The first year I was privileged to work at (then) Canada's premiere radio station CFRB, I was asked to substitute host the hour-long Betty Kennedy interview program.  Along with potential guests suggested by her researcher-producer, I wanted to include several of the big name broadcasters long affiliated with the station.  One was the longevity and ratings leader, legendary morning show announcer Wally Crouter.  The other was beloved news commentator and reader Jack Dennett.
My theory was that the audience would be intrigued to hear directly from the human being behind the voices they knew and relied upon, like family.  Part of Dennett's duties included delivering the top-rated 8 am news, which was always sold-out with national sponsors such as Ford, who would have to wait years for an opening to occur just to get into the commercial rotation.

When Jack rolled into the studio (just a year before he was to leave us at age 59), he told some wonderful stories about his life, work and a few interesting inside radio station stories.  Dennett was so highly thought of, it would take him an hour to cross the floor of a convention centre fund-raiser event, as everyone who saw him wanted to say "hello" and happily shake his hand.  

Jack had the prime-time morning news shift, which meant that he was on air with major newscasts in and around number-one rated Crouter.  Yet his modesty came through, as he mentioned that Wally's huge audience, not his own talents, was responsible for the station's highest ratings, even greater than those of New York.  No wonder that listeners loved the warm-voiced, thoughtfully intelligent delivery that came through each morning as people began their daily toils.  He was the real deal, modest to the core and totally unaffected by his public stature.

My favourite as Jack told it, was one about Sinclair.  Long before the famous station was to move "uptown" to Yonge and St. Clair (which "Sinc" bellyached about because he thought the marble hallways and state-of-the-art studios were too "upscale" for his taste), it was located more in the commercial heart of town in the old Creed's building on Bloor Street, where the cement towers of the Manulife Centre now stand.  It was a frequent habit of Dennett and Sinclair to dine together at a luncheonette further along the busy Toronto east-west thoroughfare.

As Mr. Dennett told us, it was one of the coldest days of the year as he and publicly-proclaimed millionaire newsman Gordon Sinclair (who liked to challenge the audience by saying: "If I can do it, so can you!") headed out in their warmest winter finery.  On their way along the high-rent district, they passed a beggar on the sidewalk, with his hand out for a contribution.  Sinclair muttered his complaint to Dennett, suggesting that the man's fate would be different if he would simply get a job.

Upon reaching the simple restaurant, Gordon told Jack to order his usual; he had remembered to get something left behind at the radio station.  A few minutes later when Sinclair returned, his companion noticed he was without his expensive Harris Tweed overcoat, and mentioned it to Sinc.  Gordon growled, remarked that he must have left it back at his office, and would not talk about it further.  

Later, as the two left the luncheonette on their way back to CFRB, Sinclair quietly said: "I also must have lost my favourite pair of gloves!" as he jammed his hands into his suit pockets.  When Jack said what a wonderful thing Gordon had done, Sinclair just said "We will not speak of this, again!"

We had conceived "The BLUENOSE OPERA HOUSE" as a maritime version of "Prairie Home Companion", as a new radio program filled with lots of original "down home" stories mixed with music beloved and created by Atlantic Canadians.  It was to be a vehicle promoting the arts in every form, plus new ideas involving innovative business startups; and would occasionally feature young people who've headed back in this direction (bucking out-migration) to realize a dream.  Without being stuck in the past, we wanted to counter internet, text messaging and unlimited video distractions by passing along our stories before they are lost.

We launched a radio pilot in front of a "live" audience at the Old Confidence Lodge (IOOF Hall) in Riverport some years ago.  Between music sets of rock, jazz, folk, bluegrass, blues, country, we told stories of the Maritimes in a character building that had no heat -- on a dank April day -- but over 90 audience members kept the enthusiasm and warmth going.  Musicians contributed their fine talent from the South Shore and Halifax areas... all for the "reward" of helping launch an unproven idea, speculating that it might work if given a chance.

It couldn't work.  The senior CBC management were quite enthused when they heard a copy of the show, but warned that budgets were tight... and getting worse.  Commercial stations had mostly become (thanks to the CRTC) computerized juke boxes with few local exceptions. "Music-driven" in the parlance meant hardly any personality or passion like radio used to have, and certainly no stimulating talk and interviews.  We were up against the wall.


While I was painting (a wall) one day, I thought: "Either the idea was dead being not right for the times, or we needed to think outside of the box." (how difficult when you'd been working, planning this thing for six years!).  Going back to square one, I stepped back and remembered two things.

The first was recalling that Britain's BBC had incredible success with the longest-running radio show ever: the ever-popular "Desert Island Discs".  Prominent guests (castaways) were invited onto the program to play their favourite music they'd have with them if stranded on an...... island.  Quite revealing in their choices: music they remembered in their parents' home, songs they danced to as kids, a tune that inspired them by lifting spirits even on a grey day (we all have them) or was privately "their song" with their partner.

My second memory was from my first year in radio.  It was the height of the Beatles (1968.... I must have been three!) when I received a call after 2 am while playing music on the "graveyard shift".  The caller was George Harrison calling from a rest area payphone (there were no cellphones back then) while traveling through by limousine at night (no dark out windows either, at the peak of "Beatlemania") as his wife (Patti Boyd) was sleeping.  It was the coldest night of the year (February) and George talked with me for over 20 minutes until his voice was shaking from the cold.  His last words were: "Paul, you have my dream job".  (me): "What?  I'm doing an all-night show on the second floor of the Exide Battery factory!"  (GH): "Someday when we're out of this damned gilt cage, I want to sit in a radio studio like you're doing, talk about other people's music, then play it!".

I continued painting the wall, thinking about those two ideas.  The last thing I wanted was to mimic every other show, including the syndicated ones that play non-stop music introduced by (yet another) formatted, bubble-headed DJ with no depth or even music history knowledge.  How do you do that with today's economic realities?  

Then it hit me: combine those two concepts and have a different Guest Co-Host for each show, who not only brings in their favourite, meaningful music, but actually introduces it themselves.  Who better to do it?  In between, have a kitchen chat about their life's work, their story.  NOT an incisive, go-for-the-jugular interview, but a real look into their life and learn what makes them tick.  It's also another way to vibrantly learn about our culture and rich heritage and bring it to life with real people telling their own stories in their own language, as imperfect and fun as that may be.  The music would be theirs, mixed in with Atlantic Canadian-originated work and the music Maritimers love from around the world.

While mulling all of that over, I went to a Petite Riviere (NS) songwriters' circle that featured four musicians.  Talented Kev Corbett took a turn, introducing his song (somewhat like this -- may not be accurate): "Went back to visit my dad in the house I grew up in, headed upstairs to my old bedroom, looked out the window at the same view I knew so well for so many years...." (or some such, forgive me Kev) but more importantly, he then went into the title song of his newest release called "Son Of A Rudderless Boat" and a huge bell went off in my head.  "That's IT!" I silently exclaimed to no one. Who better to introduce a song than the creator of it, or someone who has taken ownership of it.... NOT some mindless DJ following a format in a sterile studio!  (Thanks Kev).

At that point something kicked in, and I promised myself that I would take those concepts, merge them and create a program with a little more depth than you'd hear almost anywhere.  After much writing, years of planning, changing, fine-tuning, we launched the first "BLUENOSE OPERA HOUSE" radio show on November 20th, 2011.  Novelist William Kowalski agreed to test the waters and Co-Host with me, using CKBW (Acadia Broadcasting) in Bridgewater, Nova Scotia as the platform.  This, thanks to the belief, encouragement and support of (wonderfully big-hearted and community-minded) Program Director John Wiles, who had let us use their old studios to edit the earlier pilot.

We recorded the show about six days before actual airing on Sunday night.  Neighbours and pals including MLA Pam Birdsall and Canadian Senator Wilfred Moore (who sat on the floor for the entire two hours) gathered at our home to hear it for themselves, as my "brother" (who was out of town) Mayor Don Downe sent his best wishes.  

Other community-minded stations (including Seaside radio in Halifax) were telling us they liked the concept, and the first to launch outside of Acadia in Bridgewater (with repeaters in Liverpool and Shelburne) was Antigonish broadcasting in June (with transmitter repeaters in northern Cape Breton at Inverness and Pleasant Bay); then adding "The Coast" radio in Glace Bay (southeast Cape Breton) in September, really meant we were covering significant parts of Nova Scotia.  All along, including hearing actual shows (not just the edited pilot) CBC Atlantic Canada has been an enormous supporter.

Our mail comes from most provinces across Canada, many American states from Florida to Washington, plus Mexico, Greenland, Spain, England and elsewhere.  Some may say we produce a variety show, but the real "glue" are the Guest Co-Hosts, who tell their own story mixed in with their music...THEIR way.

LENNIE GALLANT and the BLUENOSE OPERA HOUSE (syndicated) Radio Show had quietly been playing "email tag" for the better part of a year.  Schedule conflicts, touring, recording, writing and (sadly) a serious and threatening health issue with one of LENNIE's siblings meant numerous postponements before he could appear as Guest Co-Host.  Not wanting to be part of the aggressive, pushy side of the media, we kept telling him, "Family first LENNIE.  We'll be here when you have the time."  

The day was finally arriving, notes put together, music picked, scripts printed, program logs established.... then the regular host (me) had a terrible cold that was taking its time to move on.  Two weeks to go before LENNIE was to solo before Symphony Nova Scotia in both Lunenburg and Halifax for concerts of the year, and we both still had the sneezes and light coughs.  I warned both his affable manager and LENNIE directly that once again, perhaps we should postpone (his entire career is based on his vocal work).  No response.  Sent a notice the second time, suggesting a new date.  Nothing came back.  

Recording date arrived along with cheerful LENNIE GALLANT at the studio door. His cold was worse than mine!  We were probably immune to each other.  As he later wrote: "We were two sickos when we did the show!"  (No kidding).  Perhaps it was the adrenaline, maybe just his raw talent that means when the lights go on, his professionalism takes over and the show is rolling.  Whatever it was, we had an amazing time with it: stories to tell about his personal life; influences; people he's worked with; and mining the gold of his music that has won him so many awards and the admiration of his peers.

GALLANT doesn't boast, strut, list the honours or even mention the accolades.  Like his music, he just lays it out there with unbelievable modesty.  "This is it. I'll tell you where it came from. I hope you like it, thank you very much."
So if anyone "went over the top", I did.  I had to.  LENNIE is not a Rustico, nor a PEI nor an Atlantic Canadian icon alone..... he's nothing less than a national treasure -- the best there is.

Check out the last song we played (podcast show # 44): "Extraordinary, Ordinary Life".  It's not just a stunningly beautiful song -- it's a landmark one that can very well touch and speak for each one of us.  Every decade seems to have that generation's "wedding song", the one that you hear at anniversaries, weddings, receptions.  This one is it.  Up there in the rarified stratosphere of: "heard it once, love it immediately, becomes a private connect" and you never, ever forget it.  It happily resonates around inside as if you had written it for your own life's event...never, ever to be forgotten.

LENNIE GALLANT comes off in the most modest, ordinary way one-on-one until his music touches you, and you realize how extraordinary he is.  Working with LENNIE -- as sick as we both were -- was one of the greatest honours on my own life's long, winding road...and a true highlight beyond every BLUENOSE OPERA HOUSE program we've ever done.

I knew brother and sister Carpenter from their New Haven days.  As kids they lived in a modest pink house on Hall Street, East Haven.  I was a radio announcer at (daytime) WDEE and later at a top Connecticut station, WELI in New Haven ("Yaletown").  When Karen got her drum set, things had to be moved out of the garage to make room.

With their father's job transfer to Downey, California, the family picked up and moved west.  Once their music had taken off and when they came to town, I'd get together with them in places such as the (then) O'Keefe Centre in Toronto, after I had moved to the North American broadcast powerhouse, CFRB.

One of those times I hung out with Richard and we recounted the "old" radio days back in New Haven; he started singing the radio station jingles to me that he recalled from his formative years.  Our conversation was light, until I brought the subject up of music.

I told Richard I knew a song that had been composed by Neil Sedaka and demo'ed by him, but his voice was just too light (high) for such a slow, serious song.  For good reason it never got any airplay.  But I said it was a stunningly beautiful song (I noticed he was now no longer looking around, but intently staring at me); it had been done by Petula Clark and as a better version, got slight airplay but that was it.  (Now I had his full attention).  Out of the billion songs in the universe, I thought he should get Karen (with her clear, beautiful, almost flawless contralto voice) to record the song, called "Solitaire".

Richard's mouth dropped open.  He said that no one else knew this -- not even their boss (Herb Alpert) at A & M Records -- but just before flying to Toronto for their sold-out week's engagement, they had privately recorded the song in their home studio, and had not even had time to edit it down for radio play.  He couldn't believe the coincidence.  Neither could I.

So if ever you want to hear "Solitaire," go to their Horizon album.  I feel a special connection to it because of that event in the O'Keefe hall outside the dressing rooms, so many years ago.  But it is also special (to me) because it is a non-hit, extraordinary showcase of Karen Carpenter's pure voice and what it could do.  Not only will Horizon give you that gem, but another that had personal meaning to Karen.  Just like the rest of us, singers can be moved by a particular song; one that "connects" to them in a very personal way like no other.  On that same disc, the longest tune is "I Can Dream, Can't I?" which is an old number written not by her usual hitmakers (Richard teamed with John Bettis, Paul Williams), but Irving Kahal and Sammy Fain.  It hit Karen where she lived, because it describes never finding, but always dreaming about, that special someone..... that once-in-a-lifetime soulmate.  When pressed, Richard told me it wasn't any of the hits, but that song that was privately Karen's favourite.  One listen and you'll know why.  The intentionally old (1940's "period") brilliant arrangement, will simply knock your socks off.

Being related to a world-famous person is not easy, even if you're well-known and loved in your own right.  On the BLUENOSE OPERA HOUSE radio show, we try not to ask the superfluous, worn-out "celebrity" questions of the rags.  When TOM CHAPIN contributed as Co-Host (program # 26), we made every effort not just to swap stories, but to give him plenty of room to tell his own, in his own way.  Whatever "came to the top".  So seldom in radio today, a little magic happened.

We asked him how "the boys" (the four CHAPIN brothers) got into folk music, when their dad was an excellent jazz musician who had also written a drummer's "bible" that's still in use today.  He recalled they were listening to a live album of the legendary WEAVERS recorded at Carnegie Hall, New York in 1954.  "That was it!" the boys exclaimed.  "That's what we're going to do!"

Years later, HARRY was a starving musician (like most) trying to get work while holding the ends together.  TOM told us that HARRY had a "hack license" (which meant you could drive a cab in New York City).  Before he was about to start driving, HARRY thought about those he'd known: classmates, girlfriends and what his reaction/feelings might be should they (already with careers well-launched, lives carefully mapped out) happen to climb into the back of his cab.  He wrote TAXI, with that unforgettable description of former heartthrob "Sue" who handed him the (then-large) twenty dollar bill and said "HARRY, keep the change".  Why didn't he actually get behind the wheel of a taxi?  Immediately after writing that song on a weekend, the record company called to say HARRY had his contract.

I had not only personally connected to that song, but felt the story deeply as TOM told it so well.  Since my dad was greatly disappointed and critical that I was changing course from architecture to radio, I drove a taxi 12-hours a day to put myself through a noted broadcasting school (later joining the navy to avoid the draft and prior to a belated full-time start at university, while working 3 jobs simultaneously at 3 different radio stations).

At another point during our studio taping, while TOM was strumming a classic, well-used guitar that had gorgeous raised metalwork, I asked him about it.  He said it was an old Martin D-38.  After HARRY had achieved his enormous success, TOM was visiting him one day.  His brother suggested he should have that old Martin, as it would be a work horse for him and TOM played it so well.  TOM initially turned him down, saying he couldn't take it, but his brother persisted knowing it would be well-used and loved.  Three months later, HARRY was killed in an auto accident.

HARRY's voice lives through his children, his original family (including his 94-year-old mother) and his beloved siblings, including gifted musicians STEVE and TOM CHAPIN.