So Burton Cummings was in town this past weekend, and, yeah, I admit it he was here to see me. But why, why, oh why would one of Canada’s greatest musicians, second probably only to Ann Murray, come to Squamish to see you? I imagine some of the less credulous among you are asking. Well let me tell you why, my skeptical friends: I don’t generally like to blow my own horn, but I once saved Burton Cummings’ life.
It was the summer of ’01 and Burton was in Vancouver commiserating with Randy Bachman over the latest Guess Who comeback-tour debacle (people had been expecting Lenny Kravitz to sing ‘American Woman’). Anyway, at one point Cummings decided he needed to go out into the wilderness to, ‘clear his head,’ so he headed off into the trails on the North Shore mountains. Now it may come as a surprise to many of you who know me as a debonair man about town, the person with his hand on the pulse of the cognoscenti, the trendsetting, style maker that I am today, however at that point in my life I was going through my hermit/mountain man phase, and was living in a small hut on Hollyburn Mountain (on a side note, this living off the land, getting back to nature stuff is highly overrated). So there I was, sitting outside my little shack underneath a giant Douglas Fir trying to keep down my latest backcountry culinary creation (moss à la tree bark, sprinkled with a soupcon of wild mushroom stems that may or may not have been poisonous), when I heard melodious cries for help.
I instantly thought to myself, Why, that sounds like Burton Cummings and he’s in trouble! Off I sprinted, grabbing my favourite walking stick and cap made entirely of hand-woven pinecones, in search of the yelling that sounded like a cross between late Jimmy Hendrix and early Robert Plant.
It wasn’t long before I came across Order of Canada recipient Cummings and found him face to face with an angry black bear who was clearly intent on tearing Canada’s most cherished rocker since Neil Young from limb to limb.
Apparently Cummings had made the mistake of taking along his own trail energy concoction, an unusual mix of fresh berry compote and honey preserved in fish oils. This concoction, besides being completely nauseating to 99.9% of the rest of the human population, is also an elixir to bears of all species and they will do almost anything to get their hands on it; lie, cheat, steal, trick you into a crooked game of three card monte, and if all else fails they will simply take it by force.
This was the stage Cummings was at with his bear adversary, who had already failed with the old bait and switch con (one thing I learned from backcountry living is that under no circumstances should you trust a bear).
Fortunately I arrived on the scene in the nick of time, and before the bear could lunge and take out the six-time platinum and Grammy award winner recording artist, I did the only thing that will stop any bear anywhere in his tracks: in my tremulous baritone I began to sing ‘Snowbird,’ by Ann Murray, which first froze the advancing bear in his tracks and then sent him running for cover.
Cummings was so impressed he said he would be forever in my debt, “and I don’t even like Ann Murray,” he added.
So yeah, he came by to hang out and talk about old times and ask my advice on future records. Although, to be honest, I really don’t know a lot about the music industry and between you and me I always thought Bachman Turner Overdrive was a better band than the Guess Who. Come to think of it, why the hell couldn’t it have been Randy who needed to, ‘clear his head’?
Oh well…wait did I ever tell you about the time I got drunk with Randy Bachman at the 2004 Juno Awards in Winnipeg? It went like this, I was in my jazz flute phase and Bachman walked into this bar…
