It started life as the tallest building of the British Empire. The chateau architecture of The Royal York Hotel has played host to British royalty, European royalty and of course the royalty everyone cares about most these days, American Royalty. This tends to be the go-to place for Hollywood stars working in Toronto.
It has seen legends of music like Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington and Tony Bennet. Jim Carey had his Debut there. Well His second debut, if memory serves his first time on stage resulted in him getting booed off at yuk yuks downtown. Though I could be wrong about that.
When it was first built, across the street from Union Station, it towered over all the surrounding buildings. A monument to man's ingenuity at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth century. Now however, in the age of steel and glass, it is a monument to times passed.
I looked up at the sky seeing the dynamic difference between it's beautiful, presumably hand made stone work versus the glass sheets-
“Oh shit!” I said as my foot slipped from beneath me, breaking my train of thought as I caught my balance on my opposing foot. I examined the questionable substance covering my shoe. “Ah fuck, Was that food at one time?” I said in disgust and anger.
I had decided to walk through the ally that ran behind the Royal York(Piper Street) and, well, the glory of the historical structure is lost when you slip in a pile of chow mien puke left by one of the many drunks that passed though the heavily used path.
“Fuckin’ hell.” I said to myself as I scraped my boot on a curb. I walked to the end of the ally, turned right into the small parking lot of the hotel, weaved through the hundred thousand-dollar cars, passed the door man and into the venue. I found myself looking at my reflection in the gold-plated elevator doors as I awaited its arrival.
The pungent odor wafted up from my soiled boot to my nose. The fact that, with in minutes, I went from the abject poverty in the alleyway to the opulent wealth of the old monies hotel left me with a certain feeling of unease. How easily we ignore reality for our own comfort. With the warm ding of a brass bell the elevator opened, and I stepped through.
That day I was on the LX crew, that’s just a fancy way of saying lighting. You see I have only worked a couple huge shows, but this was smaller and much more detail oriented and more was expected of you and if there was one thing I had learned about this job so far, you cannot make mistakes. This may be a more self-imposed style of self-hatred but I was petrified of anyone thinking I was some sort of amateur or shitty worker. So, I came armed with a tool that my generation is lucky to have, my smart phone.
There are oh so many lights, cables, speakers, racks, truss and gear in general, all of it with technical names and none of it I knew. Blasts and blinders, washes and profiles, movers and conventional's, Par cans and Bambinos. Like what the hell is a bambino, fucked if I know but I bet overlord google does and all I need is a picture to go with the name.
I usually have a very, fake it till you make it approach to my work. You could almost say it’s a good rule to have so long as you’re not a complete moron. To be totally clear, what I am saying it that sometimes you have to lie about your level of knowledge, within reason, to get the gig you want.
It’s a tough balance, but if you are honest with yourself, you know how much you can lie. I mean if you’re a mechanic don’t say you can perform an appendectomy. But if you need a job and someone asks if you know how to fix big generators you can reasonably say “Yeah no problem.” Even if you have never touched one. With some homework you can probably pull that off. Of course it can be a serious gamble and you’ll have to study and research like crazy but, it can provide you a path you never knew was even there.
For example, when I dropped out of high school, I got a job pushing a button on a machine at a factory. Over a little while I found out this machine was called a “CNC machine” a CNC turret press to be exact. They showed me how to properly set this machine up with various tools and how to do some minor repairs on it. After a while I decided to move from my home town of London, Ontario to Toronto to pursue a career in music.
I needed a day job though so I got an interview to Run a CNC turret press out in Scarborough. When I went to the interview they asked “Do you know how to write G code.”
With out hesitation I said “Yup.” Truthfully though, NOPE. I knew the machine was run by a special computer language but I had literally ZERO fucking idea what it was. That job interview was on Friday morning. It was a long weekend so I didn’t have to start till Tuesday morning. Well thank god for 'dem internets' because I spent the next four days learning and understanding the fundamentals of a completely new computer language, and for a guy who didn’t know any computer languages, that was insane.
After four months I was given projects of my own to manage for various electronics companies and artist installations. If you lie honestly it can pay off. Hell, you can learn something about yourself too, you may find out your smarter and more skilled than you or others give you credit for. Of course my clock doesn’t tick like that, I still thought I was a complete moron.
“You know lights?” The skinny guy with glasses and a clip board asked me.
I stood congregated with the rest of the crew in the Canadian Room. It’s brown Patterned carpet, wood tone colors and wall mounted white marble slabs all seemed lavishly dated.
“Yeah bud." I lied. Remember I moved here to be a musician and I had played several hundred shows by that time, so I knew what the lights looked like, kind of, well I thought I did anyway.
“You're with Sara once we have the trucks unloaded.” He said.
Like the big shows I had started on, we first built and hung the lighting rig, built from truss and hung from the ceiling above. Once the riggers used their powerful chain motors to heave the truss from the floor to working height, I found Sara and put to the test my knowledge of lighting. I had no knowledge of lighting by the way.
Sara, a seasoned tech, asked me “Go grab the forty-eight of par cans.”
“Yup.” I said and turned to hurriedly walk toward the pile of road cases. As soon as i walked behind a tall one out came my phone and I put that good old 3G network to task.
“Oh, overlord google.” I chanted “Show me the light!” I type in forty-eight par cans and the picture can up, I instantly knew what I was looking for, almost. I still had no clue what forty-eight she was referring to. When I found the case marked par cans, I saw it said “48 4wy” on the side. The length, she means a forty-eight-inch case. The plot thickens my friends.
It took us eight hours to build the whole show. I learned a lot and managed to do so without looking like a total cunt, well in my mind anyway and at that time I was really good at living in my head.
With each gig I learned more and more. More gear, more names and more about the vital importance of the chain of command. When I wasn’t at work I was at home, online learning about equipment, and shows coming to the city that I may want to work.
The Legend kept me working split shifts at The Molson Amphitheatre, working some of the biggest touring acts that came through Canada. If I wasn’t there or at the Dome then I was Sweating my balls off building shows at Downsview park. It was an average of ninety-five hours a week for six weeks straight. Let's just say I got mighty good at sleeping in my car.
p.s. Did you know that those meter maids will ticket you even if you are sleeping in your car. Fucking cunts.
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It didn’t take long for my folks to come for a visit. They had met Rylynn of course but Beatie, she was a little, different.
“Jae's a brave man.” Beatie said as she led my mother, father, me and Rylynn down the street to the Cadillac Lounge for lunch.
“Oh yeah?” My sixty-year-old father said in reply.
“Oh yeah,” Beatie said. “Living with two women that bleed at the same time, I'd call that brave.”
My old man laughed his ass off, my mother, not so much. It was a good meal at a famous Toronto restaurant then we went back to our place for coffee before my parents headed out. After they left, I went to my room to begin my traditional routine every time I see my family.
Did I say anything to offend them?
Do they think i'm in a slum, again? Exactly how much of a disappointment am I?
What are their conversations and actual thoughts on their almost thirty year old son renting a room from college students while he starts yet another career in show business.
Did I show them too much of the son they must be somewhat disappointed in?
I mean I come from a family where all my mother's siblings have kids that followed the path. you know, School, college/university, good job, family, car, house, blah blah blah. I have never done any of that. Hell, even the car I have now is under my father’s name. I dropped out of high school, though I still don’t regret that, but I know they wish I hadn't. I did go to college for a spell as a mature student, dropped out though. I already knew what they were teaching, I learned it on the job. Paying to learn what I already knew seemed somewhat like pissing into the wind to me. I know to them it meant a great deal. A bragging point for the next time they saw there siblings. When their brothers said “Hey my kids are doing this.” I always wished I had done something to give them a positive answer. Living like I'd be a musician while I secretly tried to drink myself to death, and now as I tried to jump start yet another career in show business.
They deserved a better son, and I knew that. But we are who we are. And as far as I was concerned, I was a fuck up, and a loser. On the plus side most people in my line of work seemed to feel like that so at least I'm not alone anymore.
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