Digital Publishing

The telephone arrived in my home as a black, rotary-dial wall-phone on a ten-party-line that hung in a living room unheated in winter when I was ten. I have never attempted to text on a smart-phone and feel uncomfortable with instant messaging. Since I became acquainted with Kindle on my tablet and BookBub’s free offerings I have become acquainted with a cadre of young authors who grew up texting, skyping, and using instant messaging with aplomb. They also went to school at a time when self-expression was more valued than grammar, syntax, or spelling. Some seem to be barely literate.

When writers sat down with quill and ink, pencil, or ball-point to laboriously double-space up to 20 versions of their books their editors blue-penciled mercilessly and all non-essential text got eliminated. Much the same occurred when the typewriter made things easier if not quieter. It was the arrival of computer word-processors 30 years ago that revolutionized writing forever. Today most copy does not see paper until the day it is printed on newsprint, glossy magazine, or paperback. More recently digital self-publishing has virtually eliminated the middlemen and books go almost directly from the author to the reader’s nook or kindle. Budgetary constraints seem to have almost eliminated proofreading and even the most prestigious outlets print copy with glaring errors.

Since computer word-processors arrived on the scene I have read too many books that would have benefited from being 200 pages shorter. The word-bloat is palpable. More recently the e-books appear on my tablet missing even the simple formatting of page justification. Authors may not be using instant messaging abbreviations and short-cuts but punctuation, capitalization, and formatting seem to have gone out the window. Spelling is a sometime affair and homonym errors, such as to, too, two abound. After a page or more of dialogue it helps if the reader is given some indication of whom said what; especially in the absence of capitals and periods.

Free or not asking the reader to edit your copy is an insult. I don’t hit send on any copy be it E-mail or this blog-post until I have run spell-check and reread the text at least once or more. I wish writers would do the same. Alas I fear too many don’t recognize their own errors. I have read 21 books in the last month and earned my 50-book pledge, perhaps Malthus’ Law of Diminishing Returns is beginning to kick in.

Aborigine Experience

Just finished listening to Joseph Boyden and Richard Wagamese on CBC and it has me thinking about the aborigine experience in Canada. Having attended conferences at Cape Croker I’ve been immersed in the tales of children being wrenched from their homes and forced to attend residential schools where they were forbidden to speak their own languages or observe their native customs and often sexually abused. To an outsider it is hard to understand how soul-destroyingly destructive this was to an entire generation. The objective of Indian Affairs Policy in Canada was the utter obliteration of Native Culture and the people themselves. What was added to my knowledge base was the fact that ‘Indian’ children were seized from reserves and sold to adoption agencies in America.

Thomas King, another aboriginal author has quipped that the indigenous population of Canada had an immigration problem--US. Upon first encounter with European Settlers Native Populations suffered death rates of up to 90% of their peoples as soon as these interlopers got within 200 miles of their tribal lands from the diseases that were brought with them from the old country. The Beothuks of Newfoundland were utterly exterminated. A people who lived communally and had no sense of property rights or ownership of Mother Earth were ill-equipped to negotiate treaties with White Settlers. With no words in their language to conceive of lies or untruth they could not understand deception and connivance.

Land-hungry Europeans sought means to get rid of the Indian Problem and relegate them to the confines of Reserves where they would not get in the way of settlement. In a time when the only good Indian was a dead Indian policies aimed at extermination were the order of the day. Again, as an outsider to this process generations later I would ask how long do we have to apologize for the sins of the past and make reparations for those evils. Land claims settlement negotiations have dragged on for generations with little end in sight. Those on reserves have no ownership of the land on which their homes sit. It is difficult to have pride of place and invest in property you do not possess.

The Indian Affairs Commission should have been abolished long since but this agency pours millions into reserves yearly and the elected band councils who profit from this investment are loath to give up a good thing. Unfortunately these elected officials bypass the cultural traditions of hereditary chiefs in an often matrilineal society creating rifts within these societies. Cronyism and patronage are often rife on band councils and all that money poured into reserves often does little to benefit the average member. Politics is as corrupt and self-serving on band councils as it is in white society. Indian Affairs appears to be a self-perpetuating reality.

The policy of annihilation attempted to spread disease through trading unwashed blankets from tubercular hospitals and a trade in ‘fire water’. Aboriginal peoples seem prone to alcoholism, diabetes, and obesity only adding to the problems of over-crowding, lack of sanitation, and running water on reserves. In many ways government policy came close to succeeding but the human spirit and cultural pride have prevailed and a push to reclaim language and customs before the elders who preserve those memories die out is presently underway.

Among the problems encountered in settling land claims is a perception that an oral tradition is made up to suit the situation at hand. We tend to forget that until the time of David our Bible was an oral tradition and until the invention of the printing press few possessed expensive hand written texts. On the other hand those still on reserves are loath to give up tax-free status and the other perks afforded band members such as free education and support to those who manage to go on to higher education. Indian Affairs is a love-hate relationship.

Of Censorship and Free Speech

Since the advent of word-processors on computer authors are no longer faced with the laborious task of rewriting their texts by hand. This has simplified the process of editing but has also facilitated an epidemic of word bloat in books. In the last ten years I have read many books that would have benefited immensely by being reduced by at least 200 pages. Publishers no longer seem to edit books hence print editions are often rife with typos created in the publishing process and alas, by the author as well. With the arrival of self-publishing and e-Books the lack of grammar, syntax, and spell-checking has reached epidemic proportions and a new cadre of would-be authors raised in an era when self-expression was deemed more important than spelling and grammar have hit the scene. Worse yet, the latest phenomena are young writers who honed their craft typing text messages on smart phones. You may have read about college graduates who are functionally illiterate; well now they think they can write books.

I have written at least 75 book reviews for my own satisfaction in the last few years and recently began publishing them on Amazon. I have discovered the existence of a double-standard in that the behemoth will market books filled with expletives but will not accept reviews that contain those same profanities. Being a consenting adult I don’t usually pay attention to ratings and must confess I had not been aware that Amazon gave books ratings, certainly they place no blocks on anyone downloading any e-Book. I was taken aback when I discovered upon panning a poorly conceived book that authors read their own reviews and even respond. I had not to this point considered Amazon a discussion forum.

So to the concept of censorship. Does giving a book an “R” rating make it acceptable to write about teenage sex and swearing as if it is the norm? Do we want to legitimize such behaviour by making it seem acceptable? I would prefer not to find literary novels laced with expletives and find the idea of childhood profanity puerile and immature, an example of bad parenting. Violence and assault should not be made glamorous in novels, movies or games; it used to be called pornography but those standards seem to be changing rapidly in frightening ways especially on Pay TV and the Internet. This is not to say that there are topics that should not be confronted in writing books. It is not a matter of whether or if but how and why, of kind and degree. Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin served as a catalyst for bringing down slavery in America; Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kamf promoted the Final Solution. Your opinion of these books will differ depending on your status as a card carrying member of the KKK, a Neo-Nazi Cult, a death camp survivor, or former slave. There’s a fine line between freedom of speech, censorship, and tyranny; liberty and the common good.

Bluenose Meander Homeward Bound

Saint John is an awkward place to negotiate. Needed gas before I left and the nearest Irving Station proved to be on the wrong side of the road near a major intersection. Not only was the gas pricey but resuming my journey in rush hour traffic proved impossible so I had to turn right and nearly return home to get on my way turning left just past that very Irving Station. Saint John was engulfed in fog which persisted until I’d climbed the hills north of the city. The drive was pleasant enough though the highway petered out as I passed major construction until I reached Oromocto and Highway 2. Stopped in Woodstock for a break and to find Subway, then later in St-Basile near Edmundston for a second fill-up before I hit more expensive gas in PQ.

After some exploration found IGA Extra in Rivière-Du-Loup and got a few essentials. So-called cream for cooking most approximates the table cream I’m accustomed to putting in my coffee but here it is 15% butterfat against the 18% I’m used to. I suspect another conspiracy to sell one less for more. The cream proved to be less than fresh as well. Went to the well once too often at St Hubert. My Gallic Waitress was polite but surly, my cruet of sauce half full, the portion of fries niggardly, and service slow. I didn’t feel like tipping.

Was glad to settle into my campsite after negotiating a rather bustling office where the gal told me to wait, quote, for someone to put me in my place. I was thankful to lie back and sip a glass of sangria and nurse my tired eyes which had just stayed alert for 300 miles. It was hot for this neck of the woods despite the clouds overhead and the fog off the Saint Lawrence. Remained in camp for the next day while showers blew through.

Saturday Morning set out reluctantly still not feeling rested in warm temperatures at 7:30 in the morning. With my air vents set I was able to endure the heat in shorts without the added expense of running A/C. A cross-wind called for constant vigilance all day as a gusting wind made driving erratic. Stopped once just after Quebec City for a pit stop and refreshments. Ignored my GPS to find Camping Aloutte and walked into a darkened office to learn they’d been without power since a raging storm with hurricane force winds had dropped hale and heavy rain knocking out power at 3 PM the previous day. After parking reported back paying my fee in cash. Turned on the generator thankful once more for its presence and ran the A/C to beat the heat. After getting something to eat and reading most of the comix I’d downloaded before leaving the Loup had a 2-hour nap despite the noise. When I got up and went outside discovered power had been restored.

Went for a walk and discovered two books in English in the ‘library’ I was interested in reading. Apparently Jo Nesbo is popular in Quebec. A musty mass-market paperback copy of Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged running to nearly 1100 onion-skin thin pages with tiny print probably won’t be missed. A gusty wind that was rocking my RV has died down to dead calm but banks of cloud still mass in the sky to the south as the sun sets early over the hill to the north-west. Had to close up my windows and turn on the A/C again as one of my neighbours is burning ancient much-painted boards and producing very noxious fumes. Learned later that the same storm system that killed a woman in Boucherville where I was camped spawned another tornado in Grand Lake near Fredericton past which I drove 2 days earlier.

At 7:00 AM Sunday morning drove over to the next interchange and stopped to buy enough $1.47.4 gasoline to get me out of Québec. Early morning traffic on a Sunday was light as the locals were all recovering from the storm and their hangovers as I crossed the island of Montréal. Stopped at the En Route Welcome Centre and was welcomed by two young lads who came out from behind their counters to greet me. Stopped at the Canadian Tire outlet there to fill up at $1.37.4/L. A few miles later drove into Lancaster to have breakfast at Dennys and discovered Flying J was selling for 4¢ less. This Dennys was the first in 5 years on both sides of the border to serve decent coffee but their three-egg omelet must have been made with small eggs and the remaining portion-size was niggardly. Service was slow and coffee refills had to be requested and were slow to arrive. No tips for that kind of service.

With breaks the trip home took 8 hours under the watchful eyes of La Sûreté De Québec and the OPP. Both were busy writing tickets and at least one officer was out with a laser unit monitoring oncoming traffic. Stopped for a pit stop before crossing Toronto around 11:00; two RV parked under an overpass causing the only slow-down in that transit. Was thankful to find my parking space unoccupied when I got home, grabbed my laptop and tablet and a few other essentials and made it home by 3:00. Turned down the A/C, got sommit to eat, climbed into a full tub of water, dried off, and went to bed.

The ground here is too dirty to warrant kissing but I did feel thankful for a safe return.

Saint John, New Brunswick

Was sorry to have to leave Pictou and will never repeat the sojourn my GPS led me on when I asked it to take me to Amherst avoiding the toll highway. Some of the roads weren’t paved and some of the paved ones were even poorer. To make matters worse it started raining torrentially. It paused long enough to allow me to walk into the Nova Scotia Welcome Centre and meet Jacob, the new piper in his kilt and sporran. Alas, I didn’t get to hear him play. The drive down to Saint John past Moncton was uneventful until I hit heavy fog just short of the city. Managed to find Rockwood Campground despite the limited visibility.

Got on well with the gentleman at the gate and signed in for a week finding $22/day much cheaper than $35 even should I choose to leave early. Settled in and with nothing much to be seen in the fog and rain settled in to catch up online.

Walked down to the gate Friday Morning and bought the local Saint John Paper and was disappointed to find no What’s On Section. The movie reviews didn’t interest me. After updating online got out my map, got myself ready and set off over to Downtown. The city is not pedestrian friendly and at one point I had to cross an expressway entrance without benefit of crosswalk. Traffic did stop for me though. The neighbourhood I walked through climbing steep grades was not the best but people were friendly. Hard by this slum was the Cathedral Church of the Immaculate Conception which I toured. The exterior is not much to look at but the interior is beautiful.

Finally found my way to Market Square where I stopped to tour Barbour’s Historic General Store which featured King Cole Tea but not my old standard Old English Blende. I got my loose Orange Pekoe in Antigonish. Wandered the Market Square Complex and got a 20 minute free look at the New Brunswick Museum. It has complete whale skeletons and various mockups. Looked quickly at the art exhibit on the third floor and came down to talk with the staff. Went to Grannans Pub for Clams and Chips plus a Kieths IPA. The beer was cold, fresh, and bubbly draft and the clams the best I’ve had, sorry John’s Lunch Dartmouth. Thus refreshed I started the long climb back to Rockwood Park choosing a alternate route that took me past City Hall and various upscale businesses. Stopped to admire a few churches along the way and finding myself close by the Lutheran Church dropped in to have tea with my friend Tom.

Once I finally got home after noting the number of people swimming in Lily Lake whose water gets tested only once a month I promptly drank two large glasses of water.

On Saturday went for at least a ten-mile hike with my friend Tom around Rockwood Park after a trip for groceries. Put my feet up Saturday evening though I was rather startled by some illegal fireworks.

Sunday morning before the crowds got up enjoyed a shower and later watched people line up to use the sewage dumping station opposite my windows. Around 10:15 wandered the 1.43 miles over to Hope Lutheran Church for service. Were it not that Tom is pastor there I’d probably wander down to the Anglican Cathedral instead. Three days of sunshine is rather unusual for my visits to Saint John. Took a look at my picnic table this morning where I plan to entertain this evening and noted that someone pooped on it. Either a crow or a squirrel I suspect. Must give it a scrub. Washed dishes in hopes they’d dry on their own given enough time. Eighty-two degrees in Saint John. My Goodness!

Got dinner made despite a power outage that was my own fault. Tried to do too many things at once and disturbed my electrical connection. Monday morning the sun came out again amid a heat warning for all of New Brunswick save the Bay of Fundy Shore Area. Already at noon it’s 86º F. Just discovered there’s a leak in my 10 litre water tank, guess it wasn’t made for more than one use. Just one more of those things. Made an appointment with my barber, me, and clipped my locks, they were getting long enough to get in my eyes when I drove with the windows open. Temp has reached 90!

Suddenly my refrigerator decided to become overactive. I’d turned it up after putting ice cream in it that was a bit soft but now suddenly it froze half my cucumber and I now have a frozen carrot. When I went to use my Ziggy’s Coleslaw I discovered it was put through a blender not a shredder making a product more like relish than slaw. Life’s little surprises. After the water leak got my bathroom floor scrubbed, a job long overdue; the kitchen floor today. Here I am sitting in Saint John reading a walking tour of Lunenburg while I wait for web pages to load in my browser.

Finished reading my walking tour and must now embark on the reading of Historic Saint John Streets to learn about the city in which I now reside for two more days. Aside from some cleaning I haven’t done much today as it’s too hot to be outside for long. Dinner out with my friend Monday Night and a short walk after it cooled off a bit.

On Tuesday spent a quiet day close to my A/C unit. Walked over to dinner at the parsonage then to Trinity Anglican Church for Compline. The rite was chanted a capella by candle light.

Attended a noon-time recital on Wednesday, lunched at Subway, went walking in the Marsh at the Irving Nature Centre, toured an art gallery, got a mini-tour of Saint John, and had Souvlaki at a local Pizzeria.

Was reluctant to get up this morning after going back to sleep following my early morning online browse but was on the road by 7:00. Sleeping in is all relative. My second fill-up of the day in New Brunswick was at a full-service ESSO. Stopped for my second Subway Sub in one week and paused to put on shorts when it got too hot. Aside from that heat and the strain of staying alert for 300 miles the day was routine. Expect I’ll be glad to make it home Sunday after 400 miles.

Mid-July Rant 2013

Anywhere in North America a person of colour who gets behind the wheel of a car runs the risk of committing an offense euphemistically called ‘Driving While Black’. In Halifax a Black man has taken a bar to court because he was refused entrance and service, a practice that has gone on since former slaves were brought to Halifax over 200 years ago in the wake of the American War of Independence. In Florida an unarmed black teenager out walking at night in his own gated community was chased by an armed white vigilante who was told not to do so by his own people and shot dead in the back. It took 44 days for that individual to be charged with a crime and 16 hours for a jury to acquit him. Clearly it is not safe to be a person of colour in America.

Once more the Hollywood glamour machine has claimed the life of yet another young actor as it has been announced that Cory Monteith of Glee fame was found dead in a Vancouver Hotel room. You may remember that it was five years after the fact before the young actor who played Wheels in Degrassi High was even properly identified after being found dead in Hamilton, Ontario. Makes one wonder just how much longer the self-destructive young Justin Bieber will survive his own brush with fame.

Apple found guilty of price-fixing e-Books. As traditional bookstores struggle to keep the doors open Canadians pay a ridiculous surcharge vis-á-vis American prices for the same book even when it is published in Canada despite the fact that the Canadian Dollar hovers within pennies of the American Dollar most of the time. e-Book prices are a capricious market in which titles can be deeply discounted or even offered for free one day and be sold for anything from $9.99 to $15.99 the next. Online prices can vary wildly depending on which marketer you poll, which country they and you are in, your area code, and even the fact that you looked at a book online or placed it on a future wish list can get you an e-Mailed discount offer. I find it particularly perplexing that it is possible for an e-Book to be more expensive than a remaindered Hardcover or even a Trade or mass-market paperback edition of the same text.

The closure of Imperoil in Dartmouth leaves Irving Oil with a monopoly on the production of fuel oil in the Maritimes.

Sable Island has finally been granted limited protected status as a National Park placing Green Party Leader Elizabeth May in the uncomfortable position of voting against the enabling legislation because it provided insufficient protections from oil and gas exploration among others.

The fibre in smoked cigarette filters used to line bird’s nests serves to protect the young birds in them from parasitic mites that tend to inhabit those nests. In particular this aids the mother bird who spends a great deal of time sitting multiple clutches of eggs in the same nest. Using the great outdoors as an ash tray is still a disgusting habit.

Bluenose Meander Post Stanfest

Left Canso around 7:00 Monday Morning and drove up toward Antigonish. Whereas the highway to Eastern Shore was in good shape things got interesting after that. As usual there was nowhere to stop when the scenery was at its best. Was just a few miles from town when I finally reached the 104. Made Antigonish in a couple hours and found Whiddens Campground Downtown opposite Saint Francis Xavier University. This was one of those places where Campers are an inconvenience. It was not intended that one use the ‘free’ Wi-Fi. The two young lads ‘guarding’ the gate were not the preferred exponents of their hometown. Girls were cleaning the cabins and another group of high schoolers mowing the lawns and maintaining the grounds. Next door someone was roofing a house. I went for a walk around an unexpectedly vibrant downtown. The 5500 university students added to a resident population of 4500 keep things hopping it would seem. Two barber shoppes? The $3.50 cone of Grapenut Ice Cream I was assured was fresh tasted like saw dust. All in all Antigonish in the rain did not impress though I enjoyed talking with some of the locals and enjoyed my visit to the large library complete with an aquarium of Lake and Brook Trout.

Again left early Tuesday Morning shaking myself free of the dust, mud, of the place. Found Sobeys near the highway disappointing and after gassing up at Ultramar where I had to run the pump the second time when it stopped at $100 and an over-weight attendant came out to tell me needlessly that I’d have to come in to pay for the second run went across the road to the Irving Station to find out that no, they didn’t fill motorhomes. It wasn’t that far to New Glasgow where I did find propane and the Sobeys up the street was a welcome find. When they put your photo on the hording for the county as they have 40-year-old Dave Gunning you must be famous!

Drove across the canal to Pictou after noting that I was in Westray Mine Country missing the Pictou Welcome Centre located it transpires on the wrong side of the road. If you’re in a hurry for anything in Nova Scotia you’ve come to the wrong place. Eventually found Harbour Light Trailer Park’s owner and was shown a shaded campsite. After setting up waited some more to actually pay for same. High Speed Wi-Fi and two days for the same price I paid at last place. After I’d caught up with the world walked down to smell salt air and watched the waves on Pictou Harbour. A verdant growth of poison ivy served to keep one close to the centre of the trail. Next day fully enjoyed a ‘free’ shower and settled in to catch up and do some writing.

Stan Rogers Festival Day Three

Woke around 6:00 and finished my Orange Juice. Managed to nap until 9:15 when I turned on the generator to make coffee.

Walked up to the arena to download my comix. Then down to Fogarty's Cover for My Influences with Barney Bentall and Dave Gunning. Back to Fox Island for Standing Proud where a rock group didn't belong. Jonathan Byrd inspired me to buy one of his CD's. Came home for lunch and back for some fantastic picking by the string kings. What some of those guys did on a guitar. And no, I don’t believe there’s a guitar JP Cormier can’t play. The Main Stage Stan Show was too hot. The Cape Breton Kitchen Party was crowded so I went back to Fox Island to sit in the shade and saw a Didgeridoo played while an Aussie played guitar as well. Came home to have supper and relax. Left because the CO Alarm came on.

Sunday evening began early with a group that didn't make it on Friday. The Sultans of String played a mix of flamenco, Arabian, Cuban too loud. John McCutcheon played hammered dulcima. Mary-Jane Lamond sang her Gaelic originals while Wendy MacIsaac played fiddle and tap danced. The Makem and Spain Brothers played Irish inflected folk songs of haunting beauty. Robert Lopez and group were an eclectic Afro-Cuban Jazz ensemble with more than 8 musicians including trumpet, trombone, guitar, clarinet, drum kit, hand drums.... Tom Paxton was given an hour to perform numbers I've heard but didn't know whom to associate with. Dustin Bentall and group rocked the bowl followed by the blues howler Charlie A'Court. The event ended with an onstage sing-along. With no light and the words not placed on the screen the audience was ignored. Carl Bond led the first number joined by about 40 onstage.

Stan Robers Festival Day Two

Made my own breakfast at 8 once I was able to run my generator. Around 11 walked over to the nearest tent called Fox Island where Valdy was hosting a session called Alumni which included JP Cormier and two others. Don't remember hearing Valdy before certainly not live.

Went on to the Arena dubbed the Pourhouse Stage stopping on the way to pick up three David Gunning CD's. There David Gunning did a solo hour-long session. It was so hot and humid the water was running off him and he forgot the words to his own songs. While I was there updated my tablet. Walked down to the Queensport Stage where Mary Jane Lamond was a no-show. Jonathan Byrd from North Carolina, a Southern Baptist with a Jewish wife was paired with a trio playing modified Sufi from Iran. As the former declared, a different kind of country. Left early and came home to make a ham and tomato sandwich and drink some more water. Switched to my regular collapsing chair, dumped a few things and walked back to catch Dylan Guthro at Little Dover Stage. Seems only yesterday his father Bruce burst on the scene. Left after his half-hour gigue and walked over catch the Garnet Rogers hosted Troubadours session. Rogers was rather laid back and needed reminding he was host. Even forgot to turn on his guitar giving the sound man the willies. The grouping I caught the end of was just plain weird.

Trudged over to Fogarty's Cove Stage where David Gunning was again hosting something dubbed Singalongs. They played nothing I'd heard before so it was more like audience participation. Did not stay for the 5 PM session. People are already in place for the 7:00 PM Main Stage, and many seats are already in place. I'm opting to cool off, rest, have supper, and read my comix which are still live on the Tablet and sitting in front of the heat pump outflow to cool off. Thank goodness for my generator or I wouldn't be eating here.

Walked over to the site and ended up beside a couple form Austin Texas. Didn't get their names. The opening set didn't make an impression and the second group were the Iranian group I'd seen that afternoon who spent most of their set messing with their computer. Dave Gunning in his set reprised most of the numbers I'd already heard in the afternoon. The story of his dispute with the mint over the pennies pictured on his last CD is getting tiresome. JP Cormier played originals and did a fantastic instrumental set. I walked over and for the first time got an album autographed, by Dave Gunning. We were treated to an hour of Bobby Bare, at least 45 too much for me but....

We were told that several people ended up in hospital with heat sickness, I certainly saw one very burned and over-heated looking individual. I gave up and came home around 11:00.

Stan Rogers Festival Day One

How does one sum up 4 days or 35 hours of concerts? Whereas I watched an Aussie play a guitar while he worked a didgeridoo I did not see a single kilted Scot play the bagpipes. It was a privilege to see and actually meet Dave Gunning in person but I do wish he hadn’t felt it necessary to play the same few hits from the latest CD he’s schilling every time I saw him. It was great to see Garnet Rogers Friday Night but by his own admission he got up on the wrong side of the bed the remainder of the weekend. Did someone give him a bad brew Friday Night? As the temperature climbed toward one hundred twas a pity the Pool beside the Arena wasn’t open. It’s a Festival built on Nostalgia for an artist who died too young and its music reflects nostalgia for a way of life that died with the fisheries, for friends and relations lost, and for family members who had to leave to find work. A few happy songs every now and then would be welcome.

The two-storey inflated screen to stage left was an interesting concept. Watching Sharon Epic stage right work on her painting each night helped relieve some tedium especially when the MC’s ran out of things to say during stage changes. Not knowing the local characters I found a lot of their humour just plain corny. Stanfest may ban profanity from the site but they have less control over those on stage. Sunday night was my first unpleasant experience of sitting beside someone who felt it necessary to text during a performance. I do wish people would shut up during a concert and I’ve wished more than once I could tell the people blocking my view to park their butts so I didn’t have to look at them. I realize this isn’t Roy Thomson Hall but.... Did I get up on the wrong side?

After spending $113 for the weekend I balked at spending nearly half that in addition to see Ricky Skaggs and would think twice about the Kick-off Party @ $10 which proved to be more party than live music event. Many of my 'neighbours' had preset their chairs and didn't show up until later in the evening. The opening Discovery Set saw 5 artists do one number each with mixed results. Number two's high gain guitar caused the speakers to 'clip'. The sound system at the main stage was far superior to that in the arena and the bank of speakers projected sound without being deafening or distorting. Corin Raymond from Toronto who was unintelligible last night sounded much better but he's nothing to look at. We heard again about how he financed his first CD with $7000 in Canadian Tire Money. Garnet Rogers was the only person to come on stage without an ID. He lives in Canso part time and listening to him talk provided as much pleasure as hearing his singing voice so close in timbre to his brother's. He talked about his large extended family and the deck that appeared at the back of his house built by his neighbours while he was away on tour and the lady at the CO-OP who opined in front of many others that he had a small 'dick'. His taxes went up. And of a hut graffitied by soldiers, airmen and sailors who went off to war from Canso and there at the bottom in pencil his mother's name--as someone opined, your mother under a pile of sailors. And of touring with his brother. He was followed by Barney Bentall a name I'd heard but never followed, he brought his son Dusty out and they sang together backed by both groups.

Jowi Taylor appeared in an extended entre-act with his guitar built of bits of wood historic and special in many ways from across Canada--Paul Henderson’s Goal Winning Stick, Pierre Elliot Trudeau’s Paddle, wood from a residential school. Projected were pictures of the various artists who have played it and those who posed with it across the nation. An artist named David Baxter came out to play a number on the Six String Nation as the guitar is called. The Backyard Devils were a rock style band heavy on the slap style bass and followed by a Zydeco inspired group with accordian and clarinet fronted by a 5-string violinist in radioactive painted pants mentored we heard by Oliver Schroer. I just wish he'd have played straight up Zydeco. Many departed long before his set finished but I stayed until they turned out the stage lights picking my way across the dew-drenched grass and dodging the beer cans that managed to get onto the field despite security's best efforts.