Richard Flohil Sits with Lisa McDonald – Part 1

FYI Interview with Richard Flohil  – Part 1

Interview conducted by Lisa McDonald

Lisa McDonald is back again, this time with an in-depth interview with Canadian Music Industry Icon, Richard Flohil. Lisa knows what questions to ask, and brokers a lively interview with whoever she has in her sights. Please feel free to add your comments after you read this interview, Lisa will appreciate the feedback. The Richard Flohil Interview will conclude on Thursday…

With the Westminster Press Junior Reporter of the Year award tucked under his arm, a young jazz and blues enthusiast left Britain in the spring of 1957. Upon landing in Canada, Richard Flohil found himself immersed in the live music scene of downtown Toronto.  Blown away by unexpectedly finding Louis Armstrong alumni playing an upstairs joint on Yonge Street the first week he was here, Richard Flohil’s passion for live music was set ablaze.

Tearing up all the bars, clubs and dumps of the day, an eighteen year old Flohil soon developed a reputation as somewhat of an expert in the genre.  In addition to securing work as a writer and editor in various publications, Flohil took it upon himself to learn all aspects of the music business particularly artist management, music publicity and concert promotion.

By the late 60s, and after several trips stateside building relationships with just the right Americans, Richard Flohil was the one to bring Sleepy John Estes and B.B. King to Canada for the very first time; presenting them to sold out audiences at Toronto’s Massey Hall.  And this accomplishment was followed by bringing over Muddy Waters as well.  Over the past decades, Flohil’s enormous enthusiasm for great music has garnered him not only an impressive body of work, but has gained him respect and admiration in the blues, jazz,  and roots music community, nationwide. Being there in the early days to shape the careers of artists like k.d. lang, Colin James, Justin Rutledge and Loreena McKennitt, Flohil also managed the Downchild Blues Band for pretty near forty years.  Mr Flohil is also involved in just about every folk festival you can possibly think of.  With a colourful flair for the well-spoken word, Mr Flohil has lectured at both the Trebas Institute, the Harris Institute for the Arts and continues to receive invitations to speak at industry events from Vancouver, B.C.  to St. John’s, Newfoundland.

Tirelessly maintaining a schedule of presentations at Toronto’s Hugh’s Room, the most recent being the double header debut of Alejandra Ribera and three sold out nights with Leon Redbone, Richard Flohil and Associates also represent, in some way, shape or form, a roster of artists including Paul Reddick, Serena Ryder, the Good Lovelies, Shakura S’Aida, and Treasa Levasseur.  And after five decades in the business, Flohil’s curriculum vitae now includes “recipient of the SOCAN Special Achievement Award”, an honour he graciously received at a prestigious Roy Thomson Hall ceremony last November; an award which, at the age of 75, only stimulates him to charge ahead in 2010 as the number one cheerleader of any new young artist he decides to take under his wing. Now, let’s see if Richard has a few interesting tales to tell, as we re-visit some of the steps along the path of his illustrious career...

Your bio indicates you immigrated to Canada from Britain in 1957.  Can you tell me a bit about your childhood, what kind of music you grew up listening to and what eventually led you to become a Canadian resident?

I was 18 at the time.  And if I didn’t leave England I would’ve been put in the army for two years, “so they can make a man out of you”, my dad said.  But I was a boy reporter so I got differed from national service until I finished my apprenticeship.  I thought they’d forget me by the time I finished, but they didn’t.  During the medical I was asked, “you can’t see very well, can you?”  I said, “no”. Allowed to leave the country, I headed for the American immigration office.  But when I got there I was asked to fill out all these forms with questions like, “is your grandmother a communist?”  I thought to myself, this is stupid!  And then I figured well, Canada is handy. The Canadian consulate asked, “is your heart beating?” I said, “yes”.  “Do you have a passport?”  I said, “Yes”.

Come on in!

Exactly.  And when I arrived here in April of ‘57, Toronto was a very different town.  My first day, I stayed at a place called The Ford Hotel.  It was a grotty fifteen storey place situated near the Bay St bus station and I was packed in, four to a room, with these grumbling English immigrants. (in an old British accent) “They told me the sidewalks was made of gold.  Well they’re not!  I’m a pipe welder and the best job I get is for a pipe fitter, well!”  It was awful and I got the hell out of there as soon as I could.  In my first few days, I took a walk down Yonge Street where I saw a sign, “Tonight and all this week… Earl Hines and his All Stars”.  I thought, “what?!” When I asked the bartender, “Earl Hines is here? The same guy who played with Louis Armstrong in the 20s?”  “Yea, yea”, he says.  “Well how much does it cost to get in?” I asked excitedly.  “It’s free, but you have to buy two beers.”  I thought, “this is the promised land!” And to this day, I can still remember all the members who were in the band.

What was the name of the bar?

It was the Colonial Tavern.  It had three levels at the time.  But later there was a big fire and the centre was gutted and the second floor was made into a balcony.   Another place I went to was the Town Tavern at 12 King St E.  The first night there, I found a rotund black pianist from Montreal on stage.  It was Oscar Peterson, who I’d never heard of at the time.  And then on my fourth night in Toronto, I went to Maple Leaf Gardens…

And you’re not even in town a week yet.

… for the Irving Feld Parade of Stars, which later became the Dick Clark Parade of Stars.  But the Irving Feld Parade of Stars had (in an announcer voice) “a sensational fifteen year old hit songwriter and performer from Ottawa… Paul Anka! And from England, the sensational fifteen year old… Cliff Richard!” The best thing about the Parade of Stars was the bill also included Fats Domino, Chuck Berry, Laverne Baker, and John Lee Hooker. Jackie Wilson may also have been on the bill, but I can’t remember for sure.

Well, that’s one helluva line-up!  One would think you were at the Apollo Theatre in New York City rather than Maple Leaf Gardens.

Well, except for Cliff Richard! (laughs)

Yea, who thought to put Cliff Richard in with the likes of those acts?

Irving Feld was a circus promoter who got turned on to early rock and roll.  Cliff Richard had hits and that’s all that mattered.  Everybody got three songs.

A variety show.

I also found a trad jazz joint led by trumpet player, Mike White.  Whatever happened to him I don’t know.  And later, I found some great R&B at some real seedy hotels; the Warwick, the Winchester…

The Winchester in Cabbagetown?

The Winchester was on Jarvis St, I think.  And the Warwick was a rough joint but the music was great.  And the other places on Yonge St were the Brown Derby, Le Coq ‘dor, and the Brass Rail, which wasn’t a strip joint then.  And then I started to get some job offers; one was to be a reporter in Timmins and had I taken that job, I may have been the one to discover Shania Twain!  But instead, I went for a job interview at the Woodstock Ingersoll Sentinel Review; a daily paper on the other side of London.  I remember going there in snow up to my ass thinking, I can’t do this!

Why not just work in Toronto?

Well, I nearly got hired by the Globe and Mail. There were reasons why Canadian newspapers hired U.K. and Australian trained reporters. The way they did it was they apprenticed with no money and changed your job every four weeks.  And by the end of three years, you’ve covered sports and everything.  I edited the women’s pages for three months, or the lifestyle section as it’s now called, of a small daily paper.  I was pretty good and I won some prizes.

So when you came here in 1957, you came with a vast knowledge of music?

No, I really didn’t.  But when I was at boarding school I was absolutely useless at everything except long distance running.  The run was always on a Wednesday afternoon and I found the faster I ran, the quicker I could get to the shower and the quicker I could get to the common room to commandeer the radio and listen to the BBC jazz club.

Ah, so school was all about the radio on Wednesdays.

It was either long distance running or playing rugby covered up to your ass in mud! The first record I ever bought was by an American entertainer and long forgotten film personality by the name of Phil Harris.  Harris had a song called That’s What I Like About the South.

What was playing on BBC radio that had you so excited?

The BBC Jazz Club’s  signature tune was Duke Ellington’s Happy Go Lucky.  I really loved it.  But when the 50s came along, the pop music scene was really awful.  All I heard was show tunes and musicals and the jazz thing was remarkably amateur.  Pretty much anyone could have a go at it.  I tried to play trumpet but I was terrible.

Who were your favourites at the time?

I had three favourites. Ken Colyer, who was a heavy duty New Orleans purist; Humphrey Lyttleton, a 6 foot 6 inches tall band leader who was distantly related to royalty, his father being a house master at Eton, one of the poshest private schools in the whole country; and Chris Barber.  But then the British record companies, and remember we’re talking 78s now because the LP hadn’t been invented yet, would put out two records each month; two from the jazz and blues series and two other 78 rpm records.  They might be bad British trad jazz or something great like Louis Armstrong.  I bought ‘em all.  The first be-bop record I got was Dizzy Gillespie, which I hated.   But Louis Armstrong was god.  I loved the classic records Armstrong made in the 20s, first with the Hot 5 and later with the Hot 7, when Earl Hines got involved.  Armstrong’s band never worked as a band; they would just go into the studio and cut stuff.  And to this day, 90 years later….

I love Louis Armstrong!

Louis Armstrong was so far ahead of the rest, it was scary.  And as a session player, he played with a lot of blues singers.  The first one I remember hearing him play with was Bessie Smith.  Bessie Smith may have been unknown to white people at the time, but she was a huge star in the black community.

And who were some of the other artists releasing records?

The first country blues record I heard was by Sleepy John Estes.  Estes swallowed half his words (laughs) and I couldn’t understand him, but I loved the sound of it.  By the time I got to America and took my pilgrimage to Chicago to meet some of these people, I figured I knew all about the blues… the struggles of African Americans in the rural south, who were transplanted into urban society… I read all the books, all the sociological studies; and there was some truth in it all but, I tell you, until you’ve actually heard it live… until you’d walked into a bar on the south side of Chicago, a working man’s bar like Smitty’s Corner and find Muddy Waters on stage wearing a gun metal grey suit, black shirt and white tie, with hair cocked up to here… you don’t know nothin’!  I’d always listened to the records in the context of the potted sociology, but seeing Muddy Waters on stage, sitting on a high stool…  he was a handsome man…

A lady killer!

When Muddy said, “I’m the seventh son of the seventh son, born on the seventh day of the seventh month, and the seven doctors say ‘you born for good luck’; I got seven hundred bucks, baby, don’t mess with me…” Every woman in the place came on the spot!

(laughs) Oh, baby!

What an eye-opener!  Hearing that was a bit different than the sociological stuff I’d been reading.  And seeing Howlin’ Wolf was the same thing.

How long after this was it that you brought Muddy Waters and BB King to Toronto?

Well, what happened was I made some friends in Chicago, one of which was Bob Koester, who’s still alive god bless him.  Koester started a record label called Delmark.  He also had a big record store which is still there, called The Jazz and Blues Record Mart.  I haven’t been to Chicago since the mid-60s but Bob was my entry to things; sort of like the agent of things.  There were a couple of incidents that happened on the west side where I could have got in serious trouble; being the wrong shade of pink in the wrong part of town…

in the United States of America!

I was a cock-eyed Englishman.

Wait a minute, back up a little bit, you were in Toronto because you couldn’t get into the States…

I couldn’t get into the States to live permanently but I could visit.  Basically, when I started working and got real jobs, I would travel to Chicago and meet all these people. But having a couple near misses in rough neighbourhoods, I started thinking about bringing musicians here, rather than me going there.  The first artist I brought over was Sleepy John Estes.

Where did you learn to deal with borders and customs and stuff like that?

It was a lot easier then.  It was an era when America sent musicians around the world, not armies.  It was an era when the State Department sent Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee to India.  A time when Louis Armstrong would tour, and Benny Goodman would go to Russia.  These days, thirty thousand troops are sent to Afghanistan… (sigh). No, don’t get me started!

Okay, more about the musicians you brought here…

The second one we brought over was Muddy Waters with his amazing band.  I can’t remember whether it was James Cotton or Little Walter on harmonica but, Otis Spann was in the band.  When I first saw Otis play at Smitty’s Corner, it was the first time I’d ever seen an electric piano.  And he had an amp that kept coughing and spluttering, which he would whack every now and then with a wrench that he kept on top of it (laughs).  Smitty’s Corner and Silvio’s on the west side of Chicago where Howlin` Wolf played, made Grossman’s Tavern in Toronto look like the Imperial Room at the Royal York Hotel.  We’re talking major dumps.  The first time I went to Smitty’s, no white cab drivers would take me.  I had to get a black cab driver.  And after the cabbie dropped me off, I remember everyone stopped talking when I walked in to the club.

You were the only white guy.

And Muddy wasn’t on stage yet.  I remember walking up to the bartender with my English accent, which was more English then, and raising the name of Chris Barber because Muddy Waters had done his first tour of the UK with Chris Barber’s band. I didn’t know Chris Barber at the time, but I pretended I did. I said I was a friend of Chris’ from back in Britain.   The bartender yelled out, “Muddy!”

And Muddy Waters came over?

Yes.  I introduced myself and Muddy was very welcoming; a man of great grace.  He sat me down with a piano player by the name of Sunnyland Slim. And Sunnyland Slim bought me a steak.

They must have thought you were pretty cool, the only white guy to walk in the place.

And then there was the first time I walked into Silvios.  A Mexican hooker called me over and asked, “you got any protection?” I shook my head.  “I’m it,” she says, “sit yourself down”.  She was obviously well known around Silvios and she bought me a drink.  When Howlin Wolf hit the stage, he was the largest, ugliest black man I’d ever seen!  He wore braces and sang sitting down.  He also played harmonica. There were two sax players standing on either side of him and there was a guitar player, a bass player, and a drummer.  They were called Howlin’ Wolf and the Killin’ Floor Band.   Howlin’ Wolf had worked on the floor of the stock yards, killing cows.  I also remember a cop standing directly in front of the band; with full uniform and gun.  Being conscious of my difference, it made me nervous.  And when I suddenly heard the smash of broken glass and turned to see two people with broken beer bottles approaching each other…

Oh my god.

… the cop lumbered forward and put a hand on one guy’s shoulder, ending any hostility before it started by yelling out, “two more beers over here!” (laughs)  But the music… the music still does to me now what it did then.  Later on, while I’m earning this rep as a blues expert, which is a highly dubious proposition but why Mariposa hired me to go to Chicago, I met Dick Waterman.  In the folk scare of the early 60s, Waterman was responsible for finding many of the blues musicians who seemed long forgotten.  And when he found them, he gave them new guitars, new teeth and whatever else was needed to put them on the road to play for white audiences who were seeking authenticity.  And one of the blues guys Waterman brought up was Son House.  Son House was a serious alcoholic and the only way to ensure he would perform was to buy him a bottle of bourbon. Every day Waterman would decanter bourbon into little airline bottles and Son would be allowed a little bottle every half hour, which kept him drunk, but not too drunk to perform.  Waterman and I are still friends all these years later.

So this was the start of bringing these acts to Toronto?

Yes.  We presented BB King in ’68, I think it was.  We put BB King in Massey Hall and the tickets were $2.50 and $4.50.  A folky friend of mine, David Rea, was the opening act.  And I made money!  I made $700 and BB still remembers it.  BB King has a memory like, you have no idea.

Tell me about the early folk festivals.

My first folk festival was a life changing event because up till that point I was only into early jazz and blues. I was asked by Mariposa to host a workshop at Innis Lake and this is when I saw Buffy St Marie, Leonard Cohen, Gordon Lightfoot, Ian & Sylvia, Phil Ochs, and the Staple Singers all on the same bill. Some people will say, “folk festivals are just for girls with large breasts who haven’t shaved their armpits and helicopter dance in big billowy dresses wearing Birkenstocks”.  But I get evangelical about folk festivals. It’s so easy to see old favourites like Lightfoot and then unexpectedly fall upon someone new, someone great like Alejandra Ribera.

Does this still happen to you?

All the time!  If you’re open to what I call “accidental music”, you just may be unexpectedly blown away.  One such time for me was a bluegrass session featuring Daniel Curly.  Curly incidentally has the best hair I’ve ever seen, outside George Jones.  Curly was on stage with his band and another band from Virginia, along with a kid called Chris Thile (from Nickel Creek).  I sat side stage and watched while these young bluegrass acts blended together with the senior statesman of the field.  And I guess I’m a suck but I was so moved, I wept.  Last year I turned 75 and the Winnipeg Folk Festival people said, “You’ve been part of this event since we started.  We’ll send you a plane ticket and reserve a hotel if you’ll be our guest.  I said, “Well, sure.  And I’m good to help.”  Next came, “Aaah, then could you host the daytime stage from 11 till 6 for three days in a row?” Now, I can’t sing, I can’t play an instrument, I dance very badly (and never in public unless I’m really wrecked), but I can talk, as you’re now finding out.  So I accepted their offer and hosted the stage.

“Time: 1972
Scene: A bedroom in the “official” hotel for the Philadelphia Folk Festival; a guitar is being passed around, as are beers, cigarettes and joints.  Participants: John Prine, Steve Goodman, Loudon Wainwright III, Jim Croce and Murray McLauchlan.  As an observer, Richard Flohil is slumped on the floor behind one of the beds…”

I’ve had a number of these things happen, and I have a much better story….

But I’m an enormous fan of Loudon Wainwright III.  Do tell!

Well, Loudon Wainwright is a grumpy, miserable, old….

Well yes, (laughs), those words have been used to describe him once or twice…

You know, after I volunteered to do publicity and press for Mariposa, I became more involved with other people at other festivals in other cities.  Just like as a kid finding out about jazz and blues, suddenly I’m finding out about singer songwriters and as a writer myself, (although my song writing consists of one third of one song which I made 16 bucks at so far and that was years ago), I was exposed to a whole bunch of different sounds.  And if it came from the heart, I was into it.  I went to the first Vancouver folk festival.  I was at the first Winnipeg folk festival.  I was at the first or second folk festival in Owen Sound.  And I became very involved with all of them.  And in that Philadelphia hotel room, it became almost competitive between the five of those artists.  Stevie Goodman or John Prine would come up with a real good song and Murray would have to follow. I won’t tell you some of the nonsense that went down.

Ah, c’mon!

There was certainly some rock and roll hedonism along the way.  And I’m so glad; very glad.  Groupies and drugs and stupidness…

I’m horrified!

I don’t remember Jim Croce being in that hotel room.  But I do remember him in the lobby and he was tiny, just like Janis Ian.

Janis Ian!  (remembering the song, At Seventeen…)

Both Prine and Goodman played Mariposa for the first time around 1969-70.  I still have all the programs.  And I did press once for Loudon Wainwright.  I really like Goodman and I see John Prine every now and then.  I use to work with a concert promoter called Rob Bennett, who I’m starting to work with again.  And he brought in a whole bunch of people over the years for me to do press for.  But the first band I really got involved with was the Downchild Blues Band and that began around 1969.  Donnie (Walsh) came to my office looking for management. And the first time I saw them at Grossman’s Tavern, I got thrown out.

(laughing) Now what did you do Richard?

I wasn’t getting any service, so I yelled out, “Hey! Can I get a drink over here or what?!”  That’s all it took.  And this big black waiter named Rocky yelled, “You! Out! You’re barred!”

(laughter) So much for customer service.

I wasn’t getting any.  It was silly.  My involvement with Downchild ended this year, after 39 years. But back then, I also got a job with CAPAC (Composers, Authors and Publishers Association of Canada ). CAPAC was one of the two performing rights societies that eventually became SOCAN in the early 90s.  CAPAC hired me in 1970 to edit their magazine. I had already been editing different trade magazines, my first job being the assistant editor of Electrical Contracting and Maintenance in Canada and then I edited Canadian Woodworker, Canadian Lumberman and Furniture and Furnishing. I was writing stories about machinery and installation in furniture factories!

Well, they say good writers can write about anything.

But it was boring shit.  When CAPAC said, “we have a music magazine and would you….” I said, “yes!” And it was while I worked at CAPAC that I first met Gordon Lightfoot.

Really? Tell us what Lightfoot was like in the early 70s.

Gord was drinking a lot and so was I.  Falling over him in a bar one night, I told Gord I was working for CAPAC and he said, “oh yea?  I’m going there tomorrow!”  I said, “well, come to my office first and I’ll take you up.”  My office was in the same building but on a different floor.  So Gord came to my office first and I took him up and introduced him to the general manager.  Gord signed up with CAPAC and that was the end of it, or so I thought.  But later, I got a call from the manager asking, “do you actually know musicians?”  I said, “yea”.  He gave me an American Express card and told me, “your job now is to take musicians to lunch and tell them what a great organization CAPAC is”. (laughs)

How come nobody gives ME an American Express card and tells ME to take musicians to lunch?!

I was spending a grand a month.  I would write two or three pieces every month and over a year that’s a lot of articles.  I did that for twenty years.

Who did you write about in your first article for CAPAC?

Gordon Lightfoot.  I also did the first cover story for Canadian Musician.

And who did you write about for that?

Burton Cummings.

Do you have a favourite article that you wrote?

I did one with Ben Kaye for CAPAC.  Ben Kaye was a small time Montreal agent and manager who represented some of the cheesiest artists you’d ever heard of.  Kaye was short with slick-backed greasy hair, very Jewish, hyper; and he broke the mould. I went back to read that article a few weeks ago, and I was reminded how hard it was to get a grip on his story.  But I was paid really well for it and I got myself a swanky apartment.

What made you leave CAPAC?

There was a merger in the works and I figured well, I’m ready to leave now anyway, so why not get out before the shit hits the fan? I joined The Record with David Farrell and Larry LeBlanc, but I kept the relationship with CAPAC going for another four years acting as a liaison between members and the organization.

The Record, was that a magazine or a paper?

At first it was just sheets of paper stapled in the corner.  It was a paper that became a magazine.  I was the record reviews editor.  I may have missed one or two, but over seventeen years I pretty much wrote something for every issue.

The Richard Flohil Interview concludes on Thursday…

About Lisa McDonald: “I’m a city girl. A vegetarian who enjoys yoga, pilates, and cycles to keep active but live music is my real passion. All things music really, and I’ve been known to write about it.. I value a strong work ethic and good manners, but what really turns me on is confidence and experience.”