Writing Out the Notes: Life in Great Big Sea
by Bob Hallett,
London, ON: Insomniac Press, 2010
171 pages, $19.95
In Writing Out the Notes: Life in Great Big Sea, Bob Hallett delivers a series of charming essays on music and his life, which in his case are almost the same thing. The 24 pieces in this collection are short and often breezy anecdotes, but at their heart lies Hallett’s devotion to music and St. John’s, his place of inspiration.
It’s possible to dip into the book at any point and read an essay—the organization is loose, and the essays occasionally overlap in content, but fans of Great Big Sea or Hallett’s writing in general or the connection between place and muse will find a thoughtful man’s considerations of music and life. Hallett has the ability to be serious, but never too serious. He enjoys his life, and he tells stories of being on the road (surely a dreary experience at times) without whining. It appears that in the early days the drudgery was wiped out by alcohol, and in “My Back Pages,” Hallett describes playing bars in St. John’s where the beer flowed like Niagara: “There were so many alcohol-fuelled indulgences that sometimes it seems like an extended five-year dream.” The rumours about his band’s behaviour in those early days turn out to be mostly true: “We really did swap instruments at random points during boring shows (whether we knew how to play them or not). . . . We really did an entire show where we played ‘Lukey’s Boat’ every third song, just to see if anyone would notice.” It’s obvious that they really did have a great time and nearly destroyed their livers in the process.
But the wonderful thing is that Hallett survived and indeed thrived. St. John’s for all its smallness seems full of musicians (and writers) and people who appreciate music. Hallett (born in 1966) writes about the difficulty of hearing traditional music when he was in university, but he was intrepid enough and curious enough to seek it out. He points out that he listened to a radio show and made tapes “to learn new reels and other tunes.” And that happened while he was a “card-carrying member of the local punk scene.”
His essays often read like stories you’d hear while sitting in a pub listening to a friend. And that closeness makes them all the more compelling, as Hallett has the gift of coming across utterly without guile and with a genuine warmth and friendship, whether making fun of himself and his band’s antics or celebrating the work of others. He pays homage to other musicians and notes importance of learning one’s craft. He seems to have listened to everything with a childlike wonder, and he finds joy in so much that the book is inspiring and uplifting, whether one is a musician or not. He mentions the Moody Blues, Leonard Cohen, The Byrds, among many others, and the list is an inspiring to get one’s mitts on the music (both his own and that of all the musicians he mentions) and listen to it. In “Jerusalem” he explains his love of that hymn and argues “only someone with an ear of lead could not appreciate the perfect marriage of form and function that exists in that song. I can only aspire to such heights.” And he ends that essay on a perfect note, quoting Blake: “The imagination is not a State: it is the Human existence itself.”
And that is an excellent place to conclude a review on a lovely and loving book.
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