“I can’t think of any Gordon Lightfoot song I don’t like. Every time I hear a song of his, it’s like I wish it would last forever.”—Bob Dylan, The Guardian

My response to Bob’s first comment is “Me neither,” and to his second, I will add a hearty “amen.” Some of Gord’s songs pack more emotional power than others, and sometimes I would have made a few changes to the arrangements, but whenever I hear Gordon Lightfoot’s rich baritone, he draws me into his world with his authenticity and subtle magnetism.

Although you’ll have to put up with those fucking ads, the highly recommended documentary If You Could Read My Mind is available at no charge on YouTube. It tells the story of a man who (like all of us) made mistakes and (not like all of us) sincerely regretted hurting those who were closest to him. His passion for booze was certainly a contributing factor (he eventually gave up the sauce in 1982), but some of his relational problems were the inevitable outcome of his immersion in the art of songwriting. Once he determined that songwriting would be his life path, he was determined to learn all he could about the craft and headed out to L.A. for two years to study orchestration and music theory at the Westlake College of Music. His modus operandi indicates he was something of an isolationist-perfectionist: once he had an idea for a song (usually based on real-life experiences) and his imagination kicked in, he spent long hours in his “little room,” working hard to marry lyrics with chords until he was completely satisfied with the results. His insistence on getting everything right was reflected in his respect for the craft: he was one of the few songwriters of the era who wrote his own lead sheets.

The perfectionist streak extended into the studio, but he was lucky enough to find musicians who were also willing to do what it takes to make a song come alive:

. . .  Lightfoot feels fortunate that all of his session players over the years have been willing to overlook the fact that he plays nearly everything on the guitar with a capo at the second fret, a move that allows him to stay in vocal range, but forces his sidemen to play in awkward keys. “I could never come to terms with the fact that I would have to walk into a recording studio and tell a guitar player to get ready to play in the key of F# or the key of B. I was embarrassed about that,” he admits. “I once had to ask Vassar Clements if he could please tune his fiddle down a half tone so I could play a song in E flat,” he says incredulously. “And he just did it! He just tuned ‘er down and away we went.” (American Songwriter)

I also have a perfectionist streak, which explains why it’s taken me so long to cover Gordon Lightfoot, who has been on my to-do list since 2012. I was waiting for the perfect compilation album, not too small and not too long, and hopefully arranged in chronological order. Gord’s Gold fit most of my requirements in terms of content, but the track order is a mess. The compilation is unusual in that sides one and two are 1975 re-recordings of songs Gord recorded with United Artists in the 60s, while sides three and four contain original versions recorded with Warner Brothers/Reprise in the 70s. The re-recordings made economic sense for the label, and Gord was happy to comply because (according to the liner notes) “he doesn’t like listening to his early work.” After listening to the United Artists original versions, I can understand why the perfectionist felt the need for an upgrade: the production and recording quality are weak, and I can detect a Southern drawl in some of the songs, a sign that Gord was aiming for a breakthrough in the Country-Western market. With each successive album, his voice became more distinctive, eventually achieving the staying power that would appeal to a much broader audience. The redos also allowed him to work with his seasoned backup band, resulting in much tighter takes, and it gave him the opportunity to make a few tweaks in the lyrics, reflecting changes he made during performances (and in at least two cases, suggestions from people close to him). He never stopped trying to perfect what most people thought was already perfect.

In the end, I decided it was time to give up my quest for the perfect compilation and work around the obstacles to honor one of the finest songwriters and storytellers of them all. All I had to do was place the tracks in chronological order, split the review into two parts to enable a deep dive, add “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” to the collection (the “plus one” in the review title), and voilá! Happy me!

*****

All songs written and copyrighted by Gordon Lightfoot. Albums and year of release included; songs re-recorded in 1975 are marked with an asterisk.

“Early Morning Rain”* (Lightfoot!, 1966): After completing his studies at Westlake in 1960, Gordon returned to Toronto and availed himself of any opportunity that might result in the big break: appearances on CBC’s Country Hoedown, playing in Toronto coffee houses, recording two singles that became hits with the locals, and performing in a duo called the Two-Tones with Terry Whelan. When those efforts fell short of moving him closer to his dream of building a career in music, he headed to Europe, where he hosted the BBC’s Country and Western Show and married a Swedish girl before returning to Toronto in 1964. He was performing at Steele’s Tavern on Yonge Street one night when the folk duo Ian and Sylvia happened to be in the audience and were knocked out by a new song Gordon had written: “Early Morning Rain.” They called him up the next day to express their interest in recording the song and helped him put together a demo that they shared with their manager, the legendary Albert Grossman, who already had Bob Dylan on his client list and would sign Gordon in 1965.

Ian and Sylvia’s version hit the top of the Canadian charts in early 1965, and over the next few years, the song would be covered by Peter, Paul and Mary, George Hamilton IV, Oliver and Paul Weller. Later, Bob Dylan would record his version for Self Portrait, Elvis Presley recorded the song and added it to his concert playlist, and a French version, “Dans la brume du matin,” became a hit for Joe Dassin.

“Early Morning Rain” established Gordon Lightfoot as an up-and-coming songwriter, but he still had a ways to go before he was recognized as a performer. Though the song and album were recorded in December 1964, Gord’s version would not see the light of day until United Artists finally released Lightfoot! in January 1966. It was never released as a single, and Lightfoot! failed to chart anywhere.

The song’s origins came from his experience in Los Angeles as a young man far away from home.

It sort of took me back to Westlake. I got homesick out there a few times, and I remember I was going out to the airport, and it was a rainy day, and there was a place you could watch the approach of the airplanes. They were actually coming in where I was standing, and I could see them leaving on the other runway right over on the other side. And I was inspired right there with that imagery of an airplane climbing off into overcast, and then I recreated that around 1964, about five years later. So that was an image that stayed there for five years, and all of a sudden it emerged in one afternoon when I was babysitting my five-month-old first child. And I said, “I’ll put him over here in his crib, and I’ll write myself a tune.” (American Songwriter)

And quite a tune it is. Great folk songs are designed to encourage sing-alongs and play-alongs, so the challenge is to keep the chords and melodies simple without drifting into dullsville. In that regard, “Early Morning Rain” demonstrated that Gord had the skills to meet that challenge, but it also presents a conundrum: while I always feel the urge to sing along with him, I feel an equally strong desire to shut up and listen to his marvelous voice. Arghh!

The updated arrangement opens with Gord’s rhythmic strums on the right channel, soloing until the final word of the opening line, when Rick Haynes enters with a bass counterpoint and Red Shea supports Gord’s strums with bright, finger-picked arpeggios on the left. As the song proceeds, a string section enters the fray to strengthen the emotional pull of the piece and Pee Wee Charles drops in with some beautiful swoops on steel guitar. If you’re looking for a drummer, you can fuggetaboutit—Gord often dispensed with drums and drove the rhythm on his six or twelve-string guitar, just like the best amateur acoustic guitar players do at parties or family sing-alongs.

The lyrics pretty much follow the story Gord told to American Songwriter. My favorite verses are the first and fourth: the first expresses the deeply-held emotions that always accompany a long separation from loved ones, while the fourth depicts the sad reality that technological progress has made it impossible for him to return home without the money he doesn’t have:

In the early mornin’ rain with a dollar in my hand
With an aching in my heart and my pockets full of sand
I’m a long way from home, Lord, I miss my loved ones so
In the early mornin’ rain with no place to go

This old airport’s got me down, it’s no earthly good to me
And I’m stuck here on the ground, as cold and drunk as I can be
You can’t jump a jet plane like you can a freight train
So I’d best be on my way in the early mornin’ rain

If I could write one song as good as “Early Morning Rain,” I would be happy for the rest of my life. And this guy wrote hundreds!

Life is so unfair.

“Steel Rail Blues”* (Lightfoot!, 1966): Our second story about a guy stranded far from home appears to be the antithesis of “Early Morning Rain,” but Gord goes O. Henry on us with a surprise ending that smashes that hypothesis to smithereens. File this one under “Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” and enjoy the ride.

The song begins with good news in the form of an emotionally intelligent woman doing the right thing for her long-lost lover:

Well I got my mail late last night
A letter from a girl who found the time to write
To her lonesome boy somewheres in the night
She sent me a railroad ticket too, to take me to her loving arms
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love

Good for him! It turns out that the poor guy really has had a rough time, but at least his girl has provided him with a way out of his mess. . .

Well I’ve been out here many long days
I haven’t found a place that I could call my own
Not a two-bit bed to lay my body on
I’ve been stood up, I’ve been shook down, I’ve been dragged into the sand
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love

Well I’ve been uptight most every night
Walkin’ along the streets of this old town
Not a friend around to tell my troubles to
My good old car she done broke down ’cause I drove it into the ground
And the big steel rail gonna carry me home to the one I love

Wow! Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong for the poor soul. Hold on, man! Your gal, she’s a-waitin’!

After a verse where he allows the guy to savor the thought of eating a real home-cooked meal, Gord supplies the twist:

Now here I am with my head in the sand
Standing on the broad highway will you give a ride
To a lonesome boy who missed the train last night
I went in town for one last round and I gambled my ticket away
And the big steel rail won’t carry me home to the one I love

Victim, my ass! He’s a whiny moaner!  Somebody needs to telegraph his girl and tell her to change her address pronto!

The music is (ironically, as it turns out) light and breezy with two complementary acoustic guitars and bass, making for a pleasant listening experience. The instrumental passages may or may not have hinted that the guy would turn out to be a total loser, as Gord . . . well, he’s not quite yodeling, but he makes this “hee-hee-hee” sound that may express the joy of the expected homecoming or “Boy, that girl’s a sucker, ain’t she?” I’m so pissed off by this asshole that I’ll go with option B.

“For Lovin’ Me/Did She Mention My Name”* (Lightfoot!, 1966 and Did She Mention My Name?, 1968): This is the first of two medleys featuring truncated versions of two songs from Lightfoot!

In one of the opening scenes of the documentary, we find Gord and his wife watching television clips of early performances of “For Lovin’ Me,” one with Gord and Johnny Cash, one with Waylon Jennings and Glen Campbell and the last with Gord himself. As he gazes at the screen, his face distorted with astonishment and disgust, he ends the trip down memory lane by telling his wife, “Okay, I hate this fucking song, so let’s move on.”

In a piece on CBC Music, Gord talked about his epiphany regarding the misogynistic lyrics: “I learned a lot of things from the many women I met. One of the things was, don’t write songs that are chauvinistic. And boy, I wrote a couple at the start, like ‘That’s What You Get for Loving Me.’ Oh my goodness, I’ll never write another song like that. That one taught me a lesson. It really did. Others still sing it, but I won’t anymore.” He was particularly miffed that he wrote a song celebrating machismo when he was married: “What was I thinking?” Strangely enough, the shorter version designed for the medley includes the most offensive lines:

So don’t you shed a tear for me
‘Cause I ain’t the love you thought I’d be
I’ve got a hundred more like you, so don’t be blue
I’ll have a thousand ‘fore I’m through

Geez, dude, if you’d told the woman up front that you were determined to fuck anyone sporting high heels, lipstick and genuine mammaries, you could have avoided such a painful misunderstanding. Sigh. I guess guys just weren’t wired that way in the mid-60s. I rather like the music for its mid-verse builds and the wondrous guitars of Gord and Red, so when the dick-waving starts, I just yell, “Yeah, but you ain’t fucked anyone like me!”

What’s most important here is that pairing “For Lovin’ Me” with “Did She Mention My Name” completely changes the meaning of the former by turning it into a starting point for growth and self-awareness. When Gord wonders whether or not his high school sweetheart remembers him, he is expressing a certain vulnerability that the macho half would have never allowed to come to the surface.

Did she mention my name just in passing
And when the morning came, do you remember if she dropped a name or two
Is the home team still on fire, do they still win all the games?
And by the way, did she mention my name?

Did she mention my name just in passing
And when the talk ran high, did the look in her eye seem far away
Won’t you say hello from someone, they’ll be no need to explain
And by the way, did she mention my name?

The transition point is executed seamlessly, as Gord and Red keep plucking away. The key difference in the arrangement is the introduction of a string section, strengthening the sweet feeling of vulnerability.

“I’m Not Sayin’/Ribbon of Darkness”* (Lightfoot!, 1966): This medley came about during live performances, as noted in the liner notes of the live album Sunday Concert:

“On Sunday Concert we combined two early songs, partly to save a little time in concert. ‘I’m Not Sayin’ was probably the better of the two, and ‘Ribbon Of Darkness’ was a #1 country hit for Marty Robbins. ‘I’m Not Sayin’’ is about noncommitment, and a little bit of that sexist thing comes into play here . . . ‘Ribbon Of Darkness’ is about the demise of the relationship,” he went on. ‘The two of them go well together, with the first song being about a man telling a woman it’s my way or the highway, and in the second song she’s left and he’s licking his wounds. Pride cometh before the fall.”

As opposed to the macho-to-human transformation of the first medley, this one is more macho-to-payback. Unlike the testosterone-drenched dude in “For Lovin’ Me,” the guy in “I’m Not Sayin'” is committed to the practice of open and honest communication:

I’m not sayin’ that I love you
I’m not sayin’ that I’ll care if you love me
I’m not sayin’ that I’ll care
I’m not sayin’ I’ll be there when you need me

I can’t give my heart to you
Or tell you that I’ll sing your name up to the sky
I can’t lay the promise down
That I’ll always be around when you need me

The last line in the song essentially leaves the woman with a choice: “I’m not sayin’ I’ll be true, but I’ll try.” Some women would give it a shot; I’m more likely to tell the guy to take a hike, but I appreciate the honesty. The arrangement is dominated by bright acoustic guitars, and I love Gord’s application of vibrato to his voice, conveying a sense of anxiety as to how his message might land.

A seamless transition leads to “Ribbon of Darkness,” and I agree with Gord that the song is the weaker of the two, but paired with “I’m Not Sayin’,” it doubles the impact of the “pride before the fall” message.

“Song for a Winter’s Night”* (The Way I Feel, 1967): In the documentary, Sarah McLachlan described this song thusly: “It’s kind of a quintessential feeling of a Canadian winter.” The imagery in the song certainly validates her perception with lines like “The lamp is burning low on my table top/The snow is softly falling” and “The morning light steals across my windowpane/Where webs of snow are drifting,” but that imagery is employed to intensify the deep sense of loneliness experienced by the narrator:

The lamp is burning low upon my table top
The snow is softly falling
The air is still in the silence of my room
I hear your voice softly calling
If I could only have you near
To breathe a sigh or two
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
On this winter night with you

All through the long Canadian winter night, the man remains at his table, smoking and drinking (“The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead/My glass is almost empty”) while reading “between the lines upon each page/The words of love you sent me.”  When Gord sings “If I could know within my heart, that you were lonely too,” he’s not wishing his lady any ill will, but confirmation that she wants him as much as he wants her. If someone wrote a song as beautiful as “Song for a Winter’s Night,” I would break into tears and promise to stay with them through winter, spring, summer and fall.

The arrangement follows the usual pattern of two acoustic guitars, bass and strings (with sleigh bells on the fade), but if you want to know just how essential Red Shea was in creating the “Lightfoot Sound,” pay close attention to his perfect fills and counterpoints. Magnifique!

“Canadian Railroad Trilogy”* (The Way I Feel, 1967): Gord was commissioned by the CBC to write a song for a two-hour special to help kick off the Canadian Centennial on New Year’s afternoon, 1967. Using the structure of Bob Gibson’s “Civil War Trilogy” as a guidepost, Gord wrote a song about the building of the trans-Canada Canadian Pacific Railway (Chemin de fer Canadien Pacifique), finishing his work in three days.

I don’t have access to his report cards, but Gord must have earned an A+ in Canadian History.

The divisions in the trilogy are marked primarily by tempo changes, and each segment contains a different lyrical structure. The first segment (uptempo) is the longest, with five verses (one repeated) and two bridges. The second segment (downtempo) consists of three verses, and the third (uptempo) contains two verses, a bridge, and a stunning closing line. Sometimes the lyrical narrative seems to spill over into the following segment, which is why trying to use the verses to determine the trilogy’s divisions will drive you batty. I did not mention a chorus because there is no chorus. You may wonder why anyone would want to listen to a history lesson that lacks the all-important hook and clocks in at a little over seven minutes, but believe me when I tell you that “Canadian Railroad Trilogy” is quite compelling and cinematic, a fascinating documentary created through words and music.

We’ll examine each section in turn; I’ve added my own subtitles to make things easier to follow.

Section 1: The Grand Vision

The song opens with a hearty strum from Gord, who pretty much handles the verse on his own except for a 3-note descending pattern from Red. The minimalist arrangement focuses our attention on the lyrics of the first verse, which take on additional meaning when they appear at the end of the piece with one small but powerful addendum.

There was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
Long before the white man and long before the wheel
When the green dark forest was too silent to be real

In the interim between verses, Red bends a couple of chords, cueing the introduction of a string section and John Stockfish on electric bass while Gord and Red perform their usual magic on their guitars. The second verse is devoted to the workings of a growing nation, where Gord reminds the listening audience that the development of a stronger economy would have been impossible without immigration:

But time has no beginnings and the history has no bounds
As to this verdant country they came from all around
They sailed upon her waterways and they walked the forests tall
Built the mines, mills and the factories for the good of us all

When it comes to capitalists, enough is never enough, and they can smell opportunity thousands of miles away. At the beginning of the 1870s, British Columbia belonged to Queen Victoria, and though they were interested in joining the Canadian Confederation, they refused to sign on the dotted line without assurances that a transport link to the East would be built. Ka-ching! “The railroad men grew restless for to hear the hammers ring,” and launched a full court press to get the government to buy into the idea of a Trans-Pacific railway (greasing the path with a few bribes here and there). Their vision (or pitch, if you prefer) is presented in the section’s two bridges, both of which involve changes in tempo and the chord patterns. PeeWee Charles enters during the first bridge with his steel guitar and will continue to provide those lovely, melancholy swoops throughout most of the song. On occasion (and most notably in the first bridge), you get the sense that the tempo is slowly increasing, like a train starting to chug away, a trick achieved by elongating the first few notes before shifting into the set tempo.

For they looked in the future and what did they see
They saw an iron road running from the sea to the sea
Bringing the goods to a young growing land
All up from the seaports and into their hands

Look away said they across this mighty land
From the eastern shore to the western strand

As Canada was seriously underpopulated at the time, the rail moguls had no choice but to enlist immigrants from Europe and China to do the dirty work.

Bring in the workers and bring up the rails
We gotta lay down the tracks and tear up the trails
Open her heart let the lifeblood flow
Gotta get on our way ’cause we’re moving too slow

Which brings us to the Navvies.

Section 2: The Navvies

The band executes a transition to downtempo that ends with a gorgeous but melancholy A7addG chord to set the mood for what is to come.

We’ve already encountered the Navvies in my review of the Pogues’ Rum, Sodomy and the Lash, but for those of you who missed it, a Navvy is “a laborer employed in excavating a canal . . . later extended to those engaged in making railroads.” Gord’s lyrics dispel any false visions of a “whistle while you work” environment, for many of the Navvies are a long way from home, and their “loved ones lie sleeping beyond the dark ocean in a place far away.” The work is grueling, and there are few pleasures to ease the pain:

We are the navvies who work upon the railway
Swinging our hammers in the bright blazing sun
Living on stew and drinking bad whiskey
Bending our backs til the long days are done

As expected, the Chinese got the worst of it:

Between 1881 and 1884, as many as 17,000 Chinese men came to B.C. to work as labourers on the Canadian Pacific Railway. The Chinese workers worked for $1.00 a day, and from this $1.00 the workers had to still pay for their food and their camping and cooking gear. White workers did not have to pay for these things even though they were paid more money ($1.50-$2.50 per day). As well as being paid less, Chinese workers were given the most back-breaking and dangerous work to do. They cleared and graded the railway’s roadbed. They blasted tunnels through the rock. There were accidents, fires and disasters. Landslides and dynamite blasts killed many. There was no proper medical care and many Chinese workers depended on herbal cures to help them.

One of my most fervent wishes is that the human race will figure out a way to achieve progress without costing lives and wreaking havoc on the environment.

The musical mood for this segment is mournful and packed with emotion, and Gord’s voice takes on a sincere and deeply apologetic tone that makes me want to cry for those poor Navvies.

Section 3: Reflection

Now that Gord has sung about the moguls and the Navvies, it’s time to meld the two into the overall narrative with a bit of compare-and-contrast. The segment begins with the train gradually picking up the pace to uptempo, where we hear the Navvies’ side of the story:

So over the mountains and over the plains
Into the muskeg [peat bog] and into the rain
Up the St. Lawrence all the way to Gaspé [city and peninsula in eastern Quebec]
Swinging our hammers and drawing our pay
Drivin’ ’em in and tying them down
Away to the bunkhouse and into the town
A dollar a day and a place for my head
A drink to the living, a toast to the dead

I have to express deep appreciation for Gord’s ability to present a balanced version of the narrative. The Navvies went through hell, but those who survived were likely proud of their work and what they achieved. As for the moguls . . .

Oh the song of the future has been sung
All the battles have been won
On the mountain tops we stand
All the world at our command
We have opened up her soil
With our teardrops and our toil

With our teardrops and our toil? I didn’t see you bastards pounding the rails. Take your crocodile tears and shove them up your ass!

As promised, Gord repeats the opening verse twice, making a slight addition to the closing line, at which time the music comes to a full stop, followed by an appropriate moment of silence before he completes the verse:

For there was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run
When the wild majestic mountains stood alone against the sun
Long before the white man and long before the wheel
When the green dark forest was too silent to be real
And many are the dead men. . .

Too silent to be real

While I have a profound distrust of the rich and worthless and an endless loathing for leaders who launch wars or facilitate wars by selling weapons to warring nations, I firmly believe that we should always take time to remember both those who died believing that their cause was just and those who made our lives better by taking on dangerous jobs, often because they had no other options. You don’t have to be a Canadian to appreciate Gord’s tour de force; you just have to be a human being blessed with a bit of empathy.

 “Softly”* (The Way I Feel, 1967): I should take a moment to recommend Valerie Magee’s website at https://gordonlightfoot.com. It is a treasure trove of information about the man and his music that I’ve found extremely helpful in pulling together this review.

One of Valerie’s pages contains commentary on various songs by the man himself. This is what he had to say about “Softly.”

He’s got somebody coming to visit him; I’ve had that happen a few times. Tender love song, a little spacy, but it has a positive outcome. Even though she leaves at daybreak, she’s coming back. It hints at the supernatural.

All true from a narrative standpoint, but I can’t believe he didn’t mention the guitars! The three guitarists (Gord, Red and PeeWee) create a magical soundscape of soft tinkles and Spanish-influenced arpeggios that are in perfect sync with this romantic ode to a mystery woman who comes (pun intended) in the night to celebrate the sexual experience:

Softly she comes
Whispers the breeze with her passing
In secret love she is laughing
Softly she comes in the night

Softly she sighs
Sweetly she lies never sleeping
Her fragrance all in my keeping
Softly she comes in the night

The ethereal nature of the song leaves room to fill in the blanks. I picture the woman entering Gord’s room, taking off her coat to reveal an apricot see-through negligee (her softness eliminates the possibility of a leather harness and boots). The song was never released as a single and the album failed to chart in Canada, so consider it a hidden gem in Gord’s discography.

“Wherefore and Why”* (Did She Mention My Name?, 1968): The opening track to Did She Mention My Name? is a nice, upbeat song, well-played and well sung, but I wish the compilers would have had the guts to include “Black Day in July” in its place. I will grant that the powerful protest song about the 1967 Detroit riots is not your typical Lightfoot offering, but isn’t the purpose of a compilation album to reveal the breadth of the artist’s reach?

I’ll guess I’ll just have to settle for Gord’s excellent vocal and the song’s positive message. We often find ourselves looking for something to give our lives meaning, but frequently it turns out that what we’re looking for is right in front of us and the “why” doesn’t matter: “Then all at once it came to me, I saw the wherefore, and you can see it if you try/It’s in the sun above, it’s in the one you love, you’ll never know the reason why.”

I can live with that.

“Bitter Green”* (Back Here on Earth, 1968): There is a plethora of interpretations on the internet regarding who or what is Bitter Green, and Gord’s comments turn out to be no help at all: “Written in a noisy diesel taxicab on the way in from Heathrow. My wife adopted that as her song after our divorce.” Some say Bitter Green is autistic, some say she’s a dog and others say she’s a waitress at a seaside restaurant. Given the line “Waiting for her master to kiss away her tears,” I could argue that she’s a BDSM slave, while others interpret the use of the word “master” as evidence of misogyny. The problem is that none of these wild guesses (including mine) fit within the context of the song.

The most logical explanation is the most obvious: Bitter Green is a devout Christian woman who believes that the role of the wife is to serve her master, and in this case, to remain faithful and true to her husband while he is far from home:

Upon the bitter green she walked the hills above the town
Echo to her footsteps as soft as Eider down
Waiting for her master to kiss away her tears
Waiting through the years

Bitter Green they called her
Walking in the sun
Loving everyone that she met
Bitter Green they called her
Waiting in the sun
Waiting for someone to take her hand

Her Christian faith disposes her to love “everyone that she met,” and whether her man returns to take her hand or the hand of god intervenes to take her to heaven, she will be happy either way. Note: Gord made a slight change to the lyrics in the 1975 version, replacing “take her home” with “take her hand,” which lends more credence to the Christian interpretation.

Sadly, her god relieves her from her earthly responsibilities shortly before her master returns:

But now the bitter green is gone, the hills have turned to rust
There comes a weary stranger, his tears fall in the dust
Kneeling by the churchyard in the autumn mist
Dreaming of a kiss

The 1975 version is an upgrade in many ways, with brighter guitars, vocal harmonies, and a somewhat more nuanced vocal from Gord. I may not be a Christian (duh), but I have no quarrel with Christians who believe that love is the essence of Christianity.

“Minstrel of the Dawn” (Sit Down Young Stranger, 1970): At this point in his career, Gord had moved from United Artists to Warner Brothers/Reprise with the help of Albert Grossman, a switch that would finally open the doors to the lucrative American market (it also means that we’ll be dealing with original recordings from here on out).

“Minstrel of the Dawn” was the opening track on the album, a somewhat daring choice because the first two verses are backed with strings and only a faint hint of a single acoustic guitar. The change to a label with a stronger bottom line allowed Gord to expand the sonic range of his recordings by adding top-tier musicians to supplement the Lightfoot Band. The string arrangement for “Minstrel of the Dawn” was created by Randy Newman; other musicians who made contributions to the album include Ry Cooder, Van Dyke Parks and John Sebastian.

I have no doubt that the minstrel in the song is Gord himself, as the opening verse pretty much describes his style and his approach to songwriting.

The minstrel of the dawn is here
To make you laugh and bend your ear
Up the steps you’ll hear him climb
All full of thoughts, all full of rhymes
Listen to the pictures flow
Across the room into your mind they go
Listen to the strings
They jangle and dangle
While the old guitar rings . . .

The guitars take center stage in the third verse, fulfilling the promise of “jangle and dangle.” The strings return in the subsequent verse, where Gord compares himself to Stepin Fetchit, which may seem a bit of a stretch until you realize that Vaudeville involved constant touring, similar to the folk music scene of the ’60s and ’70s.

A minstrel of the dawn is near
Just like a Stepin Fetchit here
He’s like an old-time troubadour
Just wanting life and nothing more
Look into his shining eyes
And if you see a ghost, don’t be surprised
Like me and you
He’s trying to get into things
More happy than blue 

“Minstrel of the Dawn” is a beautiful piece of music and a perfect opening track in that it prepares the listener for a set of songs created by a modern troubadour. If I had lived way back when and found one of those record stores that allowed you to go into a booth to sample the wares, I would have bought Sit Down Young Stranger immediately after hearing “Minstrel of the Dawn.”

Alas and alack, it seems I might have been the only person on the planet who felt that way.

Oh! By the way, the American version of this album is titled If You Could Read My Mind, for reasons we will cover shortly.

“If You Could Read My Mind” (Sit Down Young Stranger, 1970): Gord’s American breakthrough hit might have never seen the light of day if it weren’t for three big ifs:

• If Gord hadn’t dumped United Artists
• If his new label hadn’t adopted the philosophy, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”
• If a Seattle DJ hadn’t decided it was his life mission to make Americans aware of Gordon Lightfoot

Our story begins with the disappointing reaction to the release of Sit Down Young Stranger. In the documentary, Gord explained the situation: “They shipped 80,000 records and everything stopped. The record was dead; it had no legs, as they said in the trade. And this is a whole album we’re talking about, now. 80,000 copies. Boom. That’s the end of it.”

He continues . . . “So, we were thinking, is there another single we might try to do? The one that they picked next as a single was ‘If You Could Read My Mind.’ And they got an ad on the Top 40 station in Seattle in the same week.”

An unnamed Seattle DJ fell in love with the song, and by playing it incessantly, he started a brush fire that swept through the USA. Once it became a hit, the suits at Warner knew exactly how to capitalize on the song’s success, but the artist would have none of it.

“Next week I get a call, ‘Can we change the title of the album?’ They said, ‘We want to change the title of the album to If You Could Read My Mind. And I’m so irate that I actually get on a plane, and I fly out to LA to sit down and have an argument with these boys. So I was kind of a bit of a prima donna at the time. I said, ‘They’re not gonna change the title of my album to If You Could Read My Mind from Sit Down Young Stranger!’ I would do awkward things, I would say awkward things, and they really didn’t take me seriously sometimes, but they took my art seriously, though. I had asked the question, ‘What difference would it make if you changed the title of my album?’ And he said, ‘Algebraically speaking, Lightfoot,’ he said, ‘It’s the difference between x and 7x.’ And I got on that airplane and flew back to Toronto. Five or six weeks later, we’d sold 650,000 records.

“So, it had sold the 7x, and I kept my mouth shut from then on.”

The two singles released before “If You Could Read My Mind” were “Approaching Lavender” and a cover of Kris Kristofferson’s “Me and Bobby McGee.” Both singles did well in Canada, but were DOA in the USA. The problem was that both singles were safe choices, and there was no way in hell Gord could have broken into the American market by playing it safe. With its rich lyrics providing a completely new perspective on failing relationships, a marvelous arrangement, and Gord’s compelling vocals, “If You Could Read My Mind” satisfied the insatiable American need for the new and different.

In an interview with Lydia Hutchinson on Performing Songwriter, Gord explained what drove him to write the song:

In some cases the songs are autobiographical; some events and traumas that have to get handled, one way or another, go into the tunes. And it’s easier and cheaper than going to a shrink. “If You Could Read My Mind” was written about the events that happened when I was getting divorced from my first wife. I’d just moved to the country, to a little farm, and signed with a new label, and the marriage was breaking up.

Before we explore the poignant and memorable lyrics, I have to commend the arranger, players, and producers for creating the perfect background for Gord’s achingly beautiful vocal. The introduction consisting of soft guitars and bass sets the melancholy mood in a mere nine seconds, and the low volume actually works to ignite the listener’s curiosity. I can’t say enough about Nick DeCaro’s string arrangement, where he consistently matches waves of orchestral sound to the rise and fall of emotions in Gord’s voice and in the lyrics. And I love the ending, where the strings vanish and the three guitars present a declining pattern of notes that reflect the grief both parties often experience when a relationship ends.

In the opening verse, Gord shares his side of the story through film metaphors, a brilliant choice because most people who find themselves involved in confusing, difficult situations get the feeling, “Hey, wait a minute. Haven’t I seen this movie before?” Gord explains that his dissatisfaction involved the feeling that he was trapped in a relationship with someone unable to understand his true self:

If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old-time movie,
‘Bout a ghost from a wishing well.
In a castle dark or a fortress strong,
With chains upon my feet.
You know that ghost is me.
And I will never be set free
As long as I’m a ghost you can’t see.

In verse two, Gord accepts the truth that he also bears responsibility for the breakup while admitting his failure to tend to her needs and the pain he has caused:

If I could read your mind, love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.
When you reach the part where the heartaches come,
The hero would be me.
But heroes often fail,
And you won’t read that book again
Because the ending’s just too hard to take

Returning to the film metaphor after a brief instrumental restatement of the melody, Gord wishes things could have been different and that his wife could have brought out the best in him, but something inside that he struggles to understand triggered the worst in him, alienating his partner (in the interview, he admitted he was drinking a lot during that period). The reality is that pain has become overwhelming for both parties, and it’s time to move on.

I’d walk away like a movie star
Who gets burned in a three-way script.
Enter number two:
A movie queen to play the scene
Of bringing all the good things out in me.
But for now, love, let’s be real;

I never thought I could act this way
And I’ve got to say that I just don’t get it.
I don’t know where we went wrong,
But the feeling’s gone
And I just can’t get it back.

The closing verse begins with a three-line prelude before a repetition of the “I never thought I could act that way” segment (close to a chorus, but not quite):

And if you read between the lines,
You’d know that I’m just tryin’ to understand
The feelings that you lack.

Divorces are always difficult, especially when children are involved. Divorce disrupts a child’s sense of stability, leading to feelings of loss, confusion, and fear. In Gord’s case, his daughter Ingrid, trying her best to make sense of things, confronted her father about one particular line in that prelude:

There’s a line in the song that goes ¾ “If you read between the lines, you’ll know that I’m just trying to understand, the feeling that you lack.” My daughter, who was just a girl at the time, heard the song and asked me “Don’t you lack any feelings, daddy?” She got me to change the line to “the feelings that we lack.” She said I was putting the whole onus of the divorce on her mother. (ibid)

Though the song dealt with Gord’s personal life, I’m sure that many people who had experienced a breakup and heard the song achieved some level of catharsis that helped them move on. The emotive power of “If You Can Read My Mind” is off-the-charts, and though my breakups were nowhere near as traumatizing as the one described in the song, I still feel the sense of loss, fear and confusion evoked by Mr. Lightfoot, which in turn strengthens my resolve to do everything I can to ensure my partner and I never experience anything like it.

*****

We’ll continue our exploration of Gordon Lightfoot’s massive contributions to music next week. See ya then!