Jo flew from Vancouver in Canada, landing in Manchester on Friday afternoon 22nd July 2005, travelling onto Wolverhampton and Tipton by train, and then Dudley by bus. She headed back to Canada the next day. Johanne Savoie: This last weekend I, a French-Canadian girl currently from Vancouver, found herself enjoying a rich pint of Batham's Bitter during an 'Alternative Black Country Night Out' in a West Midlands pub. The show included poetry, comedy and readings by artists whose local accents and culture were being celebrated, not excoriated, and was topped off by an acoustic set by Gary and Gary of 'Gojo-music'. How did I get there? Well, gentle reader, the device that beckoned me to this distant world is the very one at which you are currently staring. The computer. HOW IT BEGAN... Months ago, I lazily googled 'gojo' in a semi-curious daze, to see if the word which I cobbled together to name my website (www.gojotv.com) might have significance in other languages. Several options came up, including a village in Japan and a band from the U.K., named 'Gojo-music' (whose website can be found at www.gojo-music.co.uk) I surfed over to this site, and found a duo whose interests and point of view so closely mirrored mine that I felt I had to email them to applaud their efforts. The guys want to promote artists and creators from their area, and besides showing a deal of hearty intelligence, maturity and wit through their site, they have a real compassion for the struggles of their fellow performers and a fierce desire to draw them into a much-delayed spotlight.  | | Johanne Savoie |
(They later told me that they had expected me to confront them about our name-similarity. I've worked with predatory, competitive, so-called artists before, and have long since forsworn their way of thinking. It's colleague or nothing with me. In business, you can either monopolize the pie, whereupon it falls for lack of filling; you can split the pie between you, whereupon you get only a small, unsatisfying piece, or you get together, enjoy the pie together, and put your heads together as to how you can bake a bigger one for tomorrow's feast. I'd like to believe that I and the guys from 'Gojo-music' have all the ingredients for a lifetime of pie.) Anyway, back to the story... so, the usual, internet-meeting banalities were exchanged, including an invitation by the lads to come up to the Black Country and enjoy a "real beer". The few independent local pubs in England who survived the incorporation onslaught of the major British breweries are still proudly offering their home-brewed house brands, and the Black Country is dotted with them. I had every intention of going to take them up on that tantalizing offer, but what really precipitated my visit was a delicious trick of luck. A 'TRICK OF LUCK' I earn my keep as a flight attendant out of Vancouver, and had a short stay in Manchester coming up. I wondered, again lazily, again on the internet, about the distance between my destination and the Black Country. The results were encouraging, and I discovered through the 'gojo-music' site that the guys had a gig at the Lamp Tavern in Dudley on the night of my arrival. Now, it's ridiculous to even think of travelling after a 12-hour shift of walking across a continent and a ocean serving a multitude of passengers. The notion becomes even more preposterous when you factor in that the journey would take place at night, after a busy day of chores at home. Then, what variety of masochist would hop onto an unfamiliar train, alighting in the middle of nowhere without a map and half-walk, half hop buses to get to the elusive Lamp Tavern? O.K., I'm not a masochist, so you single-and-looking readers who lean that way can just back off now. The truth is, I took an hour-long afternoon nap, and did arrive late for the show, but hey, I arrived for the show!!! There were times during the train trip when I thought, "Wow, if I didn't own a computer, I wouldn't be on this train." There's a thought to mull on as the picturesque English countryside goes whizzing by...  | | GOJO' MUSIC |
I got off the train at Dudley Port station, which was abandoned at that late hour and suffused with a strong odor of urine. I doggedly plowed on. The Tavern is located on High Street, which many helpful passers-by confused with "the High Street", an expression meaning the main commercial drag of a town. So, it was a few false starts before I was pointed into the right direction. The name of the train station notwithstanding, I hadn't even really landed in Dudley, so I had to walk/bus to the correct village over a mile away. I even passed the Tavern at one point in my confusion at searching for a landmark (the churchyard) which, to my mind, never materialized. Luckily, a local bloke saw me walking, and by a trick of humanity that is often lost on the modern world, he could read that, despite my bravado, I was quickly getting lost. Just as we were passing, me keeping the requisite 'woman walking alone at night' distance between us, he said, "... you lost, then?" I stalled, and volunteered, "I think so... I'm looking for the Lamp...". He looked up, thinking an instant, and said, "That's the Lamp up there." He was pointing to a gentle hilltop where a sweet-looking, well-kept pub stood. FINDING THE LAMP "How could I have missed that?" I thought, as the bemused passer-by triumphantly added, "I knew you was lost, I could tell the way you were walking." His eyes glittered as he volunteered something in the local dialect about my defeated posture and gait. I couldn't even try to tell you the words he used, but his tone was so protective and kindly that I understood every word. He sent me on my way with the parting words, "I'm a peaceful man.", which unwittingly set the tone for the remainder of the evening. In another time, this guy would have been a druid. His intercession struck me as entirely magical. I thanked him and made my way up to the building. I hoped I had the right Tavern, as there was no music to be heard from the outside. I made my way through a small maze of ale-scented rooms, finally asking a patron, "Is there a show here tonight?" He pointed me to a closed door, from which emanated the unmistakable hums and thumps of an electronically amplified show. I entered as if going into a strange church, and indeed, the audience's politely quiet reverence filled the room's atmosphere. The silence and concentration accorded the performers seemed incongruous in this age of short attention spans. They were entirely absorbed in the animated reading, so I silently made my way to the bar to get a pint. I had real trouble coming down after my long journey, but listened to the last two performers sound off about their world, vivdly brought to life in words. During the spoken-word portion of the show, Gary O'Dea of 'Gojo-music' came over, a little surprised, no doubt, to see me there, despite a short, hopeful email composed nearly 24 hours before announcing my intentions. Whispering, he introduced himself, and I, glad to see a familiar face, warmly shook his hand. Finally, I could relax, thinking that we would have a quick chin-wag after the show, and that my voyage had not been futile, after all. But after 'Billy Spake Mon' did his set, Gary got on the mike and introduced me to the crowd as a visitor to the Black Country from Vancouver. A PINT FROM SHAUN  | | Watching the 'Night Out' |
Well, what happened next was like falling into a warm pillow. A couple of guys from the bar warmly invited me over for a chat during the 'Gojo-music' set, and we shared a few laughs. I thoroughly enjoyed my role as the evening's exotic novelty as I answered questions about myself, Canada, and my impressions of the Black Country so far. My enthusiastic responses, especially about the warmth of the people won me acceptance and a pint from Shaun, one of the lads. I was invited to a barbecue the next day at Gram Turley's (I promised them against hope that the weather would be fine, because as a Vancouverite, I have the power to repel rain.) which regrettably, I wasn't able to make. I can say that he is a reputed local guitarist who does his own "open mike"-style thing at the Lamp on Sunday afternoons. Additionally, I met his wife and guitarist daughter who was sporting a nasty facial cut (all makeup) the result of a photo-shoot preceding an upcoming tour of the Eastern United States. I wish her the best, it's going to be a whirlwind... But all the time I chatted, I was turning my ears towards the stage, catching some of 'Gojo-music's' set. Gary O'Dea's pithy songwriting, coupled with Gary Oliver's heartfelt guitar, perfectly captured the poetry and ruggedness of the Black Country. All in all, the evening was fine success, culminating with the Gary O'Dea signing off the set with "Peace, everyone." Hmmm... Gary O'Dea then introduced me around. I met Laurence Hipkiss, a big, genial man with a voice which has been described as "lustful", (gotcha, Lozz!) who had attended that evening to record some of the acts. Lozz, as he calls himself, built himself a small recording studio in his garden and uses it, among other things, to put together weekly podcasts from his beloved Black Country. There was also a filmmaker named Steve who divides his time between Los Angeles and the Black Country... He's got a tremendous documentary of rare British footage of Malcolm X coming up. Who knew that Malcolm X had been to England only nine days before his death? SINGING TO THE STRAGGLERS Gary asked how long I had intended to stay in the area... Well, the plan had originally been to pile into the first train in the morning, but it seemed neither I or anyone else thought that a good idea any more, so I decided to remain for at least a day. A beat later, I was agreeing to record for Laurence's podcast of the week. It's "Show 5" on http://www.blackcountrypodcasting.com. We chatted around some more, Gazz Oliver still plucking his guitar as Gazz O'Dea busied himself striking the stage and schmoozing. As Gary Oliver or 'Ollie' and I shared musical influences, it quickly became apparent that our favourites are poet/composers such as Don Henley and Joni Mitchell. Almost as a dare, and to show that his money's where his mouth is, 'Ollie' started an impromptu version of Joni Mitchell's 'River' on his Martin guitar. Not one to drop the gauntlet, I chimed in and sang despite fatigue and a sore throat. We could tell we were doing O.K. by the silence and drawing close of the last stragglers. That gave us the idea that we should do something together in the future... I checked into the Bed and Breakfast at the Tavern (Can you believe that for convenience?) and was treated to a lovely clean room with ensuite and the finest breakfast I'd had for a while, courtesy of the handsome young Tavern manager, Tom. OUT BRITISH-ING THE BRITISH Breakfast arrived, surprisingly un-greasy and made with prime ingredients. While cooking up the feast, Tom emerged from the kitchen to ask, "Do you want any black pudding?" "I've never had black pudding."  | | Jo's breakfast |
"You want to try it?" "I don't know. What's it made of?" Tom grinned. "If I tell you, you won't eat it." Not very promising, so I said, "Is it anything like suet pudding?" "What's suet pudding?" Aha! I had out-British-ed the British! "It's something I read about in some sixteenth-century novel." Tom, sensing my egg was burning, said, "So, you'd like to try it?" I got brave. "Sure, I'll have a small portion. A tablespoon or two." When breakfast arrived, I was happy to see that the feared black pudding was only our 'blood pudding' which I enjoy. Tom may have been a little crestfallen at the revelation, but he didn't show it, and we settled into a nice chat. He's a good lad (sorry, ladies, no pictures, you'll have to hunt him down yourselves) who has only to give up the horses to be one of the most desirable young chaps in these parts. He was also kind enough to volunteer his mobile, on which I called 'Gazz' O'Dea around noon. He arranged to come over with 'Ollie' for a pint before we ventured off to Laurence's for a bit of creative fun. While I waited, I had a chance to wander into Dudley for just under an hour and contribute in my own small way to the local economy while taking in the village. DUDLEY HIGH STREET The guys told me later that the High Street's been fading, and has become characterized by third-rate thrift shops since the big mall moved in to a local industrial building. Well, welcome to America, guys. It's the same everywhere. And the local merchants of quality will only have a harder fight in the future unless we insist on something more than the mall-merchants' watered-down fare, their processed pop music, their generic, ill-fitting fashions, their instant, alleged food... That being said, I bought a cute little tea-light lamp in one of the thrift-shops. It was overpriced in Canadian currency, but a lovable souvenir of Dudley. I had to have it.  | | The Lamp Tavern |
The 'Gazz's' arrived just a few minutes after I'd ordered my first pint of Bitter, for which I'd quickly acquired a taste on the previous evening. They got a couple of pints of the same, seeming genuinely saddened that I had ordered before they had a chance to get me one, and we settled down to a right old chat. Gary O'Dea is a voluble, sociable man with features that remind you of U2's 'the Edge'. His passion for social improvement is matched only by his love of a good laugh. Gary Oliver, 'Ollie' is fair-haired with the strong, clublike forearms and hands of a long-time guitarist. His passions run no less deep, either, and his work with a local aid organization gives him a real insight into the problems of the local population. ASTOUNDED BY OLLIE I was astounded to hear 'Ollie' say that the typical Englishman considers Black Country folk to be "a bit thick". In a just world, the clever wit and breadth of interest shared by these two should have gotten them into Oxford. The three of us would have sounded like old friends to any eavesdropper, as we talked about music, politics, globalisation, local issues, and memories, and memories... My favourite moments were when Gazz and Gazz took off on rememberances, their wording and accents getting thicker as they shared the stuff of old friends. It made me feel at home, where two of my best buddies are old friends who often talk about their heyday in a growing and changing Vancouver. As a girl who's always moved around I love to hear that kind of history and sense of place by people who've been there. The afternoon was wearing, though, and it became time to move on. A bit ruefully, we piled into 'Ollie's' car for a lovely ride to Laurence Hipkiss's place, a couple of villages over. 'Lozz's' English Rose of a wife, Pam, met us at the door and showed us through their cozy home to the adorable garden where his studio is located. RECORDING IN THE STUDIO I was impressed by Laurence's D.I.Y. setup. He's entirely converted his garden shed to an expert soundproof facility from where he produces the best independent podcasting in the Black Country. He proudly showed off his handiwork while I salivated, quietly coveting the deafened rooms for my own future audio work. I felt very honoured to be invited and to contribute in my own little way to his ambitious project. He's gonna move mountains, that one, you mark my words. (Lozz has a hidden talent for interviewing which I and the 'Gojo' guys couldn't help noticing. A humble, lovable guy, he prefers to stay out of the spotlight, but I'm fervently hoping that he comes out of his shell. His natural warmth and curiosity about people lead him to elicit wonderful responses to his unguarded questioning. I'm crossing my fingers that with time and use of his studio, he develops this extraordinary gift.) We started by recording me talking about myself (always a sure-fire bore) but followed it up by recording 'River'. The magic of the previous night had faded, unfortunately, so neither Gary nor I were enthralled with the result. We thought we'd try something else, whereupon Gary mentioned that he'd been working on 'Desperado' lately, and that that song was uppermost in his mind. My mouth fell open, because I had learned the lyrics not two months before. We thought we'd capitalize on this synchronicity, and were a lot more pleased with the result. It made the podcast, despite my being only a visitor to the Black Country. After tea and freshly-baked scones from Pam, which were easily the best I've ever had, we wrapped up the afternoon, and left Laurence to that wizardry he does to produce his show. The guys asked me if I wanted to get to the station, whereupon I demurred (in the gentle, archaic sense). I was having the time of my life, and they knew it. Apparently, they shared that feeling, so it didn't take a lot of arm-twisting to get us to Sedgley and into another pub. MORE ALE...  | | Garry Oliver |
The Beacon is aptly named... it's a real draw for lovers of traditional ales. And in the real old style, the barkeeps are sequestered in a small room away from the patrons. A small opening gives you a view of the taps, but you can't see their faces as you order. And I thought again of my Vancouver friends, who once pointed out that according to the liquor laws in British Columbia only twenty years ago, you couldn't take your glass off the table except to drink. (these English, I love them, but I shall never understand them. *wink*) As for the local stuff, I had a half-pint of everything on offer, just to taste it of course. Ollie had had to duck out about half a pint ahead of Gary and me, so I ended up getting a taxi to Wolverhampton station. I was so grateful to them for their warmth and hospitality, which I found extraordinary, and Gary didn't have to beg to get me to agree to show up in the spring to do a show for them. Heck, I'll do it for free! BLESSED BLACK COUNTRY The pride these lads have for their country is well-warranted and their open-heartedness is clearly the norm. You could have bowled me over with a feather at that point, but didn't I have a great conversation with the taxi driver on the way to the station! Normally, one doesn't bring up politics except among trusted friends, but this was only one of the subjects touched upon by the obviously very educated newcomer to England who sat behind the wheel. When I told him I was form Canada, he immediately guessed that I was French-Canadian and tossed around a few salient facts about my country. I remarked that he obviously loved geography, to which he added, "Oh, yes, and History, and Science..." Wow. Another kindred. So, when I left his car, I said, "Bless you, and I wish you and yours peace." It seemed the only appropriate way to leave, and the driver returned my utterance with a genuine "God bless you, too." I entered the train on a cloud, and left the Black Country against the pull of my heart. But, I shall return without trepidation into this blessed part of England. Johanne Savoie ====== The next Alternative Black Country Night Outs are on:
Fri Aug 5th @ The Newhampton Inn - Wolverhampton and
Fri 19th Aug @ The Lamp Tavern - Dudley More information:
http://www.gojo-music.co.uk |
