"If I can get you tickets to see Mike Knott in London, Ontario, are you in?"
That's how it started. Simple enough. It was a theme around which the whole excision would be built.
With the tickets secured, transportation was the only issue. Plane pickets and car rental secured online, we would drive to Halifax, fly to Toronto, rent a car, drive to London, drive back to Toronto, fly back to Halifax, and drive home. All in less than 24 hours.
Halifax is about a three-hour drive from my home. With car trouble we left with three hours to spare. Driving dangerously [see tired driving post], we arrived at the airport and walked onto the plane, which took-off about one minute later (and apparently not simply because we had just arrived) . So far so good.
Toronto Airport, rental car (with CD Player), a few more hours, and we are in London, Ontario. The show is in a church basement. We don't know where the church is, nor do we have the means to find out.
For those who are unfamiliar, here is a brief history of Mike Knott. Mike has played with a load of bands, most notably L.S.U. [Lifesavers Underground] and the Aunt Betty's. Mike's solo work has been compared to Tom Petty and Nick Cave, but like most interesting artists he's hard to pin down. A brilliant songwriter, his lyrics and lifestyle where considered a little too much for the Christian music industry (yes, there is a "Christian music industry" - it's kind of like "New Country"). Drawing inspiration the California (Huntington Beach) music and drug scene kept commercial success at bay. The Christian record companies (apparently corporations can have religious beliefs) would play the hell out of songs where he said "Jesus" and claim Mike for their Prodigal Son. Then he would disappear when he sang about alcoholism (good Christian's needn't soil their minds with such foul talk). Mike has been playing solo and with various bands for over twenty years. On a few occasions, he has gotten a taste of success, but not so much that you'd know who he is. His fan base is very small and very loyal.
Driving through London, at random, we find the Church. We eat at Smitty's and return for the show. The opening band is called Dumb as Sheep. Their set is eclipsed by anticipation (both on their part and on the part of the audience).
The audience turns out to be a bunch of obsessed fans like us. We all knew every word to every song. These songs had been the soundtrack of our adolescence. This was to be a monumental evening. Hard to live up to for Mike.
Arriving late, (and crushing the opening band's not-so-secret hopes of playing with him), Mike and his manager show up to a small church basement hall packed with about 200 fans. Having been waiting for about a half-hour, the audience has long since started to compare stories about how far they had traveled to see Mike before. How many live bootlegs they had. We though we were seasoned veterans, but we were clearly the rookies here.
Mike's manager (who appears to have also been his van driver, guitar tech, and soundman) comes on stage. There is a little confusion. Many in the audience own every one of Mike's CDs (there are a lot) but have never seen him in person (myself included). The manager puts up a few of Mike's paintings as a backdrop and places two canvases, one on each side of the stage. One says "Miss You Gene", in memory of Mike's friend and musical counterpart, Gene Eugene of the band Adam Again who had recently passed away. The other says "Miss You Dennis", this one in memory of another of Mike's friends and musical counterparts, Dennis Dannell, formerly of Social Distortion, who had formed a band, The Strung Gurus, with Mike (we got to take this painting home).
Finally, Mike Knott walks on stage with a shitty acoustic guitar and says, "Hi". The audience responds in kind and then sits absolutely silent, waiting to have a transcendent musical experience. The anticipation is high, but from the first steps on to the stage, it was clear that no one would leave disappointed.
The man has the most stage presence of anyone I have ever seen. With his acoustic guitar, he started into a few of his classics. Everyone soaked it in. Singing when they should, listening when they should.
Mike told the stories of the songs (which everyone already knew, but we listened as though he were reading our palms). Kitty Courtesy: a song about a lady who lived down the hall from Mike who's husband disappeared and who's apartment reeked of cooking human flesh. John Barimore Junior, a song about a nutcase in the same building who claimed to be a relative of the Hollywood Barimore's. Some songs didn't need any intro, Grace, Rocket and a Bomb, Rock Star's on Heroin, Shaded Pain. Even with only his voice and an acoustic guitar, these songs where much bigger than they had ever been the hundreds of times we had heard them before.
Early in the set Mike tells us about his guitar, explaining that it was hastily purchased at a pawn shop before a show when his other guitar died on him (he couldn't have paid more than $15O for it). Playing festivals, friends from more commercially successful bands would always suggest that he play one of their $3000 Martin's. Mike likes this one.
At the end of set during which I don't think anyone but Mike himself even took a breath, Mike turned to walk off stage. It was over and it had been worth it. With the crowd still in his pocket, he turns and raises his guitar over his head in jest. He had poked fun at his burned out rock-star reputation all night. We laughed. Then he smashed it.
A one man show with an acoustic guitar, and he smashes the hell out of it and marches of stage. You could hear a pin drop. Best show I have ever seen.