It's About Life

Whenever I go to my farvourite place to write on Vancouver Island, I go out every evening for a paddle in my trusty 8’ Canadian Tire plastic kayak. Sublime. Thirteen years and it’s as seaworthy as ever! Since my creative wheels are already turning, and I am ever in awe of nature, I am continually inspired by images I want to capture. Many of the photos I’ve shared in this newsletter have come from those paddles. This day, of all the beauty around me, it was this tiny floating feather that captivated me. And I will add, it’s no small feat to line up a shot while both me and the subject are independently bobbing and swirling. I have yet to drop my camera in the water or lose my paddle but I’ve come close countless times.

But enough about that….I just wanted you to know it was a magical Salish Sea moment, not a random internet image.

Let’s start with a confession - I have written an inordinate number of songs about death and loss. From all different angles. I’m somewhere between full denial of my own exit, (which is getting more challenging to validate by the year!), and utter confusion.  How is the finality of death supposed to feel normal? Embraced? How??…when a person who has been in our lives for as long as we can recall is simply GONE? So very very gone. Even if we went months without seeing one another, there was some sort of existential comfort in the knowing…they are there,…somewhere…at least a phone call away.

And then they’re not.

With Rick Scott, our life-long Pumkin, a land line phone call was the only option for staying in touch other than going overseas between our islands in the aforementioned Salish Sea. .  

Rick was not a fan of electronic communication. He made a couple of brief attempts, but it just did not sit right with him. It broke his heart to see the world around him eventually all bowing their heads to their screens. He was a face to face, ear to ear, eyes up, hand tools, long hand, analogue kinda guy through and through. Thank goodness his longtime partner Valley Hennell was willing and able to be behind the wheel of promotion and drive his career. I would have loved to have been in direct e-mail contact with him over the years, but I had to respect his tenacity in the face of it all. 

This is just part of the swirling whirling dervish of memories and emotions from the reality of the loss of the once-in-a-lifetime Rick Scott. The man who formed the seeds, soul, rhythm and heart of the “Pied Pumkin” and of course went on to be a beloved childrens’ artist, thespian, author, and friend to thousands.

As I’ve said many times, I attribute my foundational grounding in music that launched within me some of the most key core values and perspectives I still hold, to Rick Scott, Joe Mock and the Pumkin: how to be fully present in the music; inside the music; honour it; and not take oneself too seriously. They were the first group I fully latched onto - in 1974 – that grew very naturally into a phenomenon of vibrant orange revelry. They set me on a course with music that has sustained me in so many ways. They taught me the sheer joy and honour of making music, and how remarkable it was to watch it work its magic on everyone in the room. And believe me, no one could get a whole room as zealous as the ever-exuberant Rick Scott. Witnessing his ability to create completely spontaneous rhyming rap on stage was mind boggling. He was ON. Right down to the end.

A month before he passed, Valley organized a celebration of his 25th and final exhibition as the curator of the Protection Island Museum. The show celebrated his life as a luthier with an exhibition of handmade instruments by islanders. We gathered with his island community on a sunny afternoon. His co-luthiers shared their stories working in Rick’s workshop building their dulcimers. And then there was the music. Whether he would be able to play, sing, or even stand for the event was in question in the days leading up. But damn, if he didn’t Stand & Deliver like he always did!  With his son Jorg and Valley close by ready to catch him, granddaughter Lilu beside him, me and Julia playing along and beaming love – he gave it all the juice he had. His daughter Tai and her family, Valley’s son Whelm, and the devoted Protection Island community, all came to celebrate Rick’s last stand. It was an unspoken send-off. The video is so precious to have. Thank you to Lin N for the footage.

I’ve never met another musician who truly fits all the cliché introductions - “the one and only”, “the original”, “the incomparable”.  But man, everything about his music was beyond unique. It was inspired, free spirited, wildly adventurous, while also deeply rooted in rhythm and patterns - which we as humans have prime instinctive need for - and what creates a song that won’t leave you alone. His songs ran the full spectrum of deeply introspective, courageous, achingly beautiful, ludicrous, sad, celebratory, driving, and everything in between. My Friend Has the Biggest Ears in the World, which has the most sincere, sweet music;  Yo Mo Concerto, telling the story of the life of a young Mozart in a rap song;  Tree, told my an old growth tree that is both sweet, sad, and effervescent.  “The Wild Bunnies of Kitsilano” (avec operatic gargling!). Who comes up with that stuff?? Rick Scott.  He was unerringly his brilliant, wildly ever-clever self. And he made everyone around him feel special and like we could do anything.

Rick had a direct line to that inner child who generated an invisible current that ran through his creative self and made him the compassionate, playful spirit we all fell in love with – while also making us laugh, dance with abandon, and tear up with the sweetness and beauty that he could create on that 4 stringed instrument. And it felt like it all came from that place of wanting to imbue every child (and those hiding inside us grown ups) with those benefactions we all crave to some degree – to feel safe, seen, worthy, and free to be ourselves – to laugh, be silly, and to wing it. He listened, he cared, and he was a full-on cheerleader to all.

He was the first to spontaneously invite Julia, at age 9 or 10 to join us on fiddle on some of the tunes. She came with me to visit in those last weeks. It was a precious time. We zoomed with Joe in France; we laughed; we ate; we listened to the whole of The Lost Squash Tapes and marvelled at our wild courageous wacky arrangements; we played songs; and we just hung out. While Rick was sleeping Julia and I spent hours stacking the nagging piles of firewood to his specifications, as that was one of his special pleasures, and it bothered him that he coudln’t accomplish the task. That felt damn good.

Rick’s most recent duo partner, the remarkable Nico Rhodes in “Roots & Grooves” tells the story of writing Rick as a small boy and the impact of both seeing him play and receiving a personal response from him. Over time, Rick wrote thousands of hand-written letters replying to every child who wrote him. Every one was scribed in his impressive calligraphic style and stamped with one of the very cool carved stamps he collected, he was dedicated to making sure every letter was personal and a little piece of art.

Rick was a performer like no other. Any who saw him will agree. His wild energy that beamed “Damn this is fun!! Let’s go!!” and his infallible kick-ass rhythm would fly out of that dulcimer. I mean, it’s an Appalachian mountain dulcimer for godsake! An instrument usually played passively on one’s lap and created for a whole other genre of music. And he just grabbed that thing off a music store wall in Texas, strapped it on like a guitar, and molded it into his entire unique musical being. He infused it with everything and everyone he was. He messed with tunings, and wrote songs unlike anything we had ever heard before. He wore it like it was his life-source. And he had a physicality to his performance that bobbed and weaved and grooved and flew around that stage like he was a quidditch broom.

“The Real Deal” can be defined many ways. But he was the real real deal, with a truly generous heart, utterly original talent and musical aesthetic. He really just wanted to leave every show, every person he encountered, and the world, a little lighter.

And indeed, he gave us all a lifetime of laughter and music to lighten the load.  

So loving and so loved.

Safe home Ricky.