Today -Nov. 27th- is my Dad's birthday. He thinks it's his 74th, but I know better. Seems that there was some mix-up with the paperwork when he was a boy…

As I stated here before, my old man is the one that got me into playing music. He used to like to play old songs on his guitar, as well as blow out some melodies on a harmonica. Real down home stuff.

It was the harp that initially attracted me. I picked up one of his and spent a couple of weeks carrying it around with me, learning how to play simple melodies.

Eventually, I asked him to show me how to play a chord on the guitar………

Merle (I love his given name, and use it any chance I can. I even address him by it sometimes. Why didn't he name me Merle jr.?) used to take me to shows all the time when I was a kid. I'm not so sure that he was trying to indoctrinate me into the world of folk music, but suspect that because I was the oldest boy, I was there for company.

Nevertheless…….. I saw some great old shows that I'm glad to recall. I saw Doc Watson perform several times, both when his son Merle (there's that name again) was alive and playing with him; I saw John prine on several occasions, well before he became the icon that he is; I got to see Norman Blake; I saw Stan Rogers on several occasions as well. Stan died in 1983 -a terrible loss to the Canadian music world.

There were a great many more, but those are the ones that pop into my head the quickest.

Merle still loves to listen to the old stuff as well, and I'm sure when I get together this weekend there's a strong probability that a guitar might appear, and we'll dust off some old Carter Family, or Stanley Bros. songs.

Happy birthday pops!

Nowadays, I hump all my gear to shows, set it all up myself, and pack it all up again at the end. I don't have much stuff, so I don't need any help. Besides, I don't make much money off of playing to hire a roadie even if I wanted to.

Back in the old days, when I used to play a lot more frequently and tour regularly, the band I was with had a crew. We had a couple of boys with us to help with the loading, as well as mix the sound, and help maintain our shit during the show so that everything ran smoothly.

I really did consider those guys part of the band. In my mind we were a tight little team. Sometimes it seemed like it was 'us versus the world.'

At our Brokenjoe show at Grossmans last tuesday night, an old pal of mine, Keith, who happened to be part of our little crew came out to the show. Of course, it didn't take long for us to start shooting the shit about the old days.

Keith started working with us almost right out of high school. I don't even know for sure whether he was old enough to legally drink in a bar at that time.

Right from the beginning, he was one big blast of energy. He was always trying to figure out how things worked, and more importantly, trying to figure out how to make things work more efficiently. Hell, he even started teaching himself how to play guitar so that he'd know more about the language of music.

It didn't take me long to realize that 'here's a guy who's going to make it in this fucked up business.' (I've certainly been proven right in that regard.) I knew that if he didn't make it up to the top level with us, he'd make it with some top touring and recording band. He most certainly has -and I'm immensely proud of him.

Anyhow, when you put a couple of old bullshitters like Keith and I together, some pretty funny stories are bound to come up.

Keith reminded me of one of the first gigs we did together. Back then, I used to have three guitars on stage with me. My main work-horse; one for back-up, in case I broke a string; and one that was in a different tuning for certain songs that we did.

If I needed one of them tuned, I'd just toss it over to Keith at the side of the stage -even if he was ten metres away. Keith had fast hands, and would always catch them. Besides, even if he dropped one, I'd just laugh…. I've never been too sentimental about my guitars.

On one of the earliest gigs that Keith did with us, I remember yelling over to Keith to get his attention, and then tossing a guitar at him. As soon as it left my hands, I grabbed number two, and hurled that on at him. Of course, he caught them both. However, as soon as number two was in the air, with a big laugh, and a grin, I tossed number three at him.

……………….he managed to put one and two into one hand, and catch number three! I just about fell over laughing. I'm sure he probably broke out in a cold sweat thinking that it was his job to catch them all, and that if he dropped one, it would be his fault. I guess it was just my way of saying to him: "Hey, they're just guitars. There's very little that I take seriously here!"

Again, at one of our earliest gigs, I remember getting morbidly drunk with him during and after a show, and attempting to help him take down the stage. I just about pissed myself when he was trying to dis-assemble my rig -a towering Marshall stack, with wires and cables attached- and seeing the whole thing come crashing down, almost on top of him, while he drunkenly tried to manage it. Again, back then, getting a good laugh out of something was worth much more than worrying about equipment.

Don't get me wrong here; Keith was not a drunken stooge, forever destroying things. If anything, I was the drunken stooge who encouraged such bad behaviour, got him drunk, and laughed over the consequences.

Keith is one of those guys that is an essential part of why you, who pays hard earned dough for a show, will enjoy yourself. He's one of the fellows that makes things go smoothly, who puts in incredibly long hours, who's wiley enough in an emergency to be able to jerry-rig a drum snare with a guitar pick, and who does it all while cracking some humourous joke!

Keith, and thousands more like him out there, are the reason that us musicians don't look even dumber than we already are.

Next time you're at a show, and you see some of the crew hustling their asses around, or watching the band like a hawk for mis-cues or fuck-ups, offer to buy 'em a drink if you get the chance.

Then, you'll be able to tell who the real good ones are. They're the ones that'll say "Thanks for the offer, but not while I'm working. I will, however take you up on your offer when I'm done."

Considerably different than us drunken musicians waving bottles all over the place, wouldn't you say?

I'm slowly working my way through Anthony Bourdain's 'The Nasty Bits,' which is a collection of essays about food.

I've read, and immensely enjoyed two other books by Bourdain -the hilarious 'Kitchen Confidential,' as well as 'A Cook's Tour,' so when I saw this new release, I had to snatch it up immediately.

So, in the spirit of Bourdain's attempt to enlighten the reader towards enjoying a better meal, I Joe Toole, have taken it upon myself to enlighten some of you towards getting better service at a busy bar.

Here, in no particular order, are a couple of pointers to help make your drunken visit to a busy bar/club a little more enjoyable:

-Know what you want. Spend the time waiting, getting your order together. I'm sorry that you have to wait at all, but in a busy bar, it's a fact of life. There's nothing worse than a person getting to the bar and then fucking about wondering what they want. That's when I go serve someone else until you get it together.

Yes, I'm a prick.

-Do you have a mind of your own? Here's one of my faves: Occasionally, I'll get two people at the bar who's drink orders seem to be dependant upon each other. "I'm not sure what I'm gonna have……. what are you having?" -as if what your friend puts into his/her body is going to affect you. 

Bye-Bye! (see first point)

Yes, I'm a prick

-For chrissakes! Make sure you have the dough-re-mi to pay for your drink(s) You've waited five minutes in line for a drink, you finally get to order, your lovely refreshing beverage arrives, and what? WHAT? You don't have any money with you? Yoink!!! there goes your drink. AND you have to start all over at the back of the line again.

No, I'm not gonna give it to you and let you pay me next time. If there are 600 people in the club, I'm not about to go hunting you down when you drunkenly forget.

-Get the fuck away from me once you've received your drinks. Give somebody else room at the bar to order. Hopefully others will do the same for you when it's your turn.

Yes, I'm a prick.

-Don't cut in front of someone else to get ahead. Nothing worse that some asshole barging up to the bar with a look on their face that seems to scream 'I'm gonna shit in my pants' and bellowing orders at the side of my head. You might not believe this, but after many years of bartending, I've developed an heightened sense of peripheral vision (just like Wayne Gretzky) and I can see who's next. It's all about observing without making eye contact.

If you cut in, I'll probably notice, and call you on it, which basically means me telling you to fuck off.

Did I mention that I'm a prick?

-Remember that old expression, 'Garbage in, garbage out?' Well, that's how I operate. Politeness and patience begets more politeness and patience. However, if you're an asshole, I'm a bigger asshole. I can out asshole anyone in the bar. And remember: I'm the one who's got what YOU want.

-Sorry ladies…… shaking your tits in my face while I'm mixing drinks in the well doesn't get you quicker service. Wait your fucking turn. I guaran-fucking-tee you certainly won't be shaking those jugs at me if I was on the other side of the bar. Quit whoring yourself.

Also, NO, I'M NOT GONNA GIVE YOU A FREE DRINK BECAUSE YOU'RE CUTE, OR BECAUSE YOU'VE GOT A SUGGESTIVE SMILE. Fuck off. You're a whore. And for all you femenists out there: Don't think I'm being a scumbag here by calling these tramps whores. They're the one's setting your cause back a couple of decades -not me.

-No, I don't make Krispy Crunch shots; Little Green Men shots; Slippery fucking Nipple shots; Sour Urinal shots; or anyother fucked up shot that you dreamed up on the bus in from suburbia, and automatically expect everyone to know what you mean.  

Whoops  ……..I mean……..  "Why YES!! I can make that for you!!!"

I'll toss a few bottles of liqueur around in front of you, pour some unknown combination of junk into a shot glass, call it what you asked for, and sell it to you at an inflated price. You'll pay, bang it back in one quick gulp, and say "That's the best Camel Toe shot (or whateverthefuck glass of shit shot that you asked for) I've ever had!!!!

-Don't touch a fucking thing until I'm finished. I'll hand it to you! I can't believe how many people want to move, or fidget with a glass I'm about to pour a shot into. Fuck off, already!!! As a high volume bartender, I've got everything placed exactly where it's supposed to be. I could probably work an entire shift with my eyes closed.

If I put six shot glasses on the bar to pour you and your friends a round DON'T FUCKING TOUCH THEM UNTIL I'M FINISHED!! If you want me to pour your shot all over the bar, or all over the back of your hand, go right ahead and treat those shot glasses as if you were playing checkers with 'em.

All over the bar, or in your belly, you're still paying for em'!!

-Yes, I make mistakes. If I'm selling upwards of two thousand drinks a night, something's probably gonna fuck up at some point. Relax. Calmly point out the problem, and I'll give you a new drink. In most cases, I'll probably give you a double, or an extra beer.

So there you go. Have fun, get morbidly drunk, run naked through the bar and puke in the can, for all I care (I've got my own staff washroom) but never, under any circumstance, ever, fuck with the bartender. He/She is your friend with the booze.

Me? I'm always in a good mood at work. I love my job. So, if I'm being curt, or maybe even cursing you out, you're the problem. It's like that old poker expression: 'If you sit down at a table of of other card players, and you can't spot the sucker, YOU'RE the sucker.'

chin-chin

We played last tuesday night at Grossman's Tavern on Spadina ave., as we will be for every tuesday this November.

Like Yogi Berra used to say: "It was deja vu all over again."

Ever get the feeling you've been here before? Perhaps it's because you have, you have, you have, you have……

We had a lot more room on stage than what we've been lately used to, which afforded Jerome to do more of his Junior Wells dances. I've got to remember to remind him to wear his bowler next week. Maybe I'll wear my top hat…

This Tuesday, Nov. 6 and for every Tuesday in November, we'll be playing at Grossmans tavern on Spadina ave. here in Toronto.

For me, it feels like a sort of homecoming. Grossmans was a place that I used to hang out in back in the '80's. I used to think of it as my livingroom. In fact, one of my biggest claims to fame, is that I used to have a tab there. Every sunday night, I'd square up my tab for the previous week, and I was good to go for the next week. As far as I know, I was one of the only people in town to acquire that status. No one that I knew had a weekly bar tab.

Wow! I felt like a big shot!

Over the years, I must have played at Grossmans at least a couple of hundred times. Shit, that's where I first met Alec, seeing him play with the Visitors, and Morgan Davis. After picking my jaw up off the floor, I dreamed about eventually getting in some kind of band with him…….

I remember getting in some kind of drunken fight there with Gregory Ray -the drummer in my own band 'The Phantoms'- about what, I do not know- and having my ass handed to me by Mr. Ray, who is about 25cm shorter than me, and perhaps 20kg lighter than me.

I remember pinching Bobby King's nose for stealing my 'last call beer' the night before an important photo shoot that he had the next day, and leaving a red 'Rudolph' impression on the tip of his schnozz that lasted for days. (He later told me that it took about 4 dressings of make-up to cover up the glow)

I remember tossing a brand new Strat across the room, and watching it helicopter into a corner wall because I had blown a chance to stay together with a long time girlfriend. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the guys in the music shop where I bought it, when I brought it back the day after purchasing it, in pieces, and telling them that "I think you guys sold me a defective guitar. It just doesn't fly right."  

I remember doing a few gigs there with Jerome, and his band 'Deep Down', who really tried to help me out when I was on the verge of insanity, and being a complete asshole to him.

I remember going there one night when the Jeff Healey band was playing there, when they were huge, and having (Mama) Mrs. Louie say to me: "Joe, I just kicked 'Kung Foo' out of my bar!" It took me a little time to figure out that what she meant was that David Carridine had just tried to get in, but she refused him entrance because the joint was full to capacity.

I remember playing there one Sunday back in the '80's when the bars used to close at 11 p.m., and inviting the whole bar back to my house after last call because I was wiley enough to buy ten cases of beer on the previous saturday (back then the beer stores weren't open on sundays) so that there was plenty to go around. I sold the beer at a buck a bottle, realized a ten dollar profit per case, and got to keep all the empties for myself!

WOO-HOO!!! 

Now, I'm not gonna promise you that there's gonna be any kind of monumental episodes that come out of our gigs there this month…….

But you never know…………..

 Ol' Brokenjoe played at Warmington's in Brantford last night. It really is one of those 'you can do no wrong' gigs. It's impossible not to enjoy yourself. Great down-to-earth people, excellent food, all packed into a charming, and cozy little bar. The perfect saturday night combination.

Owners Bob and Joelene really outdid themselves this time. They make absolutely splendid hosts, -even to the extent of packing road meals to take with us on our journey back home!

If you ever find yourself out that way, pop in and say hi. You'll be charmed!