Barry Smith & Alone Again
“All the pages end; I’m alone, again”
Well before the gentrification of Toronto’s Parkdale neighbourhood existed an area of the city prime for the Honky-Tonk music and its accompanying lifestyle. Glorious and rowdy rooms for Country Music like The Drake, The Gladstone, Elm Grove and The Parkdale Hotel, to name a few. All within relatively short walking distance. Pickers and singers toiled in those rooms for 6-nights a week providing the soundtrack for dancers, romancers, drinkers, drunks, fighters, bikers and others existing (or banished from) the fringes of conventional society.
Through the 60’s into the 90’s there was hardcore Country music to be found in Parkdale. Eventually, the “905’ers” began to make their presence in the neighbourhood felt. This next generation of young professionals, Robbie Robertson fanboys and out-of-tune Pedal Steel players seemingly hadn’t a fucking clue about the history of the rooms and even less sense of how to execute actual Country Music, despite it being a fashionable buzzword they could use to describe their bands sound.
My old man slept on couches and developed a taste for white Rum (that eventually nearly killed him) while running around Parkdale bars and pickin’ on those stages. He once told me he couldn’t remember anything from the year 1977 other than he got to play lead Guitar for Roy Payne for a few months. If you’ve been following along this whole Lost Country path with me, you’ll be well familiar with the “Goofy Newfie”. After all, Roy was the initial inspiration for this whole damn thing. Payne was close pals and often collaborated with the legendary, Dick Nolan and it was Nolan himself who first pulled a young Barry Smith up on stage one fateful night…
Barry began his stage career at the tail end of the 6-nighter glory. He played rough and tumble rooms in Toronto’s East end, far from the Parkdale bars, but he would occasionally find his way over to The Gladstone on Sunday nights. By the early 90’s, The Gladstone was in disrepair. A tired old gal and one with a reputation for hard livin’, drinking, druggin’ and violence. Their Sunday night house band for a few years in that time was the aptly named Gladstonians. Lled by ace Harmonica blower, Lance Bennett and backed by a stellar group of veterans including my newly sober Father, Michael Burns. Lance & Mike began playing together in the late 70’s forming Lost Country with former child star, Colin Butler and a drummer who Lance & Mike would quickly turn from stoner to a full fledged, dedicated, bad alcoholic. Not to be overly frank, but I’m pretty sure that Drummer didn’t even make it to 30 before succumbing to the drink. I digress….
Long story longer, it was there in The Gladstone that Barry first encountered my Dad. Soon after, the phone would ring at our hose for Mike with offers from Barry for $50-$100 a night jobs pickin’ lead for his band, The Inner City Outlaws. Barry had the sense to hire quality, veteran pickers and he could keep fellas like Dennis Conn, Randy Adams, Bill Ritchie and Mike Burns around on the strength of his songs and refusal to play the “New” Country hits of the time. The deepest traditionalists at that time had no love for the 90’s Country that’s seeing its resurgence now. I count myself among those dinosaurs who failed to see the charm of the 5 string bass, rock ‘n roll drums and some asshole in a hat fabricated by the music biz scum down on Music Row.
Smith was a breath of fresh air to the old boys who got their start when he was still in grade school and he had a knack for writing beautiful country music songs. Universal language with tales of love and loss and the kind of anguish only found in Country Music. Simple progressions executed and arranged perfectly. Randy Adams (son of the great, Chef Adams who I also covered on Lost Country) plays as close to perfect Country music drums on Barry’s Inner City Outlaws album as you’ll ever hear. Especially on those shuffles. You typically gotta go to Texas to find people who can play it like that.
I’ve now recorded 2 songs from that record of Barry’s. ‘Livin’ It Up’ appeared on my 2013 album, Cold Beans & Broken Eggs and Barry’s name & song, Alone Again were on the first list in the early stages of planning for this Lost Country record. Here’s a guy who never really gigged out of town. Certainty wasn’t touring and seemingly always had daytime employment. He’s a rare bird with a gift to craft stellar traditional Country Music songs. Not many part-timers (or at least maybe none that I’ve met) hold the understanding & awareness of the genre Barry does; nor do they possess the talents he displays lyrically.
Local legend, regional star… maybe Barry was neither. And maybe that’s just fine. Fame or accolades are not required to create great work. You could argue that those things can get in the way of the work. Barry’s music has brought an abundance of joy to my life and I am proud to be out there singing his songs in my shows. It remains truly, “Lost” Country… until that vocal intro kicks - “Alone agaaaain”.
“With my foolish pride.”
“You said goodbye, I said that’s fine.”
Fucking beautiful country music. Thank you, Barry. Much respect, sir.
Catch Barry Smith on Episode 33 of The Northern Report Podcast, this Monday, December 18.
Until then.
SB -
Seat 16F. Air Canada flight 1059. 30,000 feet up somewhere North of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Saturday, December 9, 2023. 8:03 AM
Edited and added-to from my couch in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. December 14, 2023 - 7:40pm.