“Every time you wanted to do something you’d hope it would score. You’d keep trying and trying, and all of the sudden something would come right out of left field, like ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.’ No one had any idea about that one.”
Edmund Fitzgerald, a Canadian history lesson set to music, became what is arguably the most unlikely hit single of all time, a six-minute opus about the sinking of a Great Lakes freighter with lyrics culled from journalistic accounts in the Toronto Star and Newsweek magazine.
“That was written as a folksong for an album,” notes Lightfoot of the haunting anthem. “No one had any idea it would become a popular song.”
And yet there it was, in November ’76, jostling for position against brain-dead competitors like “Disco Duck” and Steve Miller’s “Rock’n Me,” sticking around almost two months in the Top 10.
“The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down/ Of the big lake they called ‘Gitche Gumee’” — seriously, how did it ever see the light of day?
“I can explain that to ya,” offers Lightfoot. “I was up in northern Manitoba. I had just canoed down the Churchill River from Alberta on a 25-day trip.
“When I got down to Pelican Narrows, there was a telephone call from my sister saying they wanted to add it to the Top 20 in L.A., but they can’t because it’s too long. It would be the difference between No. 20 and No. 1.
“So I started counting the bars and I figured out a way to edit all the instrumentals by one half, by taking it out of the middle.
“So they did the add, it got noticed by the trade papers and the next place it finally stopped was No. 1 in Cashbox magazine and No. 2 in Billboard.”
Does it frustrate him that Rod Stewart’s cloying sex ballad “Tonight’s the Night” kept it from the top spot?
He laughs. “Hey, maybe that was a good thing. I was pleased that it happened, but it was done at behest of the record company. I didn’t want to rub it in.”
When asked what per cent of his success derives from talent vs. perseverance and ambition, he fires back “How about payin’ the bills?” as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
And while he’s thrilled his old pal Bob Dylan won the Nobel Prize in Literature — though he thinks Stompin’ Tom Connors should receive one, too — his take-away from their longtime relationship is not what you might expect.
“I had a really great chance to admire his work, because I was part of the office,” he says of the days when the two were signed to the same label. “And what I learned from him most was to get the job done! Really, honest to God, just sit down and do it!”
He’s a practical guy. Always has been.
“I love doin’ the shows,” he says when I ask what’s kept him on the road in the 14 years since a near fatal stomach aneurysm almost ended his career.
“The ship of state is still afloat and I’ve still got the vocal — and the desire.”
By this point, we’re hitting the one-hour mark. I’m feeling guilty about monopolizing a guy who, during the first Trudeau reign, was as big a Canadian figurehead as that other Gord (Downie) is during the second.
But there’s still lots to talk about
:
The moment he realized he’d made it: “It may surprise you. It occurred when I wrote ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.’ The fact that tragedy occurred probably enhanced my career.”
His unflagging professionalism: “I have to play everything just perfectly. I can’t take less of myself. I’m strong, I’m prepared.”
Stage fright: “When I’m introducing my musicians, I always get nervous.”
Plans for Canada’s sesquicentennial: “They’ve got me booked until the end of 2017. We’re gonna stick at it.”
Before we finish, I decide to grill him one last time on the question he’s scrupulously avoided: the enduring appeal of his songs, the way they manage to encapsulate . . .
“The feelings people have,” he breaks in, taking the bait. “The emotional trauma and emotional stress people are asked to deal with is astronomical. Hardly anyone ever speaks about it.
“Everybody’s got so much of their own to deal with. They have no one to turn to.
“I guess music is one of those things that really lifts people up.”
It’s not an admission of greatness, but after poking and prodding for more than an hour, it’s as close as I’m going to get.
Joel Rubinoff writes for the Waterloo Region Record. Email him at
jrubinoff@therecord.com