Maury Lafoy: Bass, Double Bass, Backing Vocals

Jeff Macpherson: Drums, Anchor, Backing Vocals

Bryk: Piano, Organ, Pianet, Wurlitzer and Celeste, among other keys

With Georgie Donais: Vocals; Jeff Worden: Strings; Sarah McElcheran: Horns; Howie Beck: Drums; Chris Warren: Acoustic Guitar, Vocals; Danny Michel: Additional Guitars; Kathleen Yearwood: Vocals; Moxy Früvous (Mike Ford, Murray Foster, Jian Ghomeishi, David Matheson): Vocals; Kathryn Rose: Vocals; Haydain Neale: Vocals; Kyp Harness: Vocals; Rob Clarkson: Stereo Tambourines; Jim Rondinelli: Assorted Percussion

Paul Myers arranged and conducted Moxy Fruvous on "But This TIme" and wrote and arranged the horn charts for "BBW".

Original recording and mix by Todd Fraracci at CBC Studio 211
Additional recording by Stephen Traub with Mark Stewart and Ron Skinner throughout 1996 and 1997 at CBC Studio 210

Mixed in superb analogue by Jim Rondinelli at Shelter Island, NYC
Assistant Mix Engineers: Noah Simon and Matt Kane

Cover painting: Joe Fleming "Curious" (detail, 1997)

I had never played with the band I had quickly assembled to do the week-long session for broadcast (although Kurt had overdubbed a couple of guitar tracks onto my previous releases Dan Bryk, Asshole and Now) and I found myself in the position of rehearsing these amazing players ONCE before heading into the CBC's fancy-schmancy 48-track digital facility.

my "charts" were a scribbled mess. i didn't even own a portable electric piano (unless you're the kind of masochist that considers a Rhodes 88 "portable") and to be honest, i had never played a gig with a band in my life. sorry. i was wondering how i was going to convince Loc and Robert at RealTime that I wasn't squandering valuable taxpayers' money.

anyhow, amiable types Kurt Swinghammer, Maury Lafoy, and Jeff Macpherson rehearsed sunday afternoon and things sounded pretty decent (with the exception being my lame piano playing) so we prepared to head down to the studio the next morning.

i woke up after a night of fretful sleep, loaded some gear into my 1986 Mercury Crown Victoria and drove the half-hour to the CBC building.

without going into all the mechanics of the incident, suffice to say that my car was totalled while making a left turn into what i thought was a parking entrance. i was in a completely fucked up headrush daze, watching my life without car insurance flash before my eyes like a  bad dream of perpetual bankruptcy (sort of like being a singer-songwriter...if only I'd known!)

i stood around the Wellington St. entrance for maybe an hour or so, waited for the police to make their notes and the tow truck to take my car to oblivion (etobicoke, actually) and then headed upstairs where the rest of the band had set up and was beginning to record.

anyhow, that's how i started making lovers leap.

Mark Turmell v2.0
Yes Virginia, there really is a Mark Turmell. If you're feeling particularly adventurous and would like to confirm Mr. Turmell's existence, simply (1) head down to your local video arcade or pizza parlor; (2) find the video game "NBA Jam"; (3) press the buttons repeatedly during the attract mode. This may take a minute or eight, so be patient.
And yes, I do, in fact, still enjoy the occasional game of "Beer Run" with an Apple ][e emulator on my Mac, though I'm still looking for the "Turmoil" ROM for the Stella 2600...

I Love You Goodbye
This is the song Ben Folds might have written if he'd had the shit kicked out of him in high school for liking Elvis Costello like I did (Shit, there I go again! now he's gonna hate me too). That and an passive-aggressive attempt to reclaim power over a break-up (as in "Hey! Remember, I broke up with you!") But I would never call my ex-lover a "bitch."
At least not in a song.
Jeez.

She Doesn't Mean A Thing To Me Tonight
Those of you who heard my indie CD Dan Bryk, Asshole may find this familiar yet sort of different. The folks at Scratchie politely insisted that I include my Canadian demi-hit on my American debut CD.
Considering everyone really loves the "She Doesn't" video (well, except me) and it's only been sent to Canada's Music Video Network MuchMusic so far (who were more than generous with rotation for an indie label video) I couldn't say no, though I asked politely if I could "polish it up" to the hi-fi standard of my newly recorded material.
Well·I tried re-recording it with my band, tried overdubbing a live rhythm section on the original, I had William Orbit and the Chemical Brothers try their hand at remixing it (uh,  kidding) but it still didn't feel right.
Sensing my frustration, Jim (Rondinelli, an excellent remixer and amateur psychologist to boot) subjected my wack 8-track recording to a battery of neat ideas--that german equalizer with seemingly hundreds of red bakelite buttons, running the drum machine through a beaten 50's amp called "The Champ" then placing the mic on the other side of the building--I hope I'm not giving away all his secrets, but I sort of wanted to apologize for how much worse my original mix sounds.
And? Oh yeah, the goddamned song. This one wrote itself (it's definitely the only song I've ever written where I let myself repeat a verse! Actually, I'm still not exactly comfortable with it...) On the surface this seems sort of mean-spirited (which it is), but underneath it's really an ultimatum to the loser's new love: "hey, i'm damaged goods and don't you forget it."
I've always hated when people always talk about carrying around their ex-lovers like baggage.
That said, I sort of like the way the narrator unpacks in the bridge.

But This Time
Sort of a break-up song within a break-up song, this arrangement whimsically juxtaposes the familial vocal stylings of politicapella NPR darlings Moxy Früvous with a long stem rant by Albertan punk-songstress Kathleen "Loreena McKennitt in Hell" Yearwood. You should have seen the look on Paul Myers' face (he arranged the vocals with the boys standing around the piano ala Van Dyke Parks, which terrified me Brian Wilson-style, as I kept fucking up the chorus) when he realized what I'd asked Kathleen to recite in the bridge.
The short love sonnet by my personal saviour Chris Warren was written upon request some time before--I asked him to write a page of "the most eloquent, verbose putdowns" he could think of on the spot. I didn't tell him I was going to use them in a song. Heh.
Apparently when the Früves do this song acapella, Mike Ford lets his normally note-perfect voice crack where mine does and (horrors!) even misses a few notes.
I'm still not entirely sure they're not making fun of me.

BBW (Chunky Girl)
BBW is shaping up to be my most misunderstood song, judging from post-gig conversations. This isn't some Fat People's Manifesto, just one person stating their personal preference.
I had written the music and about half the lyrics back in '93 or '94, and I was at a total loss as to how to finish it. Fortunately I gave a tape of it to Ted Burley, who helped me finish the lyrics with some zingers of his own (especially the "zombie freak disease" line, I never would have come up with that one in a million years...)
Helpful hint for the confused: BBW is K-Mart's clothing line for large sizes... officially it stands for "Big Beautiful Woman" but other interpretations do, in fact, exist...

Spadina Expressway
A couple of years ago I stumbled across an abandoned bridge in the "post-industrial" junction district in West Toronto. It was very beautiful and somehow also very foreboding and tragic--I instantly wanted to do a photo shoot there for a Goth band or something.  I mentioned this to my ex-girlfriend at her mom's, who explained that it was part of the doomed Spadina Expressway that was to be built in those fast-forward sixties but was halted by an uproar from ecologists (and no doubt by the wealthy people whose neighborhoods it would have disturbed).
This tragic tale seemed to mirror my personal life at the time (which was probably more pathetic than tragic) so I went and wrote this song--yet another in the endless list of songs anthropomorphising public structures.
Much later, of course, when I explained what the song was about to my parents (I have to do this regularly, otherwise they would never have a clue--you should have been there when I explained "Fingers" to my mom...) my Dad laughed and said that the bridge in question was just a railway overpass, abandoned because it was falling apart and had absolutely nothing to do with the Spadina Expressway.
Which didn't, however, prevent me from doing the song.

Fingers
The first half of this song is unfortunately autobiographical. The second half is sort of a fantasy. Several people have shared their own, similar experiences after hearing me sing it.
A few have even thanked me for killing "Fingers" in the song.
They said it sort of helped.

The Letter Home
Close your eyes and picture one of those little NFB vignettes Canada's so famous for: a lonely boy and a shy girl in the big ugly smelly scary gritty city. I don't feel this way about Toronto any more, not after running around the streets of New York, searching for a White Castle at 4 in the morning. I guess it's all relative. Toronto makes Mississauga (the 'burb in which I grew up) feel like Springfield from The Simpsons. Trainspotters should pay close attention to those quadraphonic tambourines and fa fa fa's at the end of the song...

Memo to Myself
I totalled my car on the way to the studio the day we recorded this song. I was totally messed, and by time I did this vocal I must have felt like the character on the recieiving end of this song all over again.I hope I can get in this zone again, being shallow and all.

Big Things Like This
This is a cover of my friend David Baitz' song from his CD "Not So Blue". I mistakenly thought I was the subject of this song (though David denies this) so I went and covered it. David's original version features a gorgeous orchestral arrangement and lots of great piano playing. Lacking either of those things, I simply chose to "rock", as the subject of the song might. Apparently, I have been told that it "rocks". Like I would know.

...and now our Love is Dead
Well it should be apparent to you by now that I've found my grand songwriting theme·
At first I pretended that this was some sort of ironic kiss-off but no-one bought that, so yeah, here it is in its desperate glory, yet another morbid little anti-romantic statement on relationships courtesy of that trusted friend, electric rock music.