Trinity College School - Record Yearbook (Port Hope, Ontario Canada)

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Bruce Cockburn - Massey Hall Brian Pel It ' s raining outside. A damp blanket of mist envelops the surrounding countryside. The orchard below is a tapestry of autumnal hues. The green of the carpet beneath the feet, the golden treasure long since drifted down from branches now bare, both muted, heightened and intensified by the mist which hangs low over the ground, serve to create the mood of melancholy and in- trospection which is found in the songs of Bruce Cockburn. The evening had an unearthly quiet and mysterious air about it. An audience which was both sensitive and intelligent, (a rare occurrence in Toronto), had the courtesy to provide Cockburn with two hours of its undivided attention and contributed to making this an ex cellent concert. Cockburn ' s songs are simple both in style and in presentation. Melodies which are un- complicated combine with the airy and healthy quality of his voice and become immensely powerful. Cockburn ' s lyrics speak of love, country life and the direction of mankind in a style that is simple of language and metre. Lyrics and melodies are all tied together by Cockburn ' s mastery of the instruments he plays. Switching easily from guitar to piano, mandolin and dulcimer he constantly tunes his instruments and maintains a relaxed and informal air by his low-key, kidding-around introductions. The audience seemed content with the casu- al pace of events during the evening. I left the concert with a greater appreciation of Bruce Cockburn. He emerged not only as a musician of superb talent but as a modern day philosopher with a message of silence and calm Sun stoned in the east in our eyes let there be peace keep it open keep it open and help me keep mme open too

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His repetoire even included a few hero-villain chase themes. Playing one and even two in- struments at a time, he moved from liturgical organ to synthesizer to harpsichord, back to a jazzy organ solo, to piano, his cape floating with his movements. He then led the returning members into the next song. Anderson is not a performer, but a good singer. Instead of shuffling a hole through the floor, he simply makes slow movements, slowly waving his arm in circles with the beat as if he, too, is a victim of the dream he is creating. Mr. X moves wildly, but surely - not missing a beat. Howe grits his teeth and shakes his head with the crying notes of his own making. Wakeman calmly, coolly plays on, moving as if he isn’t even there. Squire moves back to the drummer, nodding, his back to the audience, then spins, jerking up and down and smiling approvingly. His suit brilliantly changes wi th the light, his thin cape fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. The result - Yes. They thank us and leave. The applause is thunderous, and what followed was the longest, loudest encore I have ever heard. It looked hopeless. Then soon (not soon enough) they re- appeared - acting as humbly as they could. They thanked us and they knew we were thankful. They appeared to be a kind of group who DO NOT ordinarily play encores. They struck into the wild “Yours is no Disgrace’’. It, too, was spectacular. When it was over, they bowed and left. The applause was loud, but short-lived. Everyone knew they could do no more. The Gardens slowly emptied as everyone began coming down to earth. Many of us left in a trance, and some probably still are. Yes. -Eric Thom 15

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LITERARY