The Ballad of Lachlan Neville
I. It took me 25 years of writing to gain the confidence to write a lyric like that.
The offering of complimentary weekend passes to the Calgary Folk Fest slightly preceded the passing of my father. Melanie's longtime bassist, tourmate and possibly twin flame, Elizabeth Currie, had taken on site management responsibilities for the organization and graciously extended the offering. Our commitment was obvious however with Dad's sudden death a mere three weeks prior, I couldn't imagine being anywhere other than the farm. Indefinitely.
Mom tells the story that following their wedding night Dad was adamant they spend the weekend at "The Kennedy Rodeo"; a colloquial usage in place of its formal title, The Moose Mountain Professional Rodeo. Founded by my grandfather in the early 30's and remaining a staple in my family lineage. We laid Dad beside Grandpa in the Kennedy Community Cemetery and the following weekend, backed by my wife, I played an emotional acoustic performance infront of 1000 people for the rodeo's 90th anniversary homecoming celebration. In it's own complicated way, the most confident and heartbroken I had ever been.
Dust would long from settle and in the fog of grief, my sister, Casey, was in need of returning to her home in Calgary. To remain by her side and yet to fully deny the Folk Festival tickets, we accompanied her in travel and brought mom as an act of care. I was ignorant to the festival's line-up but upon discovering Emmylou Harris was slotted for the Friday night and Tanya Tucker for Saturday, we all went for the sake of the bucket list. Your Dad loved Tanya Tucker, mom said. George Strait and Tanya Tucker. With no reflection on Tanya's performance, I sat backstage and watched blankly. With a whole third festival day to come we decided on the drive home that we would leave in the morning.
As midnight neared, I lay with my neck propped up against a headboard and the glow of my phone disrupting all attempts to sleep. I scrolled through an algorithm of Instagram Stories, Reels and advertisements for whatever products I happened to speak of through the day. Hardly ever listening to more than a few seconds of anything music related, I was grabbed by the melody of an unhurried blues progression played by what looked like a kid that just parked the baler. He sat with a music stand between himself and a modestly attended audience. The video was basic, shot from the back of a room without any ambiance. A side stage banner displayed the image of a friend and fellow songwriter, JJ Voss. Relentlessly touring, I assumed JJ had found a local act to warm up his crowd. However, as the opening lyric was delivered, with the subtle vibrato and the throw-away phrasing, I sat upright and notched my volume. With a single line refrain closing out the verses the song was without a chorus. One would have been inessential. As the progression climbed to the four chord, he came in with the bridge.
"Brother Don grinds his job, Brother Bill grinds his axe
Mama hates the mormons, Granddad hates the blacks"
I was agape. This could only be written out of ignorance or brilliance and considering the social commentary of the song as a whole, it was the latter that had stopped me in my tracks. Without any knowledge of its unassuming writer, I vocally began to express my reverence for his boldness. I recognized his intent and willingness to cause a listener discomfort for the sake of potency using racially charged language without fumbling into racism. Given societies' modern desire to be offended and impulse to destroy, the young man, obviously in his teens, was issuing the challenge. Slender faced, cap pulled down his brow, flannel shirt, and harmonica on his neck. As he finished his statement he tucked his head and accompanied himself for the instrumental.
With the video initially shared by a mutual friend, I replied with haste and the clock struck midnight.
As I lay in bed, I listened again. And yet again. Each time picking up on a vocal inflection, a precision, another lyric. And a handle to boot, Lachlan Neville.
Howdy Readers,
An unexpected series to manifest. I guess therein lies result of sitting down and writing. No surprise that I invest in and meditate on my relationship with Lachlan and all he has brought to my family’s lives in the past year. Without being able to yet define my role in our alignment and diligently working away at whatever it is, it came to me that one doesn’t have to suffer when paying their dues. That’s what I hope to give. I’ll tell ya what though, he let me produce one hell of a debut album. Nonetheless, when something enters my life that is equal parts fascinating as it is enlightening, I tend to share those storylines in my prose. We’ll see where this one goes.
Thanks to all of you that placed an order on all the new stock on the website. The Western Seer crew has a bunch of new threads at our Shopify store. All T-shirts from Blake Berglund, Belle Plaine and Lachlan Neville include free shipping to Canada.
Starting next week I’m going to be running a label from a combine as we’re going to be rolling earlier than usual. Here’s to a safe harvest, crew. I’ll be in touch throughout.
BB
