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This ticket represents a very important night in my life.
It was September 21st, 1989. I had recently arrived in Ottawa for what would prove to be a very prolonged stay in the city. Frosh week had just ended and I was only a week or two into classes in Carleton University’s tiny music department.
Fresh as I was from the deprived music scene in Moncton which saw me clamouring to catch pretty much any live music of whatever magnitude that came anywhere nearby (a habit that found me at shows featuring Jeff Healey, FM, Stevie Ray Vaughan and several other notable acts previously unknown to me), I jumped at the chance to see Steve Stevens at some place called Barrymore’s. All I knew about the place was that it was OC (off-campus), so I got pointed in the right direction and walked north on Bank Street into hitherto unknown territory.
Steve Stevens was (and remains) the widdly-widdly semi-shredding guitar player in Billy Idol’s band. This was early enough in my Ottawa era that I was still unaccustomed to the steady stream of equally notable-or-more acts that would regularly come through town, so this was enough notoriety to get me through the doors of Barrymore’s, a room I would come to see countless acts in and play in myself nearly a hundred times.
The show was utterly forgettable, but what I do remember remains as clear as if it were happening before my eyes today. I was sitting with some friends at a long table on the floor of the multi-tiered room. This was back before they renovated the place and it was pretty grungy, but to my eyes the old theatre was stunningly opulent. Gilded walls festooned with huge mirrors, a proper stage and lights, a sound booth up on the third tier, a long bar along the side of the floor and another one way up high on the, was it fifth level? Someone mentioned that bands like U2 and The Talking Heads had played there, and I had heard that the chandelier and the tattered red velvet curtains had been bought from an old Ottawa venue called The Imperial, where Jimi Hendrix and The Animals had played in front of those curtains.
In short: As I sat there gaping I fell in love with Barrymore’s. I couldn’t believe a venue this awesome was in a town where I would be spending the next four(sic) years.
The night before, I had auditioned for a local band called The Gutterboys. I was looking to find a cover band and do some gigging specifically to help get me through the year financially. I liked the guys and their original music was pretty fun, and though they already had a few gigs coming up despite having a vacancy in the bass department I had decided earlier in the day that I was going to pass. I didn’t think being in an original band trying to find money to record would be much of a part-time job so I was going to keep looking.
I had just announced this decision to my buddies sitting across from me at Barrymore’s when I noticed a paper placemat on the table advertising the bands that were coming to Barrymore’s for the next month. And to my shock The Gutterboys were on there, booked to open a benefit show in late October.
“Hey guys,” I said to my friends. “You’re not going to believe this, but that band I tried out for is playing here!
“I think I might join these Gutterdudes after all.”
And so I did. We toured together and recorded together and played countless gigs over the next few years…I mean we were busy. I never really felt like this was It; I knew the band was a stepping stone, on-the-job training as it were, and I was right. Though we never achieved much success The Gutterboys represented my first time in a professional recording studio and my first time really getting a taste of the road. And while even this would make attending this show very important, there’s more.
The Gutterboys were a quartet: myself, Patrick, Raymond, and JP. And while I’ve never completely lost contact with Pat or Ray and consider them both to be friends to this day, JP and I became the very, very best of friends.
JP and I have played in several bands together, written songs together, we were roommates for years, we’ve been to Las Vegas, New York City, New Orleans, Cape Breton, and so many other places together, driven hours to see Chuck Berry, Ringo Starr, Les Paul, Dolly Parton and countless other acts together, and have spent ten thousand nights rambling on at each other until the wee hours loomed too large for us.
It’s a friendship I owe to Steve Stevens and his completely unremarkable performance that night so very long ago in a bar no longer worthy of its legacy.
Todd Man Out 