothing was beyond them. They would play all night, and the record player rarely saw any action if they could help it.

I was in awe. It was the sixties, and it seemed that music was something anyone could play if they set their mind to it. The general impression was that it had nothing to do with talent, and everything to do with passion and enthusiasm. My brother Mike and his pal Rob were infected by that particular sixties disease called Beatlemania, and both took up the guitar with varying degrees of success. Rob is still a happening musician to this day. Even though the majority of what Mr. Bignall and Mr. Hornby played was not rock music, they were still doing their own thing and they made it up as they went along, just like good rock musicians are inclined to do. They were old geezers when I was a little pipsqueak, but even so, they would even try their hand at a rock and roll tune once in a while. I'm sure my exposure to this creativity had something to do with my love of music.

Music and improvisation are in my blood, as I have since discovered, and I have done my best to emulate Mr. Bignall and Mr. Hornby. I certainly don't play the same tunes they did, but their sense of play and lack of fear have rubbed off on me. There's no point worrying too much about the shine on the finished product when the solid framework will suffice. I've never been too shy to try almost anything when I've got my horn in hand, and that's the way it should be.

Mr. Bignall, and Mr. Hornby are no longer with us, but their legacy lives on. A whole new generation of musicians have taken their place and it's a grand thing. We're doing exactly what they did in my mum and dad's kitchen: we stand our ground and show no fear. When you've got a musical instrument in your hands, that's how it's done.

Rock and Roll will never die. It will just need some glucosamine sulfate, and
some high fibre snacks.