Joe Firth & Me and the Old Promised Land
“I love what I do and I do what I love and some folks they just don’t understand.”
Joe Firth left his mark.
Of all the singers covered on Lost Country, my relationship to Joe Firth hits the closest to home. I’ve known - or at least been aware of - Firth for as long as I can remember. In fact, I’m willing to bet there’s a photo of us (similar to the one of Mike Weber with my Dad & I) together in Kitchener, Ontario in December of 1983 when I was just days, maybe weeks old. Ya see, my old man picked lead guitar for Joe Firth in The Promised Land, from 1981-84. Fan favourites at the Bar-K in my Mom’s hometown of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, it was there at the club band house that my folks first met in 1982. Fast forward (and not very far along) to the day I was born in Kitchener, ON and the Promised Land was back on the Bar-K stage during the last week of their tour. When the job concluded the van raced back the 2800 KM drive home to pick my Mother and I up from the hospital taking us back to the basement apartment we called home. So yeah, my relationship with Joe is a deep and interesting one despite the fact that I only crossed paths with him as an adult a handful of times.
The stories about Joe Firth are beyond legendary. They range from horrific to hilarious and for better or worse they solidify his station in life & Country music to this day. Now there’s no sense in me highlighting the egregious behaviour, of which there is plenty, and my close, trusted access to former members of Firth’s backing band (from the 70’s to the 90’s) allows for some more juicy tales that I think I should steer clear from in this particular arena.
Joe started out as a Rockabilly act performing in and around Toronto and when he wasn’t in jail his primary source of income would be holding down some form of gritty, manual labour type daytime employment position. On one job site, his pugilistic reputation secured him a place supervising an underachieving crew that he very literally (and rather quickly) whipped in to shape. After one fateful run-in with the law, Joe vowed to never again be behind bars to leave his young family without their meal ticket. In fact, as one former Promised Land band member recalled, Firth had pledged to himself that the family wouldn’t tow the poverty line again. And beyond that, Joe had even sworn that one day he’d be a wealthy man.
He dove right in to music and by the late 60’s was recording for the Marathon label in Toronto releasing a series of albums from duets with Honey West to his own solo release, The Promised Land. By the mid-70’s, Joe had began to blaze a trail beyond Ontario into the Maritimes and to the fruitful provinces in Western Canada. It’s been suggested that Joe “opened up the West” to touring acts from Ontario and the East in the days before it became common to point the wagon west where the jobs and money were plentiful. It was the days of the ‘Six-Nighter’ and Joe would keep the Promised Land working 50 weeks a year, every year. A week off in June and a week off around Christmas. Otherwise, the boys would be “about half crazy with the white line fever and the feel of the wheel in their hands” and on stage 6 nights a week + often a Saturday afternoon Matinee - for 50 weeks a year. That’s a lot of stage hours.
There was enough work to be had that even shitty bands could find jobs damn near every week of the year. Joe was smart to often hire younger cats who could keep up with the demands of the schedule and the heavy partying the group became famous for. Perhaps none more celebrated and out-of-hand as the Mike Burns-Mike Weber combination that would see each man down 40oz of liquor most every day of the week. When times were especially rowdy, a third 40oz would be purchased to help kick things up a notch. Somehow their lowlife behaviour didn’t impact their musicianship too badly and the pair would help elevate the Promised Land’s reputation both musically and in the legend of their after-hours parties.
Joe was a business man and a damn good one at that. He saw an opportunity in the West for profit and after establishing his own name, Firth began booking tours for other acts. He’d secure an arrangement of exclusivity with the club’s that would permit him full control of their music calendar. My Dad told me stories of Joe’s hotel room bed being littered with binders of all the bands schedules he was handling under his ‘North American Talent Agency’ booking hustle. He bought land, purchased property, booked bands and wasn’t scared to fuck them (or anyone else for that matter) around when it suited his business. Joe made his first Million when my Dad was still in the group.
Joe Firth went on to record for Boot Records, among others and left a decent catalogue of Country music records before he settled into being strictly a live act and agent. Some good stuff in there though, I’ll say. His 1984, ‘Bottle of Tears’ album just might be his best. For the purposes of Lost Country, I couldn’t ignore his signature song penned by ex-sideman Gord Fleming, ‘Me and the Old Promised Land’. A real barn burner, too. Paul Weber played Bass for Firth from 1974-1981 before carving out a great career as a solo act. Paul wrote songs that Joe cut and sang some memorable duets with him on that Bottle of Tears record, so it made perfect sense for me to ask Mr. Weber to duet ‘Me and the Old Promised Land’ with me on Lost Country. Kind of bringing it all back home. Of all the choices I made for my record, having Paul sing Joe’s song with me remains the best idea. A nice new piece of “lost” country for someone to find someday. It’s a real pleasure and career highlight for me. For my version of the song, it’s the core studio band of Mike Weber (the record’s shining star and 12 year veteran of The Promised Land) on Pedal Steel; brother Paul on the Fender Bass & duet Vocal. Sean O’Grady on Drums and Grant Siemens pickin’ a Stratocaster the way it was intended for on this cut. We called Roly Platt in to blow Harmonica, too - just as he did on Joe’s version of the song some 40 years prior.
Joe made his mark in Country music as a consistent performer and shrewd business man. His contributions to Canadian Country music remain overlooked. Same said for Paul Weber. Fellas who embraced the Honky-Tonk lifestyle on and off stage; men who put a precedent on working & entertaining above schmoozing and rubbing elbows with music business scum and talent bookers. Lives made (and some destroyed) in the name of Country music and a collection of recorded material for any true fan of the genre to appreciate.
So fuck the accolades.
Do Joe and Paul deserve entry into the Canadian Country Music Hall of Fame? Without question, they do. Will their day ever come? Who’s to say. A huge part of me wants to say yes, while another side sees the trends pointing in another direction. Sadly, I guess there’s still some watered down 90’s radio country acts they have to comb the casino showrooms for to get in first. Honky-Tonk has its day here, everyday and everywhere I go as I continue to proudly wave that flag and sing these songs for the very small group of folks who share a similar passion.
I owe it to them.
I owe it Joe.
When my Dad left the band in 84, Firth was merciless in his disgust for his friend and the accusations surrounding his choices to depart the group - mainly, his new wife & son (yours truly). But when it came time to buy his first house for his young family, who lent my old man the bulk of the thousands of dollars toward the down payment? Joe Firth did. My Father’s life choices and lifestyle would grow into a cold blanket of resentment toward me that I continue to feel and live with everyday, years after he’s gone. Seemingly, I was the brunt of most of his frustrations. But I’ll still thank him for all this and I’ll thank Joe Firth, too. For none of this “lost” country pursuit of mine would be possible without them.
My Dad passed in 2017 and I’m not sure of the last time he saw or spoke to Joe. It was likely sometime in the last few years he was breathing and out at Paul Weber’s Commercial Tavern in Maryhill, Ontario. Maybe they picked or sang a song together, I don’t know. I wanna think they did. A couple of sick, aging men with checkered pasts in life and Country music. They were brothers. Just like Mike & Paul Weber. Like Mike & Mike (“M&M). The Mike’s & Joe. Paul & Joe. Paul & my Dad. All the boys who compromised their mental & physical health and personal relationships in the name of Country Music and being on stage six nights a week. I’m happy to know or have known these men. And I’m goddamn proud to have my record littered with true Honky-Tonk heroes and veterans of the pursuit with all the good and all the damage they’ve left in their dust.
But you know… it doesn’t matter and it all fades away when I hear that Strat pickin’ the 4-1-1-5 intro. Then that steel guitar start ripping those fills. Beautiful Country music. “Lost”, Country music. But when the needle hits the vinyl, somehow it all comes back to life. That’s been my goal in this whole operation..
Joe Firth passed away on November 9, 2021.He left us with some great stories, good records and a mark on all of those who circled his orbit.Thanks for the songs. But mostly, thanks for the stories. The lessons. Good and bad. It all counts.
Yep, Joe Firth left his mark.
SB-
At my house, over the holidays.
December 2023.